A/N: This is becoming a clusterfuck due to the fact that I haven't been into this show in a good three...? years? But, with the shit going on at this point in the story, both my life and Bek's are giant clusterfucks so I guess it kinda works?

It went slightly routinely like that for the next couple days. Awkward small talk, awkwardly laying around my apartment. Awkward silence as we tiptoed on eggshells around each other. A direct side effect of me being unsure of how to react to Frankie's big secret suddenly being out between the two of us.

Finally, though, after about a week, he was more or less all the way healed up. The almost permanent bruises on his face had, well, more or less disappeared, since I'd been keeping him from his nightly escapades. There was more natural...ish...? colouring to his face, and less limp to his step. He still sometimes flinched when faced with almost simple tasks -- reaching above his head for a coffee mug, for instance. I'm pretty sure he thinks I didn't notice, but he's about as subtle as I am when my knee starts acting up.

Which means he wasn't. At all.

Like, the man seems to basically be a human punching bag, but he took a beating last week. He's gonna fuckin' hurt.

I wish he'd quit acting so tough.

Sigh... Men.

(Cue the eyeroll)

Can't say I don't do the same, though. Whenever I hobble into work toting my staff, I get all the worrisome comments and I simply wave them off and say, with a small grunt, that I'm perfectly fucking fine, now bugger off.

And then, aside in private, Matt apologizes, again, for essentially permanently fucking up my right leg. As much as I remind him he only refucked it, he still won't shut the hell up.

Anyway...

Whilst I was taking you through my mindless rants just now, my eyes had been following Frankie as he stomped around my apartment, "What are you doing?"

"Goin' out." was the grunted response.

I sighed and pushed myself to my feet so I could step in his path. I really hate how I'm still shorter than him. By like... what? four inches? I'm trying to stare him in the eye but I'm basically looking at his lips.

Mmmm...

Shut up you absolute whor--

"I know you're trying to go "out" but what makes you think I'm going to let you? Hmm?" I propped my hands on my hips, right before crossing them over my chest. The way I stood when my arms were across my chest, was all my weight on my left leg, right leg jutted out a bit. And, to keep my arms comfortably crossed, I'd somehow gotten into the habit of squashing my hands under my arms.

And when I became acutely aware of how my boobs probably looked, I shoved my hands back in my pockets, instead.

Poor Frankie sighed and untensed, "I'll be fine, kid. Nothin' too strenuous, but I gotta get back out there."

I narrowed my eyes at him, "Alright, let me get changed."

I trotted past him, a smug grin growing on my face when he did a double take, "Let yo-- Kid? Hey!"

He was following me, that much was obvious from the heavy footsteps thudding down the hall to my room. He's gonna be in for a rude surprise when--

There it was. The door flung open, a curse was yelled, and the door swung back shut, "Kid, you're not comin' with me."

I finished re-dressing myself -- thankfully, I always face my back towards my door when changing clothing, for that exact reason -- pulling my hair back as I toed back open the door, "Who's gonna stop me, hmm?"

Frankie stepped in front of me, blocking my path with an arm braced against the wall, "Me. I am. I work alone."

"Of course you do," I ducked under said arm and continued to the front door. Tis' a staff-only night tonight, "And tonight you work alone with me."

"This isn't some kinda ride-along, kid," it was hopeless, though, even he was starting to see it, since he'd stopped following me and was now standing, helpless, in the middle of the living room, "You could--"

"What? Hmm?" I tugged my bandana over my face, "Get hurt? Yeah, fuckin' get over it and lock the door on your way out."

****

Alright, so... uh... yeah. Shit just got... well, I was about to say complicated but my dudes; it was complicated before.

Now it was just a giant bass-ackwards fustercluck.

It was already days ago. I'm still shook up about it. And since then, even more shit has happened. And it's getting me into deep shit at the office, too.

Well, mainly with Matthew, who doesn't have the heart to actually do anything, but still.

And, honestly, I'd tried hiding it. But, like... it's Matt. I can't hide shit from Matt. And, try and try as I might, I can't hide from Matt.

Which is how he's figured out I'm, uh... friends with a... wanted, murdering , very attractive vigilante. Which, isn't my fault! I'm a nice girl, y'see? And I made friends with him before he became a wanted, murdering (very attractive) vigilante.

I think.

On the bright side, I have another dog now.

On the down side, I'm in deep shit at the office and frankly I'm too scared to go back to work right now. I'm going to have to, though, lest Matthew shows up at my fuckin' apartment [and then finds me furiously scrubbing blood off my floors. Still.]

