Warnings: Mentions of drug addiction, depression, anxiety, ptsd, trauma related to the military, angst, slow burn, jealousy, sobriety, soft!Frankie needs his own warning MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
A/N: The first part is here y'all!! I am so excited to share this with everyone. As always, please reblog, like, and comment - I would greatly appreciate the feedback! I hope you enjoy :) OH - and you'll need this video for reference when you get to the end of the chapter !
Four Months Later…
The apartment was quiet, save for the scraping of silverware on your plates. You and Frankie sat quietly at the table, eating without an ounce of conversation between you. Some nights it ended up like this, your energy spent from eight hours with six-year-olds, his at therapy.
When Frankie appeared on your doorstep high out of his mind four months ago, you made it your mission to help him get clean. You found an outpatient treatment program for him, a weekly NA meeting, and got him back with his psychiatrist and therapist.
He admitted that he was a few months behind on rent from losing his job and blowing his extra income on the coke, so you took money from your savings to pay his landlord before you moved him into your own apartment.
Frankie felt immensely guilty, constantly apologizing to you. He didn’t talk very often at first, the guilt and shame eating at him. He was a shell of the man you’d known your entire life.
You tried to keep your distance from him, physically, unless he asked. You didn’t want to smother or coddle him, though you often thought about wrapping him in bubble wrap and keeping him in your apartment so he could remain safe forever.
But once he got used to his new schedule and your presence, he gravitated toward you, constantly touching you in some way.
Frankie’s love language was touch, and he sure was good at it. If you were on the couch watching a movie, Frankie had you in his arms. If you were at the dinner table, his leg rested against your own as you ate. He had you between him and the sink as he did the dishes every night, or your body pressed against his while he folded laundry.
After too many nightmares on the couch, you coaxed him into your bed, which unlocked a new level of his affection. You’d slept in the same bed as Frankie many times, and in just as many sleeping bags while you camped during his time in the service, but this feeling was new.
You were always pressed flush against his bare chest, a tight hand around your waist as if he was afraid you’d leave him in his slumber. His breath tickled the skin on your neck and shoulder, a constant reminder of his presence.
The nightmares were the worst, but you handled them in stride. Whether it was screaming, thrashing, or thoughts that made him jump awake but remain silent in shock, you were there.
He’d completed treatment a few weeks previous, and now he was focused on getting his pilot’s license back. Frankie hated being dependent on you. Though you’ve been his best friend for 33 years, his mother and abuela had always taught him to take care of the women he loves, and he was chronically anxious over the fact that he couldn’t care for you the way you needed.
He wanted to do good by you, the way he should have 23 years ago. Before he pushed you away and ran straight into a war on the heels of Santiago. At first, he believed he was doing good, that him and his squad were serving the greater purpose. But the more killing they did, the less and less he believed in the orders they were given. They weren’t defending America, they were killing for sport.
——
Frankie had a habit of watching you when you weren’t paying attention. Like now, while you’ve gathered the leftovers of your meal into a container for your lunch tomorrow. The way you hummed quietly while you worked, how your shirt rode up as you reached for the container in the upper cabinet, revealing a sliver of your lower back.
You moved to the fridge, setting the leftovers inside and retrieved two cans of soda to enjoy during your movie. It was Frankie’s turn to pick the movie, and he’d settled early on with Jurassic Park. It was the first movie the two of you had seen in theatres together with your families in the 90s, and you both had begged to see it again and again after the first time.
As you finished, Frankie got up and moved toward the dishes in the sink. “You don’t have to do the dishes every night, y’know.” You took a step toward him, leaning into his side while he worked.
Frankie tapped your nose with his soapy hand, leaving a small pile of bubbles on your skin with a smirk. “It’s the least I can do, Girasol.”
You hummed, snaking an arm around his middle while he worked. The two of you stood there quietly, basking in the comfort of each other. Sometimes, he would talk about his therapy sessions, but you never pushed him.
Some days haunted him more than others, sending him straight to bed when he came home in the evening. On those nights, you ordered in and ate in bed, an old sitcom playing in the background. Sometimes, you read aloud to him, his head rested in your lap as you stroked his hair.
As he finished placing the last portion of silverware into the drawer, Frankie spoke. “I got uh, a text from Pope today. Said he’s coming to visit this weekend and wants to see everyone at Benny’s fight.”
Frankie held back the other part of the text from you, knowing it would upset you. Santiago shared a proposal for a recon mission in Colombia. He wanted the other men to check out the folder he’d attached with the plans. He needed four guys - and a pilot - of which Frankie wasn’t any longer. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, turning his attention back to you.
“Does he need a place to stay? I’ve got a blow up mattress around here somewhere. I can’t believe he didn’t text me.” You sighed, grabbing the sodas off the counter.
Frankie grabbed two glasses - your favorite ones with the Fish and Sunflower on them - and followed you to the couch. He settled next to you, taking the cans from your hands to pour the bubbly liquid into the cups.
“You should make him sleep on the couch, as punishment,” Frankie chuckled.
You laughed, taking a sip before you added, “you’re so right. I’m going to call him right now.”
You grabbed your phone and hit the call button on Santiago’s contact, settling your legs over Frankie’s lap while you waited. It rang for ages, to the point where the two of you thought Pope was sending you to voicemail.
Then, the line clicked. “Hola Hermosa,” Santi drawled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
You blanked for a moment, distracted by Frankie rubbing a thumb over your ankles. “Yeah, uh, hi. I heard you were coming into town. Funnily enough, I think my text got lost in the cloud somewhere.”
Frankie chuckled lightly, shaking his head.
“That you Fish? Shoulda known you’d tell her. I wanted it to be a surprise, mi amor. How many babies d’y’all have running around there now, anyways? Three? Five?”
“Pope,” Frankie growled.
“I kid, I kid,” Santi chuckled. “Seriously though, when’s the wedding? My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.”
You sighed. “Santi, c’mon. I was going to offer you my couch.” You reached over to Frankie for his hand, squeezing gently.
The two of you never spoke of marriage or your relationship, not after he broke your heart and followed Santiago into the service, and especially not after what happened those few months ago.
You used to dream of it, wearing his abuela’s veil and your mother’s wedding dress. Frankie standing at the altar with Santiago by his side, beaming at you as you walked toward him. You’d wanted an outside wedding, full of sunflowers, violets, and daisies.
You would be kidding yourself if you said you hadn’t thought about it since then. You had. But you couldn’t get hurt again, it would be too painful. So you loved him from as far as you could. In the present moment, it wasn’t entirely very far. He was your best friend, you weren’t going to abandon him in his time of need. Once he was back on his feet, everything would go back to the way it was. That’s what you told yourself at least.
“Can’t take the spot on the other side of your bed, can I? You have a very nice mattress, sunflower.”
“Well I need that spot for my five children, don’t I?” You watched Frankie throw his head back in laughter, any anger toward Santiago dissipating.
“Very funny hermosa. Make sure Fish keeps that couch warm for me, yeah? I’ll be there Saturday morning.”
-
You carefully pulled yourself out of bed at the sound of Santiago’s knock on the front door. You glanced at the clock declaring it was 7:30 and sighed. Padding over to the closet, you pulled on your robe before heading to the front of the apartment to open your door.
Frankie hadn’t slept well the night before, his anxiety keeping him on edge the whole day and a memory haunting his dreams at night. You spent most of the early morning coaxing him back to sleep with quiet lullabies, lavender lotion, and soft touches. His nightmares had gotten better, but something about Pope’s visit flipped a switch in his brain.
When you came home from work, you’d found him rebuilding a Lego set he must have taken apart from its display on your shelf. Where he found the directions, you had no idea. A completed sudoku pad sat on the table next to him along with the Sunday paper’s crossword puzzle. His anxiety had kept him in overdrive all day, sending him into a spiral. You’d finally talked him into laying in bed with promises of delivered sushi and The Breakfast Club.
