Full Summary: Frank Delfino deals in lies and secrets and shady misdeeds. His job is to uncover the truth and help Annalise win cases by whatever means necessary, and often this role takes him to back alleys, seedy motels and places where there are few souls worth saving. Luckily, that's not a problem for Frank. Nothing he's seen has ever stopped him from getting the job done.
That is, until he meets 'Lola', a young stripper with enchanting blue eyes…
An S1 AU in which Frank and Laurel meet in less than ideal circumstances.
Author's Note: Okay so I was re-watching season 1 and this idea kind of popped into my mind. It is essentially an AU version of episode 1x01 which tells a different story of how Laurel might have become a member of the K5 if she had a different background and different circumstances than in canon. I've taken some creative license but it does actually stick pretty close to canon and follows 1x01 very closely. It's probably only a few steps away from being total crack fic and it's a bit weird but please just go with me and I promise flaurel fluff and a classic murder case in the style of S1 HTGAWM. If that makes sense and you're still going to read this story then kudos to you. And if you like it then please leave a review for me :)
It's the same routine every year.
Annalise scares the new freshmen witless with her questions, calling them out by name, grilling them as good as she would a hostile witness. Frank sits at the side of the room with Bonnie, the two of them diligently playing the good little stooges though they've seen it all before, year after year. Frank scans the crowd for a likely hook-up, thinks to himself that the students have never looked so young before. How long will it be, he wonders, until he stops himself from doing this? Some of these girls have got to be approaching a whole decade younger than him now. Then again, he reasons, sometimes that's what makes the sex so damn good.
"Frank." Bonnie's low voice is a warning, like a caution to a dog.
He shoots her a side-eye and a charming smile. "What?"
She merely rolls her eyes in response, lets him know that she's so on to him.
Frank chuckles and looks away again, eyes finding a lean pair of pale legs that seem to go on forever before disappearing under a short skirt that Frank imagines sliding his hands underneath and…
The sound of his name being called snaps him out of his dangerous daydream.
"…Frank and Bonnie. They know me better than I know myself so use them well."
That's their cue so they stand, Frank gives his usual spiel about stupid questions – he hates having to field the idiotic students and their ridiculous queries – and then redirects to Bonnie.
And that's the introductory lecture to Criminal Law 100 over for another year, thank God.
Frank and Bonnie wait while Annalise wipes the board clean and the students clear out, tails between their legs and fear on their faces. Once the three of them are alone, Annalise approaches her colleagues. "Where are we at on the Dryden case?"
"I'm meeting with his wife at 12 to go through her questions for the stand," Bonnie replies.
"Frank?" Annalise asks without looking up from a file she's flicking through. "The alibi?"
"I've got a lead, I'm looking into it this afternoon."
Annalise finally looks up at him, meets his eye. She assesses him for a moment, silently acknowledges that his lead was probably not acquired legally and then nods, dismisses him, doesn't want to know more than she has to. "Great, I'll see you both later, then."
And that's that. This is what Frank does. Frank Delfino deals in lies and secrets and shady misdeeds. His job is to uncover the truth and help Annalise win cases by whatever means necessary, and often this role takes him to back alleys, seedy motels and places where there are few souls worth saving. Luckily, that's not a problem for Frank. He has his connections formed over years in juvie, and then in jail, and now it's just second nature to get the information he needs to get his job done.
That is why, a few hours later, Frank parks up a few blocks away from the most infamous strip joint in town in hunt of Richard Dryden's alibi.
Richard Dryden is a new client of theirs. He's a professor of biology at Middleton, a well-respected man, a man whose record is squeaky-clean. Or whose record was squeaky-clean. Now, he is about to go on trial for murder. A few months earlier, a friend of Dryden's had been found stabbed to death. The police investigation later found that this friend had been sleeping with Richard's wife, providing him with a motive. Then, police found a receipt in Dryden's car; he had purchased a butcher's knife the day before the murder. It had looked shut and dry to Frank but God knows Annalise likes a challenge and so she had taken on the case. Now, Dryden's entire case seemed to hinge on Frank's task of obtaining the alibi.
From day one, Richard had insisted – swore on his mother's grave – that he had an alibi for the night of the murder. The only problem had been getting that alibi out of him; he hadn't wanted his wife to know where he'd been. When he had finally broken the day before, Frank had had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at what a cliché alibi Dryden had been protecting.