There's a reason I have giant dogs in my lofty apartment.

They teach ill-tempered gang members to mind their manners when they bust into my apartment.

On another downside, Karen knows... something is up and I just hope and pray to whatever sick minded God there is that she doesn't go nosing where she shouldn't. She's already trying to protect dick-ass mob members.

Wait, wait--- hold on. You're probably confused as hell, right? I am too, though, don't worry. Uh... let me... try to explain-- bear with me, though. My brain is going a mile a minute and this might come out a little fast.

'kay, so... there was this guy. Grotto. Whatever his first name was-- who cares. He's kind of dead, because Frankie went and... shot up a hospital. Kidnapped the guy-- look, Frankie really wanted him dead. I didn't ask why, it's none of my business. Anyway, Frankie shoots up the hospital, kidnaps the already wounded dude and yeets off into the night. Chained him up, I believe... somethin' like that. I wasn't there. He wouldn't let me come with.

That's alright, though. I was at my apartment with my new puppy that Frankie got me.

Stole for me--

Anyway, look, I gotta try to wrap this up-- people might try to bust back in here, and I haven't really even cleaned up the first bout of blood.

Whatever, I don't know what's going on anymore, guys. My timeline is all fucked. Karen was trying to protect Grotto and Frankie killed the guy anyway. Karen's all salty about it. Got into a fight with Matthew on a rooftop in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere -- Frankie did, not Karen, although I'd probably pay to see her whopp his ass. Matt is all salty about that and he's just... livid that I've been harbouring a wanted fugitive on my couch.

My red tinted hands reached up and fisted at the roots of my hair, "Goddammit," I cursed, glancing to the side. The cats? They couldn't care less what I was doing. Frank, Bucky, Cassian and my new boy, Max? All of them were seated a few feet away, perked ears and curious stares as they watched me scrub at the hardwood.

Cassian's big snout was still stained crimson.

"Y'all are menaces," I muttered, shaking my head.

Back to scrubbing. Might as well, if I step foot out of here to try to go to work, the fuckin' Devil of Hell's Kitchen is going to tear me a new one. I scrubbed and scrubbed and suddenly I felt tears pricking at the backs of my eyes. My apartment-- condo? Do I have a condo? Damn, it's been so long --my apartment whatever is too damn quiet. No TV on, since it got smashed. No pets making any noises. They're all fine, but they're quiet.

And no Frankie.

My throat tightened and I took a deep breath, sitting back on my heels as I tossed my scrub brush back into my bucket of soapy red water, "Fuck." I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, "Fuck..."

I should've gone with him. I should've fucking gone with him. After Frankie dropped Max off, he'd stayed for roughly three minutes and gave me no information as to what the fuck. Frankie was freckled in blood and limpin' somethin' awful. Lord knows what else was going on with him. He'd grunted out a stay safe and left.

Like dude, who's dog is that?!

I'd gotten the new dog situated with the others and showed him the food, got dressed as quick as I could and tried to go after Frankie but I couldn't find him and by the time I'd gotten back to the apartment there were two ripped apart corpses in my living room.

The feeling in my throat's getting tighter. I tried to swallow it back, calm my breathing. I wiped my hands off on my sweats and stood, moving to the half busted couch to throw myself down on it. Almost immediately the dogs came over, tails wagging as all four of them tried to lay their heads in my lap at the same goddamn time and I couldn't help the laugh that brokw through the thick feeling in my chest. I gave Max a good scratch behind the ears, "Good boy. Such a good boy."

I love Pitties. They have such fat little heads.

Anyway, I think the stupid feeling I have in my stupid chest is actualy guilt. I should've looked harder for him, I should've followed him right after he quite literally yeeted into the void. Should've done fucking something--

I doubled over into the pile of dogs at my feet, forcing back a sob, "Boys, I suck."

I suck at being a roommate and I suck at helping. I'm also fucking torn. Torn to shreds like those three dudes I mulched up in the grungy backyard this place has. I don't think anyone really wanted to question why the woodchipper was being used at 2am on a Sunday. It was clean by the time 6 rolled around--

"FUCK!" I barked it, almost. Scared the animals. Scared myself. My voice reverberated over the ceiling and when it came back to hit me that's when I actually honest to God started fucking crying.

Frank is in the fucking hospital because he got damn near killed by the fuckin' Irish Mob and I wasn't there to help.