A/N: I think this is going to be about 13 chapters in total, so we're about halfway. Thank you all for sticking with me!
Frankie does her very best to keep true to her intentions of doing the right thing and leaving Chloe alone to her own devices in the next couple of weeks that follow, and it seems that Chloe has the same idea of minimising their interactions because she doesn't make any more efforts to approach Frankie either.
They only see each other from afar for the first couple of days, luckily not having to interact on a professional level at all, and Frankie's never been more thankful to the powers at be that they're not being forced awkwardly together.
The only time she sees Chloe up close and personal happens by chance as she's waiting impatiently outside the locker room for Gail to change so that they can go and get a mid-week drink at The Penny. Somehow – and Frankie didn't even know she was still at the station – Chloe emerges before Gail does, and it's the most uncomfortable Frankie's ever felt as their eyes meet, Chloe's step faltering as they stare mutely back at each other, neither of them sure what the protocol is now for their odd dynamic.
"Hey," Frankie mumbles into the tense silence, the word leaving her mouth before she even realises she's spoken it, and her lungs constricting harshly as she fights to breathe through the thick, tense air that's settled in around them.
Chloe's eyes widen slightly at the greeting, almost as if she didn't actually expect Frankie to acknowledge her, and just as her lips part to reply, Kelley comes bounding out of the men's locker room and throws his arm around Chloe's shoulders, stealing her attention.
"You ready?" he asks, his smile bright enough to momentarily crash through the awkwardness still lingering heavily between them.
Chloe glances fleetingly over at Frankie like she wants to say something, anything, but then without finding the courage to do so, lets her gaze return to Kelley and nods, a small smile forcing its way onto her lips. "Sure am," she replies rather tightly, the normal chirp in her tone completely lacking.
Kelley grins wider in response, utterly oblivious to the strain between them, and quickly nods politely in Frankie's direction before pulling Chloe closer into his side and guiding her towards the exit.
Frankie tries not to think too hard about the way the sight of their retreating forms, pressed intimately together, makes her stomach knot unpleasantly, a knot that only seems to twist even tighter when Chloe daringly glances back at her for a split second, the expression that materialises on her face startlingly forlorn as she flashes Frankie a wistful, pursed-lipped smile.
Despite the distressing way Frankie's heart seizes woefully in her chest when Chloe turns away from her once more, she tries to remind herself that this is how things are meant to be, for the better, for both of them, and tries not to think about how it feels like she's teetering on the edge of some kind of unknown abyss.
In the ensuing days, it gets harder and harder not to interact with Chloe, especially when Frankie's case entwines with one of Traci's big cases and everyone is brought in on it to help out.
They're not working exclusively together – Chloe being sent to gather witness statements with her over-eager puppy of a rookie Kelley (who Frankie has taken to absolutely – and somewhat irrationally – loathing), while Frankie helps Traci try and pin down the wider gang affiliations to her murder victim – but working together just enough that it feels stifling at times.
During those time when they are both trapped at the station however, Frankie will feel the hairs at the nape of her neck prickling and standing on end with the overwhelming notion that she's being watched. Whenever she feels it, and glances up, it's always to find Chloe watching her intently, the longing in her eyes enough to leave Frankie's stomach niggling with an emotion she can't quite name.
Frankie tries not to look back, or at least, tries not to get caught looking back, but sometimes she can't help herself, that niggling feeling spreading throughout her body and destroying her resistance until she's consumed with the need to look, to observe what Chloe's doing and to absorb her every movement.
On those times when she does actually allow herself the weakness of looking, it's normally when Chloe's busy, her focus elsewhere, and then Frankie finds her eyes trailing over every inch of Chloe's body, often becoming transfixed on certain parts of her like an obsession; the soft, tantalizing sweep of her neck, her small but strong hands and their dainty but powerful fingers, the perfect bow of her lips; pouty and full and undeniably kissable, her dazzling, infectious smile, hell even the cute curve of her adorable little ears steals Frankie's attention for longer than it should.
It leaves Frankie's head spinning, her desire for Chloe blossoming wildly, uncontrollably, throughout her mind, body, and soul, in a way Frankie can't seem to tamper down or get a hold of no matter how hard she tries. She knows it's insane to be this devoured with want for one person, a person who for most of the time she's know her, Frankie has barely been able to tolerate, but it's like Chloe's kiss has left her infected, and now the only moments of sanity Frankie can achieve come when she lets herself get lost in Chloe's embrace, like her naked body pressed to Frankie's own is the only cure available.
Frankie's never had this problem before, normally more than content to spend one night quenching her hunger for a woman before moving on to her next desire, but for reasons Frankie doesn't know how to explain, her craving for Chloe just won't be satisfied so easily.
She blames her insatiable lust for Chloe on the lacking sexual encounters she's had since Gail. Peck might not have been in love with her, and she most certainly wasn't in love with Gail, but the sex they'd shared had been explosive. Gail knew exactly how to touch a woman in all the right ways to drive her crazy, and Frankie had appreciated that – looking back now, Frankie thinks that maybe she should really buy Holly some kind of gift for her superior lesbian tutelage – and it's not that her one-night stands have been awful since, they've been fine, even good sometimes, but Price, as it happens, just happens to be really fucking talented.
Frankie ascribes her burning feelings of want for Chloe to her body just craving to be touched by knowing hands, and thinks that maybe, if she just tries to find another woman who can equally satisfy her demanding needs, those feelings will evaporate.
Until she can do that though, Frankie settles on her effort to stay strong and stick to her plan; leave Chloe alone and try not to interact with her unless somebody else is present. After all, it's really, the only option she has for now until she can get a grasp on her feelings.
As it turns out, however, even the most genuine of plans don't always, necessarily, play out the way they're designed.
(It's not Frankie's fault at all, she justifies to herself later, it's just circumstances, really).
With the case finally wrapped up after a gruelling fourteen days of stressful twists and turns, Frankie