Frankie watched Bob like he was a security threat she hadn't classified yet.
Bob stood near the bunker's kitchen, fidgeting with a tea kettle he clearly didn't know how to use. She didn't move-just leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, head tilted.
"You're still here," she finally said.
He looked up. "Yep."
"You could've died."
He shrugged. "Kinda always could."
She blinked once. "You have an anxiety disorder, don't you?"
Bob nodded. "Yep."
Frankie sighed. "Great."
Silence stretched again as he finally gave up on the kettle and settled for water. She moved past him, opened a cabinet, and grabbed a protein bar without looking at him.
"You touch any of my knives, I'll replace your fingers with spoons," she said casually.
Bob smiled a little. "That seems... inefficient."
"You've clearly never fought with cutlery."
He watched her from the corner of his eye. "You don't really hate people. You just don't know what to do with them."
Frankie froze for half a second.
"Keep guessing and we'll find out what I do know how to do."
Bob nodded. "Copy that."
They didn't talk after that, not for a while. But when Frankie moved to the command console, she didn't stop him from pulling a chair beside her.
Not close.
But not far, either.
And when she activated her surveillance again?
She didn't bother hiding the screen from him.
BINABASA MO ANG
Code Name: Untraceable
FanfictionShe's not on the roster. She's not in the system. She's not even supposed to be alive. Every mission the Thunderbolts run, she's there-appearing out of nowhere, tearing through enemies like a storm, then vanishing without a trace. One time? Coincide...
