#queensbishop

                  Frank can’t help but be drawn to her - like a moth to light, he can’t resist. So he doesn’t try. Long arms wind around Bonnie, hands resting at her upper and lower back, holding her as tightly, as warmly as he can. He pauses a moment, before exhaling.

                      “  I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”  comes Frank’s reply, a cheeky grin lighting his face up. He moves over to her, hand settling on her side and lips pressing to her temple.

        Hunched over a stack of paperwork, shoulders tensed and hand on head. He’s more than accustomed to finding her like this. He doesn’t like it, but he wouldn’t change it without her express permission.  He can help her in this moment though, at 2:14am on a Sunday morning.  

     His fingers start at her shoulders, thumbs pressing against the knots between blades and moving down gradually.  He doesn’t speak -- actions are louder -- as he works, but his message is clear enough.

MURDER MOM IS HERE

       She’d asked him for self-defense tips. He’d always assumed she’d known how to use it, but the fact she’s asked wither means she’s in need of a refresher, or that he’s wrong.  

   He’s taught her how to escape multiple holds, how to hurt her attacker enough to give time for escape — how to raise the alarm throughout all of these methods. Now, they’ve descended into play-fighting and they’re both smiling. LAUGHING.  It’s ended with him atop her, hands wrapped loosely - never tightly - around her tiny wrists. 

                           She’s had such a rough time lately, that he isn’t surprised when she comes home to him and curls into his arms. He’s become accustomed to it & is slowly realising how much he ( selfishly ) likes it. Frank pulls her in closer, though not so close he’s trapping her - he knows better than to do that - and rests his hand on the back of Bonnie’s head.  He doesn’t ask what’s happened - she’ll talk if she wants - and instead, presses a kiss to her forehead.

         Does she know how frightened he was? How he’d thought he’d lost her, how he worried that she’d done something to hurt herself while he hadn’t been there— how he’d failed her again.  But she hadn’t — she’d been in his bed, waiting because she hadn’t wanted to be alone. Truth be told, nor did he – he wants her here with him. Wants her safe. He wants her to know how much he cares for - loves  - her.  Now that she’s asleep beside him, Frank feels a little freer to let himself go (just a little).

     She’s lost someone she loves, though, so now isn’t the time. As he holds her tight to his body, Frank tips his head down to her shoulder and exhales. She’s safe. She’s here. She’s alive. He lifts his head again, this time to look at her. To press his lips to her temple. To tell her how much he loves her.

                         “ Only a little. “ Frank’s telling the truth, he’s only had one drink so far.  He reaches up for another glass, pouring them both a whiskey. God knows they’ve needed it this week.