Notes: In this, the gang is about twenty years old.
This chapter is dedicated to Nina (the tumblr user formerly known as frankybluerichards) because she wanted minky fic for Christmas and also my girlfriend because she encourages me to keep writing when I feel like it's all shit. I hope you two don't mind sharing a Christmas present. Beta'd by the lovely, genius aphrodite_mine.
Franky's first impression of the girl is a terrible one. She's that type of attractive where you know she knows it and you know she's used it as an excuse to be utterly useless, for starters. Throughout the entire snatch-and-grab-and-run process, all she does is stand around and gape and then scream her bloody little head off and struggle madly. And when they've finally gotten back to headquarters and she's finally stopped screaming her head off, well, the impression is not much improved. She's belligerently (and probably deliberately) unhelpful, shrilly insistent that she doesn't know anything, and extremely whiny about how she was kidnapped 'for no reason whatsoever.' Except being in the middle of a party at the home of a 'suspected' bioweapons trader holding a file of extremely incriminating information, Franky adds in her head, waiting. She's the very picture of impatience, arms crossed and her foot tapping. The girl keeps glaring at her - good. It would have all went off without a hitch if she hadn't been there, seeing Franky's face and grabbing up what Franky was after.
Then again, it has been awhile since she'd had to covertly drag a girl kicking and screaming out of a party so it's good to know she can still do that. And, while it is very entertaining watching the girl squirm, handcuffed to the cold metal chair, Franky did have other plans tonight, and she isn't buying the innocent act - the dress this girl is wearing is proof enough she is not innocent - so she's pleased she is at least ruining this girl's night back.
Rich steps back and sighs, and Franky rejoices a little that he's given up on getting any valuable information. She straightens, "Are we done with her?"
"For now," Rich nods, "but she can't go back there."
"I know. Safe house?" She'd expected that. Witnesses to any of Blood's crimes were extremely few and far between and therefore precious to them and dangerous to him, no matter how much or how little they actually know. The safe house is only a little out of her way, and then she could be done for the day, go back to -
"You can't take her there. Look at her, she'd trick Alo into letting her out in a heartbeat," Rich says, effectively murdering Franky's daydream. 'She' makes a vaguely horrified face - Franky isn't sure what exactly she's horrified about.
"So it'll be his problem then."
"Nope. She's your problem, you brought her back." There's a hint of amusement around Rich's eyes, the most there has been in months, and Franky hates him a little bit for it.
"I had to!"
"And now you have to look after her."
"Excuse me," the girl starts, and they both look at her, surprised, "No one has to look after me, I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself, if you'll just let me go..." After all the fighting and the screaming and the scratching (Franky rubs the marks on her arm gingerly) it's a little impressive, the switch to calm and calculating.
If it weren't so obvious she were trying to play them, anyways.
Franky groans - he's right, Alo would be putty in this girl's hands. This is the part of the job Dean was most looking forward to, and instead he is off investigating serious things in other countries and she's here, babysitting a beauty queen.
"How am I supposed to get any work done?" Franky gripes, gathering up her things.
"Oi!"
Rich shrugs, "Find a way to make it work. You have before. Or, better yet, take a break from going on missions. After-"
"I'm not going 24/7 guard shift." Franky cuts him off, glowering.
"You could use a vacation."
"You think she'd be a vacation?"
"Still here! And you don't even know me!" The girl bursts forth angrily, "And I'm not going anywhere with any of you."
"Afraid you are," Franky replies, giving up. She yanks on her coat and he's down to unlock the cuffs. She meets the girl's eyes - and then freezes for a moment. She hadn't noticed the girl's eyes before - they're the most startlingly - Sunday-morning-stay-in-bed-all-day blue, mesmerisingly so, and it catches her off guard. She wasn't prepared for her eyes to be so deep. The rest of her seems so shallow.
The girl blinks, "Are you having an episode or something?"
Franky stands up, slightly disappointed, although she isn't sure why. "No. I'm tired, let's go."
"I'm not-"
Franky gives her a look, "You weren't leaving the party either, but I got you here, didn't I? And I really wouldn't mind dragging you out of here, princess."
She sniffs, but she shuffles out of the room obediently enough, and she only tries to run once on the way to the car. (Her dress makes it rather impossible, although it does create a fairly - interesting view.)
She - Mini - is still whining and rubbing her wrists when Franky lets her into the apartment. She shuts up for a couple minutes while she looks around, and the silence is blissful; Franky's head is pounding. It's the first piece of quiet since she begrudgingly introduced herself in the car, like Franky cares - like Franky should care what her name is. First piece of quiet, that is, until Mini breaks it. "This place is shit."
Franky bristles, "I don't stay here often." She should defend it, shouldn't she? He decorated this place, so if she defended it, she'd be defending him - but she isn't sure if she wants to defend him anymore, and if she's completely honest, she hates this apartment. She only stays because - She shakes her head, cutting off that line of thought.
"What's the point of having an apartment you don't live in?" The girl is still talking.
"Hostages," she deadpans.
She expected a little fear at that. Instead, Mini turns, serious, "Is that what I am?"
"No," Franky sighs, "For now, you're - protected."
"So, I've been abducted, restrained, interrogated, and now I'm being held against my will, in a crappy apartment, all for my own protection from my best friend's father. Is that really what you expect me to believe? Am I really supposed to buy that he's doing all these terrible things you and your friend said?"
"I don't actually care what you believe," Franky locks the padlock on the inside of the front door, carefully slipping the key down her sleeve so that Mini can't see what she's done with it, "But the interrogation was for our benefit. The rest is for yours. You'll see the proof, eventually." She waves mockingly at Mini, and disappears into her bedroom, calling over her shoulder, "The couch is all yours."
"I need some sort of pajamas!" Mini shouts back. There is, unsurprisingly, no answer. She eyes the couch - it's hideous, but it doesn't look too uncomfortable, and at least there's already a pillow and blanket. She can't think about anything beyond that, not now, it's all too insane. At least this is a fantastic lack-of-control exercise, she thinks sarcastically, her therapist would be so proud.