As he gets out of the car and begins walking to the non-descript building, Frank wishes the alibi had been something – anything – else. He's visited many depressing places in his lifetime but none, he thinks, come close to the few times he has had to frequent a strip club in the middle of the day. The Pink Flamingo is just as grim as he'd expected for mid-afternoon on a Tuesday. Thumping music plays through a loud speaker and the club is empty apart from a couple of dirty, old men staring stupidly at a scantily-clad girl. Frank watches the blonde for a moment too long before approaching the bouncer.
"I'm here to see Mr Parks," he says.
"Appointment?" the bouncer grunts at him.
"Sure. Tell him Kevin's here to see him, he's expecting me."
The bouncer nods and disappears behind a red curtain for a short moment before he reappears and gestures for Frank to go through.
Frank ducks behind the curtain, follows the dank corridor to an office where he finds the middle-aged man he's had a handful of dealings with in the last few years.
"Kev, good to see ya'," the man greets with a toothy grin. "What can I do for ya' this time?"
"I spoke to you on the phone the other day," Frank responds, sticking his hands deep in his pockets. "I need to talk to Lola."
Mr Parks laughs, nods knowingly. "Ah, yes. Our new girl. She's a beauty tha' 'un."
"You told me she'd be here now. Is she?"
"She might be…"
Frank sighs, realises what the man is waiting for. He digs in his pocket and withdraws his wallet, hands over the two hundred bucks he'd taken out for this exchange. "Is she here?"
"She sure is. I'll take you to a private room now and she'll join you shortly."
Frank follows the other man down the corridor and into a private room, its only contents a large red chaise-long and a single table with a bowl of condoms on top. Mr Parks says his farewells and then leaves Frank alone, awaiting Lola.
They have an agreement, Frank and Mr Parks. For a fee, Mr Parks will tell him which of his clients have slept with which of his girls and then allow Frank to question the girl in a private room. It works because they both maintain a high level of discretion. Mr Parks knows that his real name isn't Kevin, as Frank knows that Mr Parks is an alias, as well. But they operate a don't ask, don't tell policy and it works. And besides, sometimes Frank gets more than just answers in his private rooms.
It's been a while, though, since he's needed to come here. But Dryden named this girl, Lola, as his alibi, so Frank needs to convince the girl to take the stand and tell the judge and jury that she was with Dryden that night if they're going to win this case. Sometimes this is easier said than done.
Frank waits. He chooses to stand; as appealing as the chaise-long appears, Frank's not sure he wants to sit, knowing what he does about what goes on in these rooms.
After a few moments, the door opens and the new girl – the beautiful one – enters, pulling the door shut behind her.
Frank can't help himself; his eyes drop to take in the girl's body. Her breasts are contained in a red lacy bra, real, he thinks, the breasts she was born with; the flat planes of her stomach look soft, delicate, inviting; matching red panties barely leave anything to the imagination; and her legs… her legs go on for days, weeks, years… stretch down to where her feet are held in red stilettos, the sexiest shoe known to man.
He bites his lip to contain a groan.
"You wanted to see me, Sir?" the girl asks, her voice quiet but confident, and the sound of it goes right through him.
Frank takes a deep breath, shakes his arousal aside; he's here for business first. Then… well, that's for later. "Yes." He looks up at the girl's face; her head is down, eyes on the floor, face obscured by a mass of dark, wavy hair. Playing the quiet submissive. "I need to talk to you."
Her head lifts at that. "Talk?" Then, her eyes meet his and they are pale blue, glass-clear water, striking and remarkable. When she sees him, her mouth opens slightly, and a breath falls from her lips as her eyes widen with surprise. "No." She turns away. "No, I don't want to talk to you."
But Frank reaches out, grabs her wrist before she can run away. He pulls the girl back to him, turns on the charm. "Just for a few minutes, beautiful."
She looks at him, dark eyebrows drawn into a glare and fire in her eyes. But, beneath the fire, is recognition, and Frank ponders this for a moment, wonders where he's met her before for her to know him so instantly. So he asks, "Do I know you?"
The girl purses her lips, hesitates, and then shakes her head. "No. Clearly you've never seen me before in your life."
Frank sighs, doesn't know why she's being so difficult. "Look, I've paid for my time, you just gotta talk to me for a couple minutes, 'kay? An' then I'll tip you, I'll make it worth your while."