Santiago knocked once more as you were unlocking the door. You glared at him as you pulled it open, stepping aside to let him inside. “Please keep it down,” you whispered. “Last night was rough. He needs to sleep for a while longer.”
He nodded, pulling you into a hug. “How’re you doing, Sunny?”
You sank into his arms, sighing contently. “I could be worse. I’m so glad you’re here, you have no idea.”
“It’s not good, is it?” Pope pressed a light kiss to your forehead, pulling away to get a look at you properly.
Yawning, you shrugged. “He’s been better. Something happened yesterday, I don’t know what. He took apart the Taj Mahal Lego set while I was working and put the whole thing back together by the time I’d gotten home.” You shook your head, running a hand through your hair as you paused. “He was up most of the night too, woke up screaming and thrashing around one. I finally got him back asleep a couple of hours ago.”
Santi nodded, worry etched into his brows. “How are you doing? You need someone to take care of you too.”
“I’m okay, Santi. Really, I am. Frankie is my first priority.” You squeezed his shoulder lightly before turning towards the kitchen. “Do you want some coffee?”
“Please, gracias Hermosa.” Santi followed you into the kitchen, leaning against a counter as you worked.
You reached into a lower cabinet for a bag of grounds before spooning it into the filter. “I keep the caffeinated stuff in another spot so Frankie doesn’t get confused…the caffeine affects his anxiety, so he’s been drinking decaf for awhile now.”
“You really have thought of everything, haven’t you,” Santi commented. He watched as you shrugged, pulling mugs from another cabinet.
He took the liberty of glancing around the apartment then, taking in the small signs of how yours and Frankie’s lives have further intertwined since he last visited. Pictures of Frankie and the rest of their squad littered the refrigerator doors, held up by magnets he would bring back for you after any mission he could. Your fish and sunflower glasses sat on the drying rack, shoes scattered together by the front door. One of Frankie’s flannels hung on the dining table chairs, his favorite books next to yours on the shelves. He also noted Frankie’s record player in the corner of the room, vinyls organized neatly next to the table. Pope couldn’t clearly determine where you ended and Frankie began.
“So, do you have any plans while you’re here?” You turned, handing a mug to Santi.
He took a long sip, savoring the taste. “Not particularly, just hoping to catch up with everyone. Benny’s fight is on Monday, right?”
You nodded. “Yeah, Will is out of town until then. Benny might come over tomorrow for some game, but that depends on how Frankie is feeling. Try to take it easy with him, okay?”
Santi nodded. “Yes, of course. Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”
“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d get all concerned and try to come up here. He’s embarrassed about it, Santi. He doesn’t want anyone else involved. Will and Ben don’t even know how bad it is.”
As if on cue, you heard a shout from down the hall. “Sunflower?? Honey, are you there?”
“I’m in the kitchen, mi amor. Don’t worry.” You pressed a finger into Santiago’s chest. Whispering, you said, “Don’t heckle him, please.”
“Never,” he said quietly. “Go help our guy, yeah?”
You gave him a small smile before heading back to the bedroom where Frankie was getting dressed.
You treaded softly over to him, putting yourself between him and the closet. “Are you sure you don’t want to sleep a little longer? You can stay in bed as long as you want, Frankie.”
He shook his head, reaching for his hat on your dresser. “Pope is here. I’ve functioned on less sleep than this.”
Frankie had a hard look in his eyes, but not menacing or irritated. It was the look he acquired when he compartmentalized things. He put a barrier up, shielding everyone around him from his problems. Another symptom of the military, a change in him you never expected. Frankie used to wear his heart and his mind on his sleeve. You could know exactly what he was thinking when you looked at him. But that Frankie went away the minute he stepped foot on foreign soil.
“Francisco,” you took his hands into yours. “You don’t have to be strong every moment of every day. You’re allowed to be in pain. Santiago’s in pain too, they all are. Hell, why do you think Benny jumps in front of fists every week?”
Frankie chuckled. “Hermosa, I think you’ve got the wrong idea about MMA.”
You shook your head at him, giggling lightly. “Don’t change the subject, Morales.” You moved your hands up to caress his cheeks, thumbs resting over the heart-shaped patches in his beard. His eyes softened in your embrace, smile growing wider.
Frankie wanted to kiss you then. Hell, he wanted to kiss you every moment of every day. But in this moment, it took every bit of strength he had not to. He glanced down at your lips as you spoke, internally kicking himself for entertaining the thought.
“Just,” you sighed quietly, eyes drifting to the floor. “Please, take it easy. Santi will understand if you need to slow down.”
Frankie nudged your hands with his chin, catching your attention. “I promise. Thank you for taking such good care of me, girasol.”
Sunday had been easy with Santiago there. Him and Frankie spent much of the afternoon playing Mario Kart in the living room while you watched from the kitchen table. It relieved you to see Frankie so relaxed with someone other than yourself.
It reminded you of your childhood, days where you sat in front of Santiago’s tv, watching him and Frankie take turns with Zelda or play Super Mario Bros together. They’d yell profanities at each other in Spanish when one of them fucked up, causing them to restart a level. You still remembered the feeling of Frankie’s laugh against your back when you laid against his chest while they played. You were small enough, and him tall enough, that he could see the controller over your shoulders, so he held you in his arms most of the time.
You joined in on the fun when your parents gifted you (and Frankie) a Nintendo 64 for Christmas one year. You would stay up too late every night during winter break playing with him, falling asleep together on the couch more than once.
You were never sure when the feelings started, but they never went away. Even as you watched him and Santiago from across the room, you felt them.
Frankie was your first kiss, your first time. Your first everything. And then he left, broke up with you like you were nothing to him, and followed Santiago into a war that destroyed them.
The person you discussed marriage and kids with had abandoned you, to “defend the country,” he’d said. You mourned him as if he died, the pain unbearable. It clawed at your heart, leaving you broken and gasping for air.
Your college years were spent in psychiatrists' offices, life dulled through pills and therapy. Frankie would call you on occasion, him and Santiago writing letters as well. You’d always pick up, unable to resist the sound of his voice.
It wasn’t until you stepped foot into a kindergarten class your sophomore year that you came alive again. You had always known you wanted to be a teacher, but you never expected 20 five-year-olds to turn your world upside down and change your life.
You were friends with some of them on Facebook now, so many years later. More than a few of them had sent you emails over the years too, some asking after Frankie and if he had gotten home okay. They were the sweetest humans you had ever met and you cared for them as if they were your own.
You were at the point in your life where the idea of having kids was slowly retreating from the version of life you had built for yourself. They only existed in your dreams now, with Frankie at the helm of them. A glimpse of the life you could have led if things were different.
Instead, you peered across the room at your two childhood friends as they bonded over lost time and competitive video games from your seat at the kitchen table where you were finishing report cards.
Frankie must have felt you staring because he turned toward you during a break in the game, beckoning you over. “Ven acá, cariño. You deserve a break.”
You got up slowly and made your way to the couch. “Only for a few minutes, I have to finish the report cards for tomorrow.” You sat between the two men on the couch, legs tucked underneath you.
“What’re your plans for summer break?” Santiago glanced over at you while Frankie fiddled with his Mario Kart vehicle for the thousandth time.
“I never made plans for anything, actually. I thought about going to New York or Chicago, but life got in the way,” you shrugged.
“You’ve still got time! I think that’s a great idea, Sunny. You deserve a nice, long vacation. I’ll even pay for your hotel, my treat.” Santi placed a hand on your knee, squeezing gently.
Your eyes widened, jaw dropping. “Santi, no. I can’t accept. That’s…that’s so much money. Besides, I have…stuff I need to do here. Doctors appointments and…things.” You attempted to come up with any excuse in the book to refuse Pope, but he saw through your ruse. You didn’t want to leave Frankie alone and he knew it.
