FRANK'S FACE FELL faster than a corpse in steel boots.
In an instant his skin became greyed, his mouth hung with lips slightly parted and his eyes were as wide as they could stretch. There wasn't even a point in reaching for his gun. There must have been eight well armed assailants at the very least.
He had nothing to protect him but empty words and his badge.
They had always been good enough up until now but somehow he didn't think it was going to work this time. Why would it? It hadn't protected him last time.
The fear sat deep in his chest like a pillow over his mouth and nose. Enough air got by it, allowing his body to keep functioning, but it was crippling all the same.
Frank's body felt stiff as he tried to plead his way out of this, he just wanted it to be gone. He didn't care if the cost was his life, he just couldn't deal with the pressure in his bones and the breath caught in his throat- his heart ramming inexplicably fast as he felt himself crumble, one brick at a time.
Frank jolted awake.
His cheeks felt raw and irritated as he felt the dried tears across them, his body shifting so that his face wasn't nestled in his pillow. Did he... Did he try to suffocate himself in his sleep?
The thought made a shiver run down Frank's spin as he sat up as quick as he could. He threw the blankets off of himself as he carefully lifted his leg that had a cast on it, wincing as he did so. The doctor had been telling him to keep it elevated when he slept, but he often forgot and wasn't all that bothered to if he were honest.
Frank switched on the lamp by his bed, leaning against his headboard as he let out a heavy breath. He knew he should go to the bathroom to rinse his face, maybe even to the kitchen to drink some water... but he couldn't find it in himself to move himself off of his bed.
He glanced down at his shaky hands, he felt as if someone had poured gasoline onto the spark of fear in his gut.
Ever since he had gotten shot, Frank had been getting terrible nightmares. Not even nightmares, they were fucking insufferable tremors that made him want to gauge his eyes out.
His hands formed fists as he shut his eyes tightly, now far too scared of himself to even remotely fall back asleep. Scared of not just his dreams but the fact that he had nearly suffocated himself in his sleep.
It had only been a week since he had been on medical leave, and Bob had even taken time off work to help him. It was embarrassing, but sometimes Frank needed help getting in the shower with the cast or even getting into bed without hurting himself.
It made him feel weak and like a fucking pussy, but Bob had insisted he was happy to help. That didn't make it any less humiliating though.
The only okay thing in his life right now was that Gerard did sometimes come by to keep him company. It was rare though, it had only happened twice in the last week, and although it had been awkward at first it made Frank feel a lot less on edge to see Gerard's familiar face.
Though he hadn't told anyone about his dreams, not Gerard, not Bob, and definitely not his therapist Dr. Orzechowski. It wasn't as if he even needed a therapist, but he had been forced into going to departmentally mandated therapy sessions after Hurley somehow convinced him to at least try them.
He knew he didn't need them though, he just needed time.
This was all just a small default, it was a small disease in his mind that had manifested in his hands as a pistol. It was that genocidal impulse that was always in the homonids, the impulse that love cures and indifference magnifies. So he saw the gun as a poison to both him and the little sanity he had left.
Frank had seen a bigger goldfish eating at a smaller one. First it had pecked at the scales until the smaller one was kind of naked and vulnerable to infections. That was how the fear of himself was getting to Frank- it was taking bits of his sanity and defences at a time.
It always came in waves; what he should have done or said differently, what he shouldn't have done at all. He couldn't seem to undo it, he couldn't seem to even pretended he did anything right that night he got shot. All he could do was try to forget it all.
Frank jumped when he heard a notification on his phone light up the dim room, his hand coming up to wipe his face again as he lazily grabbed his phone.
He sighed when he saw it was a message from Bob, who he knew was just in the other room.
you alright?
Frank's eyebrows furrowed as he typed out a reply, his eyes still burning not just from sleep but from the bright light of his screen.
i'm fine
why'd you ask?
i heard you talking in your sleep
what did you hear?
dunno man
you just sounded scared
Frank sighed, rubbing his face again as he set his phone aside, not bothering to reply to Bob.