Lola doesn't respond so Frank continues. "I need to talk to you about a man called Richard Dryden." He reaches into his back pocket and takes out a photograph, a mugshot. "He may have used a different name when he came to see you, but he was one of your first clients here, according to your boss." Frank passes the image to the girl. "He claims to have been with you for three hours on the night of July 2nd. It was a Thursday. Can you back up his story?"
She stares at the photo for a moment and then those cutting eyes flick back to his face. She looks agitated now, annoyed. "Yes," she says, but her voice is clipped, "but I know why you're here and I'm not going to take the stand."
Frank's surprised at her words; few of the strippers he's met can put two and two together that fast, even the smart ones. "You do know me, then," he observes. "You know what I do."
"I don't know Mr Dryden outside of that one night, which he paid me for; I don't care what happens to him. I'm not helping you."
Frank stares her down. "So… what was it? Did we sleep together? Hook up at a bar? Look, I'm sorry if I never called you, I'm just not that kinda guy."
The girl scoffs. "I can assure you I have never slept with you, and I certainly never will."
Frank objects to that. His grip tightens on her wrist. "Look, I'm payin' for this time with you. I can do what I want and if I wanted you to sleep with me, then you would fuckin' sleep with me and, trust me, you'd like it, too. Lucky for you, that's not what I'm here for. I'm here to get an alibi for Mr Dryden. So give me what I need or face the consequences."
She laughs once, soullessly, sarcastically. Seemingly ignoring the increasing pressure on her wrist, the girl leans in, goes toe-to-toe with Frank and narrows her eyes. "You're a misogynistic ass," she murmurs darkly, and, in that moment, she looks surprisingly menacing for such a small girl. Then, she kicks him sharply in the shin, the toe of her shoe hurting more than Frank cares to admit. It shocks him for a moment and his grip on her wrist loosens just enough for her to pull herself free and get to the door. She turns back to look at him for a moment. "If you paid the least bit more attention to peoples' faces, then you'd know exactly why I can't help you. So screw you and your case, Frank," she spits his name and then she yanks the door opens and leaves Frank alone in the private room, without an alibi and without a clue about what just happened.
It's not until much later on that he remembers that he never told the girl his real name.
First thing the next morning, and after a whole host of inappropriate dreams about Lola, Frank meets Annalise at the prison where Dryden is being held. The evidence against him is too water-tight for him to meet the high bail the judge set so they can only meet here.
"Tell me you have good news," she snaps the second she sees him.
Frank sighs and his lack of immediate confirmation tells Annalise all she needs to know.
"Nothing?" She stares at him in disbelief. "What am I going to tell my client?"
"Look, I'm workin' on it. I just need a bit more time to convince the kid to take the stand."
"But she confirmed the alibi?"
Frank nods.
"Great," Annalise mutters and her sarcastic tone is out of step with her words. "At least we know he's telling the truth." She walks off towards the door, waits to be buzzed in and then follows the guard through, heels clacking noisily.
Frank strides after her, pace quick. "What? I thought you said you knew he was innocent."
"I suspected, Frank," she replies sharply. "I never know. And it hardly matters. I took his case because he's a friend and I needed a challenge. I get bored."
Frustrated, Frank grits his teeth but wisely says nothing.
When they get to the private room, Richard is already waiting for them, a level of hope clear in his eyes that makes Frank nervous. He looks, Frank thinks, like every other well-off, middle-aged, white man does when they first encounter any kind of trouble: surprisingly frail, overweight but like his body is hanging on his skeleton, an un-ironed outfit draped on a coat hanger.
"So?" Dryden asks immediately, hands straining at the cuffs. "Am I gonna be okay? Can I go?"
Annalise shoots Frank a look that he can clearly read as 'this is what your useless ass makes me do', and then sits opposite their client. Frank quietly sits beside her.
"Richard," Annalise starts softly, "we are doing everything we can but we're not out of the woods just yet. My associate Bonnie is prepping your wife to take the stand as a character witness, and Frank here is still working on your alibi…"
The man's urgent attention turns to Frank. "Did you find her? Lola?"
Frank knows better than to answer him.
"Mr Dryden-" Annalise starts.
"Stop with that, Annalise. It's Richard."
"Richard. We are working on your alibi as we speak."
"So you haven't found her then?"
"I didn't say that, Richard."
His head falls into his hands. "But you said that this – my alibi – this is what will save me. You said you needed it." He lifts his eyes to look between them. "I'm not stupid, I get it. I've got a motive, I've got access to the murder weapon, but I swear I didn't do this. That's why I gave you my alibi. I… This could ruin me, Annalise. If they found out that I was with that girl."