“I’m sure I can distract Fish here for a few weeks while you take some time for yourself, darlin. Ain’t that right, hermano?”
You watched the two men traded stern looks, Frankie’s cold and menacing look from yesterday morning returning as he glared at the other man. You reached for Frankie’s arm then, giving it a squeeze. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Not without you.”
Frankie’s mouth opened a few times as he hesitated to say something. Finally, he reached for your hand and squeezed as he said, “Pope’s right. You deserve a break after all you’ve done for me. You should go for your birthday, hm?”
“I’ll think about it, how about that?” You looked between them, hoping to satisfy their conspiracy. “I’m not sure what the two of you are up to, but it’s not any good. Now give me that remote, mi amor, so I can kick Pope’s ass in Mario Kart like I promised.”
Frankie laughed, a hearty laugh that had him bent over, leaning into your shoulder as he cackled. The brim of his hat hit the side of your neck, but you hadn’t minded. You hadn’t seen Frankie laugh like this in months.
It made you want to pull him into you by the collar of his shirt and kiss him senseless. But you couldn’t do that, not anymore.
—
After you bid the men goodnight and wandered off to bed, Frankie and Santi headed out to the balcony, each with a beer in hand as they sat. The men were silent for a while, taking in the sounds of the crickets, cicadas, and grasshoppers under the night sky.
Frankie fiddled with the wrapping on his beer bottle, tearing it off piece by piece, the bits falling onto his lap haphazardly. He sat waiting for Pope to say something, anything, like he usually did. But Santiago said nothing, leaving room for Frankie to speak if he was so inclined.
Once the beer wrapped had been demolished, Frankie had nothing left to ease his anxiety. He couldn’t stand the silence, not around Pope.
“I uh,” Frankie started, rubbing a hand up and down on his jeans, the other holding tightly to the beer bottle. “I got busted. It’s not a big deal…actually, it’s a big deal.”
Pope looked over at his friend, taking in his nervousness. “Coke?” Frankie barely glanced at him before he continued. “Jesus, Frankie.” Pope sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “What happened?”
Frankie let out a deep breath before relaying the last few years to his friend. How he thought he was doing alright, until he wasn’t. How you took him in and cared for him when he was at his worst.
“And you still don’t think she’s in love with you, hermano? Mierda Frankie, eres un idiota.” Santiago shook his head, grinning at his counterpart.
“Why would she take me back after all these years? All I’ve ever done is hurt her.” Frankie removed his hat, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t deserve her, I never have.”
“Well, maybe not, but she has never stopped loving you, man. If I was a stranger, I’d think the two of you were married already. She wouldn’t have taken you in if she didn’t care.”
Frankie sighed, rolling the hat in his hands. The thing had been through hell and back over the years, with a small tear in the fabric at the back and sweat stains on the inside. But it was his favorite hat, one you had given him in high school after the neighbor’s dog had chewed his Astros cap to hell.
“Listen,” Santiago started, breaking Frankie’s disassociation. “I’ll shut up about the whole thing, I will. But do me a favor and ask her out. I promise you, she’ll say yes.”
Frankie looked at his friend and nodded. “Okay. I’ll try. But you get to be the one to tell her about this bullshit recon mission.”
——
You sighed at the sound of your alarm in the morning, hitting stop but not moving from your spot in the bed. You’d be running on little sleep today after one of Frankie’s recurring nightmares kept the two of you up for the better part of the night. You laid in bed for longer than you should have, savoring the warmth of Frankie’s body as he slept beside you. When you finally dragged yourself out from under the covers, you readied yourself as quickly as possible before you woke him to say goodbye.
You sat on the edge of the bed, gently caressing his back as you whispered, “Frankie, I’m heading to work.”
He grunted softly, rolling over to face you. His eyes were still closed, but he reached for your touch. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled.
You clasped his hand in your own, raising your entwined hands to kiss his. “Sleep as long as you need to, mi amor. I’ll be home by 5 and we can head to the arena together, yeah?”
Frankie made a noise in agreement, eyes fluttering open. “You look beautiful today, girasol.” He smiled lazily up at you, giving your hand a squeeze as he spoke.
You blushed, looking away from him. “You say that every morning.”
Frankie sat up slowly and pulled you into his lap on the bed. “That’s because you are beautiful every day, and I’ll keep telling you that as long as I live.”
“Frankie…” you started, dipping your head in embarrassment. Your cheeks burned red, the room suddenly too hot. “I’ve…I’ve got to go to work.”
“I know, I’ll let you go in just a minute.” Frankie squeezed your hips gently, just watching you.
In the comfortable silence, you took in the man before you. His hair had gotten long, the ends curling around his ears and forehead like they had when you were younger. His beard had grown longer too, a few grey hairs littering his jaw around the patches. You loved the patches, though they were one of the spots he was most insecure about. You ran your thumbs over them, fighting the urge to place kisses on the bare skin.
“What are you thinking about?” Frankie inquired, squeezing your hip again.
“How old you’re getting,” you smirked.
Frankie groaned, leaning into your touch. “Don’t remind me, Hermosa.”
“The greys look good on you honey. I’m admiring them.” You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead before you moved to stand. “I really have to go to work now, though I wish I could stay in bed with you all day.”
“One week, yeah?”
“One week,” you smiled, walking backwards to the door. “I love you.”
“Te quiero mucho mucho mucho girasol,” Frankie replied, watching as you waved one last time and closed the door behind you as you left for the day.
You arrived at fight-night later than you had anticipated, just barely making it inside as Benny was climbing into the cage. Will, Santiago, and Frankie were already seated in the front, where you joined them and took the still full beer from Frankie’s hands. You assumed Santi had given it to him to “loosen him up,” but you weren’t willing to risk Frankie’s sobriety over a solo cup of cheap beer.
As you took the cup from his hands, Frankie gave you a thankful look and nudged your shoulder with his own. He could never say no to his friends, but you sure could. You waved to Will from where you sat before turning to watch Benny land a punch on his opponent.
The other fighter got a few good punches in, making you swallow the shitty beer in your anxiousness, but eventually Benny prevailed and was declared the winner. Your group erupted in cheers and as Benny came down from the cage, he ran right to you and hoisted you into his arms.
“Always my good luck charm, sunshine.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, twirling you around.
You laughed, holding tightly to his shoulders. When he stilled, you tapped him lightly to let you down. “That was all you, Ben, believe me.”
You returned to Frankie’s side and nudged him gently. His jaw was clenched, eyes looking hard into the distance. The jealousy radiated off of him in waves.
“Hey,” you said softly, grabbing his attention. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”
Frankie nodded slightly, reaching for your hand as you led the way out of the crowded room.
Ever since he introduced you, Frankie had been envious of the way Benny effortlessly flirted with you and touched you openly. The younger Miller was flirty by nature, but he had a certain soft spot for you. He also knew Benny meant no harm by it, but it still irked the older man, though he had no claim to you.
You weren’t his girlfriend, or his wife. You were his best friend, nothing more.
-
As the night wore on, the five of you returned to your apartment, celebrating Benny’s win. The younger man complained about the lack of alcohol in your apartment until he was kicked in the shin by his brother and given a stern look. When Santiago offered to run and grab a six pack, you glared at him and threatened to hide his car keys when Frankie was out of earshot.
“I’m not letting any of you destroy his sobriety, so help me god. Take a fucking soda and piss off.” You shoved a cola can into Pope’s hand before you retreated to the living room toward Frankie.
“What movie are you picking?” You inquired, sliding a hand across his back as you drew closer.
He held two dvds up to you - Grease and Gone in Sixty Seconds - and shrugged. “What do you think?”
You laughed lightly with a shake of your head. “I think we both know what movie I would pick. It’s your night to decide. Better pick quickly before one of them gets too impatient.”
Frankie smiled at you and shuffled over to your DVD player, setting Grease in the DVD slot before clicking it back into place with a press of a button. “For you, mi amor,” he offered, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he retreated to the kitchen.
