Frank thought he was alone in the house. It was late, and he was berating himself for forgetting to take Annalise's recorder with him when he left. At least he'd remembered in time.
She was out, at some fundraiser or something. Frank didn't handle her calendar anymore so he didn't bother keeping track of her. He was happy to leave that up to her new secretary who, incidentally, looked way better in heels and a pencil skirt than he did.
Since the accident three years before, Annalise disappeared a lot more often. Frank figured if he didn't know where she was, or was supposed to be, he wouldn't have to think too hard about what she was doing. That night her absence was a good thing, because it meant he could get in and out, fix his fuck up, and she'd be none the wiser.
Except as he was at Annalise's desk grabbing the damn recorder, he heard something. He drifted toward the hall, then closer to the doorway of the kitchen, listening intently as two voices became clear.
"I can't—"
"Shhh. You're okay. Just breathe."
Frank risked peeking around the corner and saw them. Sam had his back turned, too focused on the girl he had pressed up against the kitchen island. He was kissing her neck, mumbling reassurances, and Frank felt a flash of anger go through him.
It wasn't the cheating. God knows Frank had been a two-timer more than once in his life, so he had no moral qualms about somebody's husband getting a little on the side.
But this wasn't just somebody's husband. This was Annalise's husband, and Frank couldn't let that asshole do her this way. (Didn't matter what Annalise was or wasn't doing on her own time. Frank knew where his loyalty was.)
He was about to say something when he realized the girl was looking at him over Sam's shoulder. Her expression confused him for a second. At first, it seemed like she was panicking because he'd caught them, but then her eyes locked with his and he realized it was all way more complicated than that.
And not just because that girl was no stranger.
Frank started to back away, but her eyes were still on him. He wasn't sure what she wanted him to do and he was confused by what he was seeing, but he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring nod before retreating.
He got to the front door and opened it, then closed it hard. The girl in the kitchen said something, just barely loud enough for him to hear, and he called out.
"Bonnie? You still here?"
Frank made his way to the kitchen. Sam was there, casually filling his water glass at the sink while Bonnie stood stiffly at the island.
"Why you here so late?"
She shrugged. "I was catching up on work."
Frank smiled at her. He hoped he was doing the right thing when he said, "Screw work. Annalise'll work you into the ground if you let her. Come on, let's go get a drink."
Bonnie's gaze darted over to Sam, who turned slowly. He studied Frank for a moment as if he was trying to figure out how much he knew.
Little Frank perfected his clueless look at age seven, successfully faking out his mom when she asked if he was the one who ate the entire tray of cannoli. Grown-up Frank plastered that look all over his face and Sam relaxed, smiled like everything was normal.
"He's right. Whatever you're working on can wait until tomorrow."
Bonnie nodded. "I'll get my bag."
Frank waited for her, made sure she was actually leaving the house, although at that point he had no idea who he was protecting from what. She followed him to his car and sat in the passenger seat.
"You feeling up for that drink?" he asked and she nodded.
"Yes. Thank you," Bonnie mumbled. Frank knew she wasn't talking about the drink.
"You want to tell me what the hell that was?"
"Later."
He decided to take her at her word and drove them to a hole in the wall bar he knew. The tattooed brunette bartender— Christie, he remembered— raised an eyebrow at them.
"You morose motherfuckers look like you need shots," she said, pouring and sliding a pair of doubles across the bar.
Frank did his shot and watched as Bonnie debated hers. Finally she picked it up, knocked it back and grimaced.
"Not much of a drinker?"
"Not usually. Another?"
"Sure."
—
Frank was surprised when Bonnie matched him shot for shot. He kept the conversation light, mostly current events, a little shit-talking of the current batch of L1s. He convinced her to split an order of loaded fries and a soft pretzel. They lapsed into silence a few times, but it was comfortable.
They'd known each other for years, but Frank could count on one hand the number of actual conversations he'd had with Bonnie. At first, when Annalise told him that the slight blonde would be taking over some of his assistant duties, he was resentful of her, but it didn't take long before it became obvious that there was plenty of work for both of them.
When Bonnie passed the bar exam, Frank's jealousy flared up again, but he reminded himself that they were different people with different paths. Annalise needed them both: Bonnie as her right hand, backing her up in public, and Frank as her left, handling problems in private.