"If who found out?"
"Middleton." He hesitates and then adds, "She's a student."
Annalise frowns. "The stripper's your student?"
"Not my student, I don't think, but a student at the university for sure, I saw her on campus. I could get fired. My wife would almost certainly leave me…" He stops, looks alarmed. "Have you told her? Have you told Mandy where I was?"
Annalise shakes her head. "Not yet. If we get the alibi ironed out, then we'll have to tell her so it's not a shock when she hears it on the stand."
Richard sighs, nods, absorbs. Then he clears his throat and his voice is quiet when he speaks, "The point is, I'm risking a lot telling you about this." He looks at Frank, eyes desperate and urges him, "Please, please find her. You gotta come through with this."
"Mr Dryden," Annalise says, automatically returning to more formal address, "we will do everything in our power to get your alibi ready for trial. If we don't then we will find another way. Don't worry; I won't let you go away for a crime you didn't commit."
When they're outside the prison, Annalise turns to Frank. "You've got to get that girl to testify." She digs in her purse, pulls out her cell.
"I will, I'll go back now an'…"
But Annalise is shaking her head even as she types furiously on her cell phone. "You have to go later."
"Why?"
"I took on a new case. Our new client is coming to the house in an hour to tell us her version of events, her witness statement, and I need you to be there."
This confuses Frank because usually Annalise can handle this kind of thing alone. "What d'you need me for?"
"All the 1Ls are coming to hear her story and come up with a defence."
Frank can't hold back his groan. "Again?"
Annalise shrugs. "Saves me from doing all the heavy lifting for once." She raises her eyebrows at Frank, and the implication is clear. Then she stalks off, leaving Frank determined to prove that he can do the heavy lifting, too.
He calls Mr Parks on the way to the Keating house, but has no luck.
"Sorry, Kevin, she's not here."
"How much?" Frank demands. "How much to get her in?"
"It don't work that way. She comes when she comes." The man chuckles at the double entendre.
"Can you give me a phone number?"
"You know I can't."
"I'll pay you. What d'you need? Three? Four?"
Mr Parks hums on the other end. "Make it six. Bring me six hundred by the end of the day and I'll give you the number I have on record. No guarantee it's her real number though, I ain't tried it yet."
"That's fine. I'll come this evening." He hangs up the line and then pinches the bridge of his nose. Damn stupid stripper girl. The chances that it will be a fake number are as high as the cost of getting the number, but Frank knows he's got to try something. And besides, if they win Dryden's case, the legal fees will more than cover it.
An hour later, the house is chaos. There are naïve, idealistic students all over the place, chattering about the case and full of misplaced enthusiasm. Frank fucking hates it.
"I fuckin' hate this," he mutters to Bonnie as he watches a typical frat boy boast about some of the cases he's seen his judge father preside over.
She smirks at him. "I know." Then she shrugs. "But at least they'll come up with a plan for us."
Internally, Frank rolls his eyes at how easily Bonnie laps up Annalise's bullshit. "Yeah, if they don't all fuckin' suck."
Bonnie just cocks her head in a gesture that shows her indifference.
When the doorbell sounds, Bonnie leaves to answer it, ushering the client in through the throngs of students to the strategically-placed seat in the middle of the room. Frank had read her file as he ate his lunch; some secretary accused of attempted murder because she supposedly gave her boss medication he's allergic to. He's seen it a million times before, knows exactly how Annalise is going to play the case without having to listen to these children make up their own far-fetched strategies.
Just as Annalise is explaining how it's going to work, the doorbell sounds again. Hoping it's some sales pitch he can pretend to be interested in to get him out of this shit, Frank hurries to answer it.
But it's not a sales rep.
On the doorstep of the Keating house stands a girl, a head shorter than Frank with dark wavy hair framing her face. She looks up to meet him and her eyes are morning fog, they are cloudy ice water, they are pale blue, and they are shockingly familiar.
Frank's heart drops into his stomach and his mind spins out of control, wondering how this mysterious girl has managed to find him and what does she want from him if she won't fucking testify?
He opens his mouth to say something – though he really isn't sure what – but she beats him to it.
"Hi, sorry I'm late." She looks him directly in the eye, stands tall and firm. "I'm here for the client consult."
Frank stares dumbly at her, the pieces falling into place. "You're a 1L?"
"Yes." The girl nods, raises her eyebrows sharply. "Are you gonna let me in?"