The guys brought the snacks you’d prepared out to the living room, setting them on the coffee table in front of the other furniture before claiming their seats throughout the room. Santi and Benny paired up on the couch, each on a different end of the sofa. Will took up residence in the recliner, his usual spot on nights like these. That left you and Frankie on the loveseat, comfortably squished together. Frankie rested his arm over the back of the cushions, opening up his chest for you to lean against.
You all sat and watched the movie quietly for some time, you mumbling the lyrics under your breath, body wiggling in time to the music. It took everything in Frankie’s being to keep his cock from hardening at your movements, his body tense behind you. Suddenly, you were up and pulling at his arm, a grin on your face.
The opening notes of “You’re the One That I Want” played in the background as you tried to move him from the sofa. “Frankie c’mon, it’s our song!”
Your eyes pleaded with him, your hand soft in his own as you tugged at him. He blushed crimson as the other men whooped and hollered at him, begging him to get up and sing with you.
“Do it Fish, c’mon now!” Benny cheered, nudging Frankie with his foot.
“Alright, alright,” Frankie conceded, joining you at the front of the room just as the song started in earnest.
Frankie faltered over the first few lines, but by the chorus, you were both in sync. You danced back and forth across the room, hands never leaving the other’s. Having sung this together since childhood, you even knew some of the choreo from the movie, Frankie hanging on your every movement. He was a little slow in remembering some of the steps, a product of getting sick since returning from service, but you accommodated him as you moved, helping him recover some of the lost memories.
As you dove into the second verse you grinned as he sang to you, the rest of the world falling away.
“I better shape up,” he sang, a grin sitting upon his face as well. “‘Cause you need a man!”
“‘Cause I need a man,” you sang back, pulling him close to you. “To keep me satisfied…”
“I better shape up, if I’m gonna prove…” His arms wrapped around your waist, your bodies swaying together in time with the music. “...that my faith is justified…”
Frankie leaned impossibly close to you as you continued to sing, your hands coming up to rest on the back of his neck. By the end of the song, your noses were touching, breaths mixing together in the little space you had left between you. He could kiss you, your lips only inches from yours. But here? In front of the other guys? No, he couldn’t. It had to be special if he was going to make a move after all these years.
You pulled away reluctantly to reach for your water, face flushed and breath ragged. You smiled at him as you sipped from your glass, falling back down onto the sofa. The other men were cheering, hands out for high fives from their teammate as he followed you to your seats.
When Frankie sat next to you again, you leaned into his side, eyes focused on the end of the movie. As the credits rolled, he had you in his arms, thumb rubbing softly against your outer thigh. You sighed at his touch, barely registering as Benny changed the movie. By the 30 minute mark, you were fast asleep in his arms, Frankie glaring at his friends if they made too much noise.
You had to have been exhausted with what little sleep you had been getting every night from taking care of him. You needed the rest.
Will and Benny helped clean up the snacks and soda cans before their departure, bidding him a quiet goodbye as they left with promises to meet the next day about the recon mission Santi was pestering them about.
He had no idea how to tell you about it, and it was only days away. You’d be upset, disappointed even, not only at him but at Santiago for dragging him into the jungle once more. He was just getting better, he didn’t need this shit. But, the money Pope was promising would help you, and that’s what he cared about. He wanted to be able to pay off your student loans, do something to help you with this money after all you’ve done for him.
“Fish,” Santi whispered, pulling him from his thoughts. “D’you need help?”
“No, no. I’ve got it. Can you get the bedroom door open though,” he whispered back, shifting you into his lap to carry you to bed.
“Yeah, ‘course.” Santi moved toward the hallway and then stopped, turning back to his friend. “Hey Frankie?”
“Hm?”
“When we get home, you’re marrying her. Stop beating around the goddamn bush.”
Frankie nodded earnestly, your head shifting slightly on his shoulder as he walked toward your room. “That’s the plan, hermano.”
Warnings: Mentions of drug addiction, depression, anxiety, ptsd, trauma related to the military, angst, slow burn, jealousy, sobriety, soft!Frankie needs his own warning MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
A/N: The first part is here y'all!! I am so excited to share this with everyone. As always, please reblog, like, and comment - I would greatly appreciate the feedback! I hope you enjoy :) OH - and you'll need this video for reference when you get to the end of the chapter !
Four Months Later…
The apartment was quiet, save for the scraping of silverware on your plates. You and Frankie sat quietly at the table, eating without an ounce of conversation between you. Some nights it ended up like this, your energy spent from eight hours with six-year-olds, his at therapy.
When Frankie appeared on your doorstep high out of his mind four months ago, you made it your mission to help him get clean. You found an outpatient treatment program for him, a weekly NA meeting, and got him back with his psychiatrist and therapist.
He admitted that he was a few months behind on rent from losing his job and blowing his extra income on the coke, so you took money from your savings to pay his landlord before you moved him into your own apartment.
Frankie felt immensely guilty, constantly apologizing to you. He didn’t talk very often at first, the guilt and shame eating at him. He was a shell of the man you’d known your entire life.
You tried to keep your distance from him, physically, unless he asked. You didn’t want to smother or coddle him, though you often thought about wrapping him in bubble wrap and keeping him in your apartment so he could remain safe forever.
But once he got used to his new schedule and your presence, he gravitated toward you, constantly touching you in some way.
Frankie’s love language was touch, and he sure was good at it. If you were on the couch watching a movie, Frankie had you in his arms. If you were at the dinner table, his leg rested against your own as you ate. He had you between him and the sink as he did the dishes every night, or your body pressed against his while he folded laundry.
After too many nightmares on the couch, you coaxed him into your bed, which unlocked a new level of his affection. You’d slept in the same bed as Frankie many times, and in just as many sleeping bags while you camped during his time in the service, but this feeling was new.
You were always pressed flush against his bare chest, a tight hand around your waist as if he was afraid you’d leave him in his slumber. His breath tickled the skin on your neck and shoulder, a constant reminder of his presence.
The nightmares were the worst, but you handled them in stride. Whether it was screaming, thrashing, or thoughts that made him jump awake but remain silent in shock, you were there.
He’d completed treatment a few weeks previous, and now he was focused on getting his pilot’s license back. Frankie hated being dependent on you. Though you’ve been his best friend for 33 years, his mother and abuela had always taught him to take care of the women he loves, and he was chronically anxious over the fact that he couldn’t care for you the way you needed.
He wanted to do good by you, the way he should have 23 years ago. Before he pushed you away and ran straight into a war on the heels of Santiago. At first, he believed he was doing good, that him and his squad were serving the greater purpose. But the more killing they did, the less and less he believed in the orders they were given. They weren’t defending America, they were killing for sport.
——
Frankie had a habit of watching you when you weren’t paying attention. Like now, while you’ve gathered the leftovers of your meal into a container for your lunch tomorrow. The way you hummed quietly while you worked, how your shirt rode up as you reached for the container in the upper cabinet, revealing a sliver of your lower back.
You moved to the fridge, setting the leftovers inside and retrieved two cans of soda to enjoy during your movie. It was Frankie’s turn to pick the movie, and he’d settled early on with Jurassic Park. It was the first movie the two of you had seen in theatres together with your families in the 90s, and you both had begged to see it again and again after the first time.
As you finished, Frankie got up and moved toward the dishes in the sink. “You don’t have to do the dishes every night, y’know.” You took a step toward him, leaning into his side while he worked.
Frankie tapped your nose with his soapy hand, leaving a small pile of bubbles on your skin with a smirk. “It’s the least I can do, Girasol.”
You hummed, snaking an arm around his middle while he worked. The two of you stood there quietly, basking in the comfort of each other. Sometimes, he would talk about his therapy sessions, but you never pushed him.
Some days haunted him more than others, sending him straight to bed when he came home in the evening. On those nights, you ordered in and ate in bed, an old sitcom playing in the background. Sometimes, you read aloud to him, his head rested in your lap as you stroked his hair.
