Heart of Steel ~ Winn Schott

Boys Like You

(March 2016 - 5 months later)

"And now, we head to our reporter on the scene, Austin Miles. Austin..."

Frankie picked her way through the shoes and coats lying on the floor, determined not to step on anything that wasn't hers.

"Thank you, Charlie. It's been almost a year and a half since the attack from the Red Saturnian the government is calling 'Jemm,' and we haven't seen any city-wide disasters since then. Most are relieved, but I'm here with some of the hardworking officers at the NCPD's thirteenth precinct here on Walker and they've got other ideas."

She shrugged her bag off her shoulder, grateful to lose the weight.

Brad must have left the tv on by accident, but she suspected that when you lived in an apartment like this one, the electricity bill probably wasn't too much of a worry. Even her keys seemed oversized, but that was logically ridiculous.

"Yeah, we're obviously really grateful that nobody's dying and all that, but we're just trying to do our jobs and a certain alien vigilante with a little too much time on her hands is making that difficult."

"Are you saying that Supergirl is leaving you with too little to do?"

"Austin, that's exactly what I'm saying. I get that she must be bored, but-"

Frankie scowled at the tv, reaching for the remote to turn it off. The NCPD still left a sour taste in her mouth and listening to them complain about Supergirl wasn't doing anything to make the feeling any sweeter.

She counted a few empty bottles lying around but neglected to clean them up. It would only be a matter of time before they were replaced, the whole endeavour was pointless.

Her old apartment was an expense she'd very quickly been unable to accommodate, and it felt like nobody in the National City metropolitan area was hiring. Or nobody wanted to hire her specifically, which, after so many interviews that never really seemed to go anywhere and pointedly vague feedback, seemed like the far more likely option.

And so, Brad had soon offered up a place in his penthouse; apparently moving in together had been the next logical step in their relationship anyway if she had read his messages right. At the time, Frankie had agreed readily, grateful for an easy option out of a problem that should have been far more difficult to solve. The rent she paid was non-existent and any grocery or general household purchase she tried to make was swiftly vetoed by any number of flashy credit cards in increasingly deliberate performances of nobility that had, more than once, ended in a heated argument.

She'd grown up in a household with a mother who, despite being one of the most academically respected and well-paid bioengineers on the west coast, was incredibly stingy (or maybe immensely polite was the better way to put it.) Brad was filthy rich and a self-proclaimed gentleman and no matter how much Frankie explained it simply refused to understand why she found it ever so wildly insulting that he couldn't even let her pay for her own fucking tampons. Only now, she wasn't sure how much longer she could afford to argue her case.

Only until you get a job. It was a nice thought, but she refused to wonder any harder about how true it actually was.

Leaving her bag on the marble counter, Frankie made her way to the sofa, already pulling out her phone. It had been on silent during the interviews, but now, as she turned it on, it started to explode with messages at a rate that she'd only seen a few times in her life.

The first few all seemed to be from Brad wishing her luck in job hunting, but the rest came from Kara, Alex, Winn and even Eliza. She didn't have the heart to open them. They'd all be about the same thing anyway.