At work, they complimented each other well, but they didn't socialize, so Frank never expected he'd be buying shots for Annalise's mousey hard luck case, but there they were. She was looking at him like she was taking him apart in her head and he was strangely okay with it.
Bonnie was weird as hell and he was pretty sure he wasn't into her, but he definitely LIKED her. He tried to imagine screwing her, but all he could see were her big eyes over Sam's shoulder and he'd never, ever want a woman to look that way with him. Frank liked women, loved them, loved fucking them, but only the ones who were 100% into it. He was a player, but he did what he could to be a decent man too.
He was pretty sure Bonnie wouldn't be into it, so he didn't offer.
They were on their fourth round before Bonnie started to explain in a low voice.
"I didn't know how to get out of there." Slim fingers worried a long strand of strawberry blonde hair. "Maybe I didn't want to."
Frank stiffened. "Good thing I came along then. Let me give you a little advice, Bonnie."
"Why? Because we're such good friends?" She shrugged like she did in the kitchen, but there was a sarcastic edge to her voice, a hint of fire that made Frank think there might be hope for her. "You know nothing about me."
"Maybe not, but I've been in that house for longer than you, so I know things. And Sam… that's not going to lead anywhere good." He gestured to Christie for another round, waited for her to pour it and disappear before continuing in a low voice. "Now, maybe I'm just real confused, but what I saw happening there, and the look on your face? You didn't want that."
"You don't know what I want."
"So tell me."
Bonnie stared off into the distance and Frank couldn't read her expression at all. He was usually better at this, usually knew what a woman wanted right away, but with this one he was waiting for her to answer because he had no fucking clue.
She looked him dead in the eye when she finally responded. "I want someone to touch me like I'm not broken."
"That's what that was?"
"No. I think Sam's into broken." Bonnie took her shot and shrugged like she didn't care, but her tone was angry and bitter. "He likes girls he can rescue."
Frank studied her intently for a minute, debating his next question. "So has that happened before?"
"Yes."
"More than that?" Frank asked, but Bonnie didn't answer and she wouldn't look him in the eye. "You fuck him?"
"No. He said it was important to take it slow."
Frank kept his expression as neutral as he could manage, but it was hard, because right then there was nothing he wanted more than to go back and beat the crap out of Sam Keating. He wasn't sure if he'd be doing it for Annalise or for Bonnie, but he knew deep in his heart that the sleazebag deserved it.
"Taking it slow. That the same thing as treating you like you're broken?"
"Doesn't have to be. It's just that… he thinks that because I…" Bonnie trailed off, and she stared at him for several long moments before breaking into a rueful smile. "You know, don't you. About me."
Frank shrugged. "I figured it out. Heard you used to see Sam for therapy. Took me a while but eventually I remembered where I'd seen your face before."
"You worked for Annalise back then?"
"Yeah. Just shit work, but I paid attention. Wanted to learn. So I remember the trial. The red hair's good on you."
"Thanks."
"Although I can't say I would have picked the name Winterbottom. Sounds like an elf. Or a weird craft beer."
"It's from a book."
"Let me guess. Fairy tale? Maybe about a princess who gets rescued by a handsome prince?" He smiled at her and she smiled back and it felt like a victory.
"No. Just a regular girl who rescues herself." Bonnie spun her empty shot glass on the bar. "I guess I aimed a little high with the name."
"Nah. If I hadn't come along, you would have figured out an escape plan on your own." Frank raised his glass to her even though it was empty too, and flashed her a grin. "I'm glad I came along, though. This is kinda nice."
"What?"
"Talking. Having drinks. You know, hanging out."
"You don't have many friends, do you?" The words could have been mean, but there was a playful edge in her voice that bordered on flirtatious.
"I go out all the time," he protested, even though he liked that she was busting his balls a little.
"With women you're trying to fuck? Doesn't count."
"So what about this? It count?" Frank heard the words coming out of his mouth and instantly regretted them. He was so used to playing the game that he had just derailed the first genuine human interaction he'd had in years. He was about to apologize for being an ass when he realized Bonnie was smirking at him.
"Was that your clumsy, boorish way of saying you want to fuck me?" She asked and suddenly Frank absolutely did.
"I got a chance in hell?"
Bonnie let his question dangle in the air until it was uncomfortable. Frank was about to tell her to fucking forget it when the corners of her lips curved up.
"Take me back to your place and find out."
For part two in all its explicit glory, find this story on AO3 here:
archiveofourown dot org /works/6264442