As he finished placing the last portion of silverware into the drawer, Frankie spoke. “I got uh, a text from Pope today. Said he’s coming to visit this weekend and wants to see everyone at Benny’s fight.”
Frankie held back the other part of the text from you, knowing it would upset you. Santiago shared a proposal for a recon mission in Colombia. He wanted the other men to check out the folder he’d attached with the plans. He needed four guys - and a pilot - of which Frankie wasn’t any longer. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, turning his attention back to you.
“Does he need a place to stay? I’ve got a blow up mattress around here somewhere. I can’t believe he didn’t text me.” You sighed, grabbing the sodas off the counter.
Frankie grabbed two glasses - your favorite ones with the Fish and Sunflower on them - and followed you to the couch. He settled next to you, taking the cans from your hands to pour the bubbly liquid into the cups.
“You should make him sleep on the couch, as punishment,” Frankie chuckled.
You laughed, taking a sip before you added, “you’re so right. I’m going to call him right now.”
You grabbed your phone and hit the call button on Santiago’s contact, settling your legs over Frankie’s lap while you waited. It rang for ages, to the point where the two of you thought Pope was sending you to voicemail.
Then, the line clicked. “Hola Hermosa,” Santi drawled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
You blanked for a moment, distracted by Frankie rubbing a thumb over your ankles. “Yeah, uh, hi. I heard you were coming into town. Funnily enough, I think my text got lost in the cloud somewhere.”
Frankie chuckled lightly, shaking his head.
“That you Fish? Shoulda known you’d tell her. I wanted it to be a surprise, mi amor. How many babies d’y’all have running around there now, anyways? Three? Five?”
“Pope,” Frankie growled.
“I kid, I kid,” Santi chuckled. “Seriously though, when’s the wedding? My invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.”
You sighed. “Santi, c’mon. I was going to offer you my couch.” You reached over to Frankie for his hand, squeezing gently.
The two of you never spoke of marriage or your relationship, not after he broke your heart and followed Santiago into the service, and especially not after what happened those few months ago.
You used to dream of it, wearing his abuela’s veil and your mother’s wedding dress. Frankie standing at the altar with Santiago by his side, beaming at you as you walked toward him. You’d wanted an outside wedding, full of sunflowers, violets, and daisies.
You would be kidding yourself if you said you hadn’t thought about it since then. You had. But you couldn’t get hurt again, it would be too painful. So you loved him from as far as you could. In the present moment, it wasn’t entirely very far. He was your best friend, you weren’t going to abandon him in his time of need. Once he was back on his feet, everything would go back to the way it was. That’s what you told yourself at least.
“Can’t take the spot on the other side of your bed, can I? You have a very nice mattress, sunflower.”
“Well I need that spot for my five children, don’t I?” You watched Frankie throw his head back in laughter, any anger toward Santiago dissipating.
“Very funny hermosa. Make sure Fish keeps that couch warm for me, yeah? I’ll be there Saturday morning.”
-
You carefully pulled yourself out of bed at the sound of Santiago’s knock on the front door. You glanced at the clock declaring it was 7:30 and sighed. Padding over to the closet, you pulled on your robe before heading to the front of the apartment to open your door.
Frankie hadn’t slept well the night before, his anxiety keeping him on edge the whole day and a memory haunting his dreams at night. You spent most of the early morning coaxing him back to sleep with quiet lullabies, lavender lotion, and soft touches. His nightmares had gotten better, but something about Pope’s visit flipped a switch in his brain.
When you came home from work, you’d found him rebuilding a Lego set he must have taken apart from its display on your shelf. Where he found the directions, you had no idea. A completed sudoku pad sat on the table next to him along with the Sunday paper’s crossword puzzle. His anxiety had kept him in overdrive all day, sending him into a spiral. You’d finally talked him into laying in bed with promises of delivered sushi and The Breakfast Club.
Santiago knocked once more as you were unlocking the door. You glared at him as you pulled it open, stepping aside to let him inside. “Please keep it down,” you whispered. “Last night was rough. He needs to sleep for a while longer.”
He nodded, pulling you into a hug. “How’re you doing, Sunny?”
You sank into his arms, sighing contently. “I could be worse. I’m so glad you’re here, you have no idea.”
“It’s not good, is it?” Pope pressed a light kiss to your forehead, pulling away to get a look at you properly.
Yawning, you shrugged. “He’s been better. Something happened yesterday, I don’t know what. He took apart the Taj Mahal Lego set while I was working and put the whole thing back together by the time I’d gotten home.” You shook your head, running a hand through your hair as you paused. “He was up most of the night too, woke up screaming and thrashing around one. I finally got him back asleep a couple of hours ago.”
Santi nodded, worry etched into his brows. “How are you doing? You need someone to take care of you too.”
“I’m okay, Santi. Really, I am. Frankie is my first priority.” You squeezed his shoulder lightly before turning towards the kitchen. “Do you want some coffee?”
“Please, gracias Hermosa.” Santi followed you into the kitchen, leaning against a counter as you worked.
You reached into a lower cabinet for a bag of grounds before spooning it into the filter. “I keep the caffeinated stuff in another spot so Frankie doesn’t get confused…the caffeine affects his anxiety, so he’s been drinking decaf for awhile now.”
“You really have thought of everything, haven’t you,” Santi commented. He watched as you shrugged, pulling mugs from another cabinet.
He took the liberty of glancing around the apartment then, taking in the small signs of how yours and Frankie’s lives have further intertwined since he last visited. Pictures of Frankie and the rest of their squad littered the refrigerator doors, held up by magnets he would bring back for you after any mission he could. Your fish and sunflower glasses sat on the drying rack, shoes scattered together by the front door. One of Frankie’s flannels hung on the dining table chairs, his favorite books next to yours on the shelves. He also noted Frankie’s record player in the corner of the room, vinyls organized neatly next to the table. Pope couldn’t clearly determine where you ended and Frankie began.
“So, do you have any plans while you’re here?” You turned, handing a mug to Santi.
He took a long sip, savoring the taste. “Not particularly, just hoping to catch up with everyone. Benny’s fight is on Monday, right?”
You nodded. “Yeah, Will is out of town until then. Benny might come over tomorrow for some game, but that depends on how Frankie is feeling. Try to take it easy with him, okay?”
Santi nodded. “Yes, of course. Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?”
“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d get all concerned and try to come up here. He’s embarrassed about it, Santi. He doesn’t want anyone else involved. Will and Ben don’t even know how bad it is.”
As if on cue, you heard a shout from down the hall. “Sunflower?? Honey, are you there?”
“I’m in the kitchen, mi amor. Don’t worry.” You pressed a finger into Santiago’s chest. Whispering, you said, “Don’t heckle him, please.”
“Never,” he said quietly. “Go help our guy, yeah?”
You gave him a small smile before heading back to the bedroom where Frankie was getting dressed.
You treaded softly over to him, putting yourself between him and the closet. “Are you sure you don’t want to sleep a little longer? You can stay in bed as long as you want, Frankie.”
He shook his head, reaching for his hat on your dresser. “Pope is here. I’ve functioned on less sleep than this.”
Frankie had a hard look in his eyes, but not menacing or irritated. It was the look he acquired when he compartmentalized things. He put a barrier up, shielding everyone around him from his problems. Another symptom of the military, a change in him you never expected. Frankie used to wear his heart and his mind on his sleeve. You could know exactly what he was thinking when you looked at him. But that Frankie went away the minute he stepped foot on foreign soil.
“Francisco,” you took his hands into yours. “You don’t have to be strong every moment of every day. You’re allowed to be in pain. Santiago’s in pain too, they all are. Hell, why do you think Benny jumps in front of fists every week?”
Frankie chuckled. “Hermosa, I think you’ve got the wrong idea about MMA.”