He grunted as he shifted back down in a laying position. He reached over to switch off the lamp letting darkness engulfed the room.
The darkness swirled around his curled form on the bed, tendrils of inkling bleak reminding him of his solitude. The silence echoing in his ears was the constant white noise that never shut up. His head swam in the fire burning inside, the only smoldering embers of a time where there had been other presences with him. But now the void had been slowly filled with a cold, howling storm of fear that refused to ever let up.
Frank felt completely and utterly alone in his room. In his mind. And even soul. Though most of all, at that moment, Frank felt entirely alone in the world.
✩ ✩
The egg yolk sun poured through the cracks in the blinds and awaited entrance into Frank's lazy eyes. His sight still in the clutches of the night's glue as he hesitantly rubbed the dreams off of them. Visions of his sleep came and went in waves, trying to cling onto the very last memory of the night but with little success.
Eventually Frank just rolled over on his side, ignoring the pain his cast was applying to his sensitive right leg. His deep cut hadn't fully healed yet, though it was definitely easier to handle than his cast. He had already become accustomed to the routine of bandaging it up and disinfecting it when necessary.
Frank managed to sit himself up after a few minutes of somber silence.
Frank let out a disappointing noise when he realised he would have to wait for Bob to wake up for work to help him get to his wheelchair. Usually Frank didn't like using it and just stayed on the couch all day, but today he wanted to get out to maybe see the park or something. Anything was better than being locked inside all day with absolute fuck-all to do.
He also hated being alone and bored because more often than not that would be when his buried emotions would surface and he would scratch at his hands until they were raw.
So instead, Frank waited for Bob to come in his room. Naturally he wasn't happy that he hadn't really gotten used to getting out of bed by himself, but he didn't want to accidentally do something that could hurt either of his legs.
Though as he sat there, time seemed to flow like cement. He checked his phone for the time. A minute had passed since he last checked an hour ago, or so it seemed. Sitting there with nothing to stare at but a wall with chipped cream paint was excruciatingly dull and there was no telling when Bob would wake up.
He began to drift into an unpleasant daydream or was it a paranoid fantasy? It was hard to tell but Frank didn't really care. It helped pass the time and he wasn't one for entertaining himself with optimism.
He struggled to think with used emotions that had no substance because they were flat and drained, like a used tea bag. But alas, he had to work with what he had.
"Frank?" Frank's attention snapped to Bob who was putting on his black jean jacket that he usually wore to the tattoo parlour.
"Hey." Frank mumbled, he voice still velvety and deep with sleep, "Could you help me?"
Bob smiled reassuringly at him and nodded, walking further into the room, "We going with crutches today?"
"No I-I want to go out today and I haven't practiced with the crutches yet." Frank muttered.
Bob nodded, pulling the wheelchair from the corner of the room and placing it next to Frank before gently helping him onto it.
Frank winced when he accidentally touched his stab wound, but relaxed when he was seated in the chair.
"Thanks." He murmured, receiving only a pat on the head.
"Don't worry about it, Frankie." Bob smiled as he slowly pushed Frank to the kitchen.
Once they were there Frank gently rolled his way to the counter where Bob had left a piece of French Toast for him.
"You sure you're okay going out by yourself today?" Bob asked wearily as he glanced at Frank.
Frank rolled his eyes as he spoke through his mouthful of toast, "'M fine."
"Don't speak when you're chewing, it's fucking nasty," Bob said for probably the millionth time since him and Frank had become friends.
"S'rry." Frank smiled mockingly as he once again spoke through his food.
Bob rolled his eyes, "Where abouts you going out today?"
Frank shrugged, swallowing his mouthful before speaking for once.
"That park next to that coffeehouse on Fourth." Frank replied, taking another bite.
"Oh, okay. Well, maybe you could ask one of your friends to go with you..." Bob said quietly, making Frank raise an eyebrow.
"Why?"
