Frankie stirred the pasta without looking at him.
She didn't cook often-too many years of ready meals and ration bars-but tonight had required something warm. Something that didn't feel like survival.
Bob sat at the small table across from her, absolutely silent... but twitching with the kind of anxious energy only a man trying not to annoy someone could radiate.
She glanced over.
He smiled.
She blinked once, unimpressed.
"You always this jittery or is it just me?"
Bob straightened. "I just don't want to... you know... be a problem."
She dropped a spoon into the sink with a loud clang.
"If you were a problem, you wouldn't still be breathing."
He blinked. "Reassuring."
They sat in silence as she served a plate and shoved it toward him. He blinked down at the food like he'd been handed a live grenade.
"Thanks," he said.
Frankie leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him like she was assessing a science experiment.
"You always this polite?" she asked.
Bob shrugged. "I panic when people make eye contact, so... yes."
She actually snorted.
Quiet, but real.
Bob lit up like a light bulb.
"You laughed."
"I didn't."
"You kinda did."
Frankie stared at him. Hard.
"Eat your food, Reynolds."
He nodded, smiling as he dug in.
And when she sat at the other end of the table-far, but not as far as before-neither of them said anything else.
But it was... not terrible.
For once.
YOU ARE READING
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...