You shook your head at him, giggling lightly. “Don’t change the subject, Morales.” You moved your hands up to caress his cheeks, thumbs resting over the heart-shaped patches in his beard. His eyes softened in your embrace, smile growing wider.
Frankie wanted to kiss you then. Hell, he wanted to kiss you every moment of every day. But in this moment, it took every bit of strength he had not to. He glanced down at your lips as you spoke, internally kicking himself for entertaining the thought.
“Just,” you sighed quietly, eyes drifting to the floor. “Please, take it easy. Santi will understand if you need to slow down.”
Frankie nudged your hands with his chin, catching your attention. “I promise. Thank you for taking such good care of me, girasol.”
Sunday had been easy with Santiago there. Him and Frankie spent much of the afternoon playing Mario Kart in the living room while you watched from the kitchen table. It relieved you to see Frankie so relaxed with someone other than yourself.
It reminded you of your childhood, days where you sat in front of Santiago’s tv, watching him and Frankie take turns with Zelda or play Super Mario Bros together. They’d yell profanities at each other in Spanish when one of them fucked up, causing them to restart a level. You still remembered the feeling of Frankie’s laugh against your back when you laid against his chest while they played. You were small enough, and him tall enough, that he could see the controller over your shoulders, so he held you in his arms most of the time.
You joined in on the fun when your parents gifted you (and Frankie) a Nintendo 64 for Christmas one year. You would stay up too late every night during winter break playing with him, falling asleep together on the couch more than once.
You were never sure when the feelings started, but they never went away. Even as you watched him and Santiago from across the room, you felt them.
Frankie was your first kiss, your first time. Your first everything. And then he left, broke up with you like you were nothing to him, and followed Santiago into a war that destroyed them.
The person you discussed marriage and kids with had abandoned you, to “defend the country,” he’d said. You mourned him as if he died, the pain unbearable. It clawed at your heart, leaving you broken and gasping for air.
Your college years were spent in psychiatrists' offices, life dulled through pills and therapy. Frankie would call you on occasion, him and Santiago writing letters as well. You’d always pick up, unable to resist the sound of his voice.
It wasn’t until you stepped foot into a kindergarten class your sophomore year that you came alive again. You had always known you wanted to be a teacher, but you never expected 20 five-year-olds to turn your world upside down and change your life.
You were friends with some of them on Facebook now, so many years later. More than a few of them had sent you emails over the years too, some asking after Frankie and if he had gotten home okay. They were the sweetest humans you had ever met and you cared for them as if they were your own.
You were at the point in your life where the idea of having kids was slowly retreating from the version of life you had built for yourself. They only existed in your dreams now, with Frankie at the helm of them. A glimpse of the life you could have led if things were different.
Instead, you peered across the room at your two childhood friends as they bonded over lost time and competitive video games from your seat at the kitchen table where you were finishing report cards.
Frankie must have felt you staring because he turned toward you during a break in the game, beckoning you over. “Ven acá, cariño. You deserve a break.”
You got up slowly and made your way to the couch. “Only for a few minutes, I have to finish the report cards for tomorrow.” You sat between the two men on the couch, legs tucked underneath you.
“What’re your plans for summer break?” Santiago glanced over at you while Frankie fiddled with his Mario Kart vehicle for the thousandth time.
“I never made plans for anything, actually. I thought about going to New York or Chicago, but life got in the way,” you shrugged.
“You’ve still got time! I think that’s a great idea, Sunny. You deserve a nice, long vacation. I’ll even pay for your hotel, my treat.” Santi placed a hand on your knee, squeezing gently.
Your eyes widened, jaw dropping. “Santi, no. I can’t accept. That’s…that’s so much money. Besides, I have…stuff I need to do here. Doctors appointments and…things.” You attempted to come up with any excuse in the book to refuse Pope, but he saw through your ruse. You didn’t want to leave Frankie alone and he knew it.
“I’m sure I can distract Fish here for a few weeks while you take some time for yourself, darlin. Ain’t that right, hermano?”
You watched the two men traded stern looks, Frankie’s cold and menacing look from yesterday morning returning as he glared at the other man. You reached for Frankie’s arm then, giving it a squeeze. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Not without you.”
Frankie’s mouth opened a few times as he hesitated to say something. Finally, he reached for your hand and squeezed as he said, “Pope’s right. You deserve a break after all you’ve done for me. You should go for your birthday, hm?”
“I’ll think about it, how about that?” You looked between them, hoping to satisfy their conspiracy. “I’m not sure what the two of you are up to, but it’s not any good. Now give me that remote, mi amor, so I can kick Pope’s ass in Mario Kart like I promised.”
Frankie laughed, a hearty laugh that had him bent over, leaning into your shoulder as he cackled. The brim of his hat hit the side of your neck, but you hadn’t minded. You hadn’t seen Frankie laugh like this in months.
It made you want to pull him into you by the collar of his shirt and kiss him senseless. But you couldn’t do that, not anymore.
—
After you bid the men goodnight and wandered off to bed, Frankie and Santi headed out to the balcony, each with a beer in hand as they sat. The men were silent for a while, taking in the sounds of the crickets, cicadas, and grasshoppers under the night sky.
Frankie fiddled with the wrapping on his beer bottle, tearing it off piece by piece, the bits falling onto his lap haphazardly. He sat waiting for Pope to say something, anything, like he usually did. But Santiago said nothing, leaving room for Frankie to speak if he was so inclined.
Once the beer wrapped had been demolished, Frankie had nothing left to ease his anxiety. He couldn’t stand the silence, not around Pope.
“I uh,” Frankie started, rubbing a hand up and down on his jeans, the other holding tightly to the beer bottle. “I got busted. It’s not a big deal…actually, it’s a big deal.”
Pope looked over at his friend, taking in his nervousness. “Coke?” Frankie barely glanced at him before he continued. “Jesus, Frankie.” Pope sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “What happened?”
Frankie let out a deep breath before relaying the last few years to his friend. How he thought he was doing alright, until he wasn’t. How you took him in and cared for him when he was at his worst.
“And you still don’t think she’s in love with you, hermano? Mierda Frankie, eres un idiota.” Santiago shook his head, grinning at his counterpart.
“Why would she take me back after all these years? All I’ve ever done is hurt her.” Frankie removed his hat, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t deserve her, I never have.”
“Well, maybe not, but she has never stopped loving you, man. If I was a stranger, I’d think the two of you were married already. She wouldn’t have taken you in if she didn’t care.”
Frankie sighed, rolling the hat in his hands. The thing had been through hell and back over the years, with a small tear in the fabric at the back and sweat stains on the inside. But it was his favorite hat, one you had given him in high school after the neighbor’s dog had chewed his Astros cap to hell.
“Listen,” Santiago started, breaking Frankie’s disassociation. “I’ll shut up about the whole thing, I will. But do me a favor and ask her out. I promise you, she’ll say yes.”
Frankie looked at his friend and nodded. “Okay. I’ll try. But you get to be the one to tell her about this bullshit recon mission.”
——
You sighed at the sound of your alarm in the morning, hitting stop but not moving from your spot in the bed. You’d be running on little sleep today after one of Frankie’s recurring nightmares kept the two of you up for the better part of the night. You laid in bed for longer than you should have, savoring the warmth of Frankie’s body as he slept beside you. When you finally dragged yourself out from under the covers, you readied yourself as quickly as possible before you woke him to say goodbye.
You sat on the edge of the bed, gently caressing his back as you whispered, “Frankie, I’m heading to work.”
He grunted softly, rolling over to face you. His eyes were still closed, but he reached for your touch. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled.
You clasped his hand in your own, raising your entwined hands to kiss his. “Sleep as long as you need to, mi amor. I’ll be home by 5 and we can head to the arena together, yeah?”
Frankie made a noise in agreement, eyes fluttering open. “You look beautiful today, girasol.” He smiled lazily up at you, giving your hand a squeeze as he spoke.
You blushed, looking away from him. “You say that every morning.”
Frankie sat up slowly and pulled you into his lap on the bed. “That’s because you are beautiful every day, and I’ll keep telling you that as long as I live.”
“Frankie…” you started, dipping your head in embarrassment. Your cheeks burned red, the room suddenly too hot. “I’ve…I’ve got to go to work.”
“I know, I’ll let you go in just a minute.” Frankie squeezed your hips gently, just watching you.
In the comfortable silence, you took in the man before you. His hair had gotten long, the ends curling around his ears and forehead like they had when you were younger. His beard had grown longer too, a few grey hairs littering his jaw around the patches. You loved the patches, though they were one of the spots he was most insecure about. You ran your thumbs over them, fighting the urge to place kisses on the bare skin.
“What are you thinking about?” Frankie inquired, squeezing your hip again.
“How old you’re getting,” you smirked.
Frankie groaned, leaning into your touch. “Don’t remind me, Hermosa.”
“The greys look good on you honey. I’m admiring them.” You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead before you moved to stand. “I really have to go to work now, though I wish I could stay in bed with you all day.”
“One week, yeah?”
“One week,” you smiled, walking backwards to the door. “I love you.”
“Te quiero mucho mucho mucho girasol,” Frankie replied, watching as you waved one last time and closed the door behind you as you left for the day.
You arrived at fight-night later than you had anticipated, just barely making it inside as Benny was climbing into the cage. Will, Santiago, and Frankie were already seated in the front, where you joined them and took the still full beer from Frankie’s hands. You assumed Santi had given it to him to “loosen him up,” but you weren’t willing to risk Frankie’s sobriety over a solo cup of cheap beer.
As you took the cup from his hands, Frankie gave you a thankful look and nudged your shoulder with his own. He could never say no to his friends, but you sure could. You waved to Will from where you sat before turning to watch Benny land a punch on his opponent.
The other fighter got a few good punches in, making you swallow the shitty beer in your anxiousness, but eventually Benny prevailed and was declared the winner. Your group erupted in cheers and as Benny came down from the cage, he ran right to you and hoisted you into his arms.
“Always my good luck charm, sunshine.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, twirling you around.
You laughed, holding tightly to his shoulders. When he stilled, you tapped him lightly to let you down. “That was all you, Ben, believe me.”
You returned to Frankie’s side and nudged him gently. His jaw was clenched, eyes looking hard into the distance. The jealousy radiated off of him in waves.
“Hey,” you said softly, grabbing his attention. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”
Frankie nodded slightly, reaching for your hand as you led the way out of the crowded room.
Ever since he introduced you, Frankie had been envious of the way Benny effortlessly flirted with you and touched you openly. The younger Miller was flirty by nature, but he had a certain soft spot for you. He also knew Benny meant no harm by it, but it still irked the older man, though he had no claim to you.
You weren’t his girlfriend, or his wife. You were his best friend, nothing more.
-
As the night wore on, the five of you returned to your apartment, celebrating Benny’s win. The younger man complained about the lack of alcohol in your apartment until he was kicked in the shin by his brother and given a stern look. When Santiago offered to run and grab a six pack, you glared at him and threatened to hide his car keys when Frankie was out of earshot.
“I’m not letting any of you destroy his sobriety, so help me god. Take a fucking soda and piss off.” You shoved a cola can into Pope’s hand before you retreated to the living room toward Frankie.
“What movie are you picking?” You inquired, sliding a hand across his back as you drew closer.
He held two dvds up to you - Grease and Gone in Sixty Seconds - and shrugged. “What do you think?”
You laughed lightly with a shake of your head. “I think we both know what movie I would pick. It’s your night to decide. Better pick quickly before one of them gets too impatient.”
Frankie smiled at you and shuffled over to your DVD player, setting Grease in the DVD slot before clicking it back into place with a press of a button. “For you, mi amor,” he offered, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he retreated to the kitchen.
The guys brought the snacks you’d prepared out to the living room, setting them on the coffee table in front of the other furniture before claiming their seats throughout the room. Santi and Benny paired up on the couch, each on a different end of the sofa. Will took up residence in the recliner, his usual spot on nights like these. That left you and Frankie on the loveseat, comfortably squished together. Frankie rested his arm over the back of the cushions, opening up his chest for you to lean against.
You all sat and watched the movie quietly for some time, you mumbling the lyrics under your breath, body wiggling in time to the music. It took everything in Frankie’s being to keep his cock from hardening at your movements, his body tense behind you. Suddenly, you were up and pulling at his arm, a grin on your face.
The opening notes of “You’re the One That I Want” played in the background as you tried to move him from the sofa. “Frankie c’mon, it’s our song!”
Your eyes pleaded with him, your hand soft in his own as you tugged at him. He blushed crimson as the other men whooped and hollered at him, begging him to get up and sing with you.
“Do it Fish, c’mon now!” Benny cheered, nudging Frankie with his foot.
“Alright, alright,” Frankie conceded, joining you at the front of the room just as the song started in earnest.
Frankie faltered over the first few lines, but by the chorus, you were both in sync. You danced back and forth across the room, hands never leaving the other’s. Having sung this together since childhood, you even knew some of the choreo from the movie, Frankie hanging on your every movement. He was a little slow in remembering some of the steps, a product of getting sick since returning from service, but you accommodated him as you moved, helping him recover some of the lost memories.
As you dove into the second verse you grinned as he sang to you, the rest of the world falling away.
“I better shape up,” he sang, a grin sitting upon his face as well. “‘Cause you need a man!”
“‘Cause I need a man,” you sang back, pulling him close to you. “To keep me satisfied…”
“I better shape up, if I’m gonna prove…” His arms wrapped around your waist, your bodies swaying together in time with the music. “...that my faith is justified…”
Frankie leaned impossibly close to you as you continued to sing, your hands coming up to rest on the back of his neck. By the end of the song, your noses were touching, breaths mixing together in the little space you had left between you. He could kiss you, your lips only inches from yours. But here? In front of the other guys? No, he couldn’t. It had to be special if he was going to make a move after all these years.
You pulled away reluctantly to reach for your water, face flushed and breath ragged. You smiled at him as you sipped from your glass, falling back down onto the sofa. The other men were cheering, hands out for high fives from their teammate as he followed you to your seats.
When Frankie sat next to you again, you leaned into his side, eyes focused on the end of the movie. As the credits rolled, he had you in his arms, thumb rubbing softly against your outer thigh. You sighed at his touch, barely registering as Benny changed the movie. By the 30 minute mark, you were fast asleep in his arms, Frankie glaring at his friends if they made too much noise.
You had to have been exhausted with what little sleep you had been getting every night from taking care of him. You needed the rest.
Will and Benny helped clean up the snacks and soda cans before their departure, bidding him a quiet goodbye as they left with promises to meet the next day about the recon mission Santi was pestering them about.
He had no idea how to tell you about it, and it was only days away. You’d be upset, disappointed even, not only at him but at Santiago for dragging him into the jungle once more. He was just getting better, he didn’t need this shit. But, the money Pope was promising would help you, and that’s what he cared about. He wanted to be able to pay off your student loans, do something to help you with this money after all you’ve done for him.
“Fish,” Santi whispered, pulling him from his thoughts. “D’you need help?”
“No, no. I’ve got it. Can you get the bedroom door open though,” he whispered back, shifting you into his lap to carry you to bed.
“Yeah, ‘course.” Santi moved toward the hallway and then stopped, turning back to his friend. “Hey Frankie?”
“Hm?”
“When we get home, you’re marrying her. Stop beating around the goddamn bush.”
Frankie nodded earnestly, your head shifting slightly on his shoulder as he walked toward your room. “That’s the plan, hermano.”
Warnings: Mentions of drug addiction, depression, anxiety, ptsd, trauma related to the military, angst, hurt MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
Author's Note: Hello everyone!! I am so excited to share the first part of my Frankie Morales series! I have been working on this idea for over two years, and I am so nervous for it to see the light of day. Please reblog and comment with your thoughts, or feel free to send me an ask!
Everything I Know Leads Me Back to You Masterlist
He hadn’t meant for it to get this bad, but god his sinuses hurt. He sneezed, and then again, before refilling the humidifier next to his bed. He’d just gotten his nose to stop bleeding again, the skin above his mustache aching and dry from the constant rubbing.
He grabbed the Vaseline from his nightstand, rubbing the thick gel over his dry skin on his face before he climbed back into his bed. The sheets scratched at his skin, a smell emanating from them. He couldn’t remember the last time he had washed them.
Frankie sighed, glancing at the bag of coke sitting on his nightstand. He glanced away just as quickly, ashamed of himself.
It was only meant to be recreational, something to take the edge off after he got shot the second time. He needed something to escape the thoughts, the demons.
He had it all under control, until he didn’t.
The cravings increased ten fold once he got out. The nightmares had gotten worse, plaguing his sleep every night.
A therapist diagnosed him with PTSD and gave him some kind of medication for the anxiety and something for his sleep, but Frankie was impatient. He wasn’t willing to wait a few weeks for the medicine to work through his system, he needed relief now.
At first, it was a couple of lines a week, something to take the edge off and keep him awake so he wouldn’t have to face his demons.
He tried to quit a few times over the next few years, once even using vacation days at work to put himself in a treatment center. But he always went back, surrendering to the high.
Someone reported him at work. Who it was, he had no idea. He only did lines at home, never while on the clock. And yeah, maybe he was high a few times on a shift, but he never compromised any one’s safety.
They ran a drug test, and that was that. The FAA suspended him, took his pilot’s license, pending review.
He’d dug himself into a hole with no way out.
He no longer had a reason to leave the house, so he didn’t, unless he was meeting with his dealer. He stayed in bed most of the time, black out curtains closed. He barely ate, almost always takeout. He couldn’t remember the last time he went to the grocery store, or whether he’d taken a shower that week.
All he knew was the coke.
-
The air was heavy around him, the humidity making his clothes cling to him uncomfortably. The ground squished as he walked, the area muddy and slippery from a recent rainstorm.
Pope flanked his left side as they approached the target location. Three hostages, 15 hostiles. The Millers approached the building from the opposite side, taking out hostiles as they went.
Frankie’s rifle felt heavy in his hands, a tactical backpack weighing him down as he walked. Something felt wrong, he couldn’t shake it. He’d been here before. Panama, he thought.
Pope walked ahead of him, shooting enemy men as he went before smashing in the door between them and the hostages.
Frankie realized the problem then. Two of the hostages sat dead, tied to wooden chairs in the middle of the room. Single bullet sounds to the skull.
The third hostage sat in the middle of the room, crying as she was held by her hair. Frankie glanced quickly at the man holding her head, a gun pressed to the side of her cranium, before his eyes fell down to her face.
His stomach dropped. It was you. You were the third hostage.
He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. His finger moved to the trigger, gun pointed right at the man’s head.
You sobbed against the gag in your mouth, voice muffled but crying out for him. The man pulled against your hair again, pressing the gun further into your skin.
“Don’t,” Frankie warned. He hesitated with the trigger, afraid of what would happen to you if he took the shot from here.
“You hesitate too late,” the man muttered, pulling the trigger.
-
“NO!” Frankie shot up in bed, screaming your name. Tears streamed down his face, sweat covering every inch of his skin.
He pressed his palms into his eyes, body wracked with sobs. He had to call you, make sure you were okay.
Hands shaking, he reached for his phone and dialed your contact as quickly as it could. He hoped your ringer was on, though it was sometime in the middle of the night.
When you didn’t answer, Frankie pulled himself out of bed and into a pair of jeans before he ran out the door and drove the few miles to your apartment.
-
A continuous knock rang out, waking you from a deep slumber. Groaning, you sat up and took a look at the clock.
4:04 AM.
Who in the hell was knocking on your door at four am?
You slid out of bed, searching for your slippers in the dark. The floor was cold, making you shiver as you walked around your bedroom. When you couldn’t find them, you sighed, pulling on your robe to meet whoever was at the door.
But when you swung open the door, you weren’t expecting your best friend to be the cause of the noise. “Frankie?”
Frankie pushed past you, walking into your apartment while he muttered to himself. He looked like hell. Eyes bloodshot, dry blood crusted under his nose from a nosebleed, hair damp from sweat. He smelled disgusting, as if he hadn’t showered in days.
He walked around your apartment aimlessly, hands tugging at his hair. “Girasol, I love you.” He looked at you then, tired brown eyes peering at your own.
“I love you too, mi amor. What’s going on?” You took a step toward him, but he took a step back. You held your hands up in a quiet surrender, searching for answers on his face. “Frankie?”
“No, you don’t understand. I love you; I’m in love with you. We…we can go to Mexico right now, like I promised. We can get married, just like we talked about when we were kids.” He rambled on, spewing memories that only brought pain to you.
“Frankie, what are you doing here?”
He walked over to you and fell to his knees in front of your frame, hands gravitating to your hips. “Marry me.”
“Francisco, this isn’t funny. Get up,” you muttered, trying to pull him off the ground.
“Funny? I’m not jokin’ cariño. Please,” he begged, hands pulling away from your frame to dig through his pockets. “I’m sure I’ve got something-“
Frankie froze as a bag of white powder fell from his hands. The room stood still as the coke hit the floor of your living room, silencing him. Your eyes widened, the realization hitting you. The man in front of you was suffering far deeper than you could have imagined.
Within seconds, you sprang into action. You lowered yourself to the ground in front of him, holding his head gently in your hands. “Let’s get you in the shower, yeah?”
He nodded slightly and you grabbed his arm, tugging him up and then down the hall to your bathroom. You sat Frankie down on the toilet and reached to turn on the shower head so it could heat up while you worked.
You grabbed a towel from the hall closet before digging through your dresser for some of Frankie’s old clothes. He hadn’t worn the shirt or sweats in years, but you hoped they would still fit him.
When you returned to the bathroom, Frankie was still sitting on the toilet, staring silently at the wall in front of him. You sat everything down on the counter before making your way to stand in front of him.
You tugged his shirt off gently, whispering thank yous with every movement. You helped him stand, undoing his shoes and removing his socks before you moved to his pants.
“You’re going so great, Frankie. We’re almost there.”
He made a small noise of acknowledgment, holding onto your shoulders for balance as you helped remove his pants and boxers.
You’d seen him naked years ago, when things were simpler between you, but you averted your eyes as best you could to keep a semblance of privacy. Once finished, you helped him into the tub and under the warm water flowing from the shower head. Placing a washcloth into his hands, you pressed a light kiss to his cheek before pulling the curtain back.
“Call for me if you need help, okay?”
“Thank you,” Frankie mumbled, almost inaudible over the sound of the shower.
You quietly slipped out of the bathroom, closing the door gently behind you. You leaned against the wall next to the door, knees giving out as you slid to the ground. Your head fell into your hands as you crumbled, body shaking with sobs.
Summary: DEA needs results fast, and for that, they need more people joining forces. An agent as rare as diamond goes to Bogotá and starts working with Peña and Murphy. Only if she knew that Escobar would be the least of her problems.
Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader
Notes: Thats my first time writing a fic, i hope everyone likes it! English is not my first language and it been a long time since i wrote something like this, so if you see any mistakes please feel free to tell me!! Also, sorry for the Spanish!!
Tags: AFAB reader, enemies to lovers, age gap, eventual smut, violence, misogyny, stalking, i'll add more in the future as the fic goes!
tangentwithtanner
blakekathryn
andulkaphoto
turnnoffyourmind
areudirty