"Because, Frank, I think it would be a lot easier for you. Besides a little company never hurt anyone." Bob smiled, he grabbed his keys from the counter before turning towards the door.
"Call me if you need anything!" He called out before leaving, and Frank didn't bother replying as he finished off his food.
And it was only after Bob left that Frank realised, he hadn't helped him get changed like he usually did.
Well, Frank thought. Shit.
✩ ✩
Frank nearly jumped out of his skin when his phone rang, his hands almost immediately going to pick it up as he answered Lindsey's call.
He wouldn't say this was a rare occurrence seeing as Lindsey had made it a habit to call him once a day, but it always caught him off guard. In all honesty, he had been expecting her to just stop doing it after the first few times, but she never did.
"Hey asswipe, how's it going?" Lindsey asked, and Frank paused the movie before replying.
"It's... going." Frank said quietly, making Lindsey laugh.
"Oh listen, I was trying to call Gee earlier and this weird motherfucker picked up- turns out he got a new phone a while ago and returned his to the store." Lindsey said absently, like it was a small detail not even worth mentioning.
But to Frank, it was like sunlight against his skin.
He tried to shrug it off though, naturally, because he didn't fucking need Lindsey on his ass about wanting Gerard's number.
"Oh, right," He said, "Could you... send me his real number then?"
Frank could feel her smile through the phone, "Why do you want it, Frankie?"
Frank rolled his eyes, "Fuck off."
"Let me leave the call first jeez," Lindsey giggled, making Frank roll his eyes again.
"Fine, fine, I'll send it to you, you thirsty motherfucker." Lindsey mumbled, and Frank felt his phone ding against his ear, making him feel a small spark of adrenaline in his bones.
"Okay I gotta go, Hurley needs me." Lindsey said, and Frank made a small noise of acknowledgement.
"See you, Linds." Frank muttered, and hung up before she could even begin to question the nickname he hadn't used for her since his first year as a detective.
The moment they hung up Frank immediately scrolled through his phone to find the numbers she had sent him. He didn't even know why he wanted to call Gerard so badly in that moment, but he supposed hearing the man's nasally voice would maybe make him feel less like horses shit.
Once he had saved the numbers in his contacts, he took in a deep breath.
He clicked the call button.
After the first four rings, a voice picked up.
"Hello?" The voice answered, and Frank felt himself relax when he realised that this time it actually was Gerard.
"Hey, it's um, it's Frank." Frank said quietly, trying and hopefully succeeding in his mission to sound just the least bit casual. And not like
he had been looking forward to hearing his voice since he had woken up that morning.
"Oh, hi." Gerard said, his voice going a few octaves higher due to his initial surprise Frank assumed. "You okay?"
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," Frank said slowly before clearing his throat, "Listen, I don't know if you're... doing anything today, but I was sort of hoping maybe you'd,"
Frank took in a deep breath, "Want to go to the park with me?"
There was a small silence on the other side of the phone, leaving Frank to assume Gerard was against the idea completely. He couldn't blame him; it was a random thing to ask someone on a random Thursday afternoon. And Frank himself hadn't even realised he was up for doing that until his mouth made that call for him.
"O-okay, sure. That'd be nice." Gerard said softly, making a small smile stretch across Frank's face.
"Okay," Frank whispered, waiting for Gerard to say something else.
"Do you want me to come by to help you with anything?" Gerard asked gently, his tone a lot more airy than usual.
Frank looked down at his pyjama clad body, knowing that it would be way too fucking awkward to ask Gerard to help him change. Though he did know that he would get to the park a lot quicker if someone was pushing him seeing as he wasn't too great at the whole rolling thing yet.
"Um, sure yeah. I could use a bit of help... getting there." Frank said awkwardly, receiving only a small laugh in return.
"Alright, well, I'll be over in a bit then." Gerard said, and Frank found himself nodding absently even though he knew Gerard wouldn't be able to see it.
"Okay." Frank said for what felt like the billionth time.
And he had to say that when they hung up, Frank found a hopeful smile staining his lips.
★ not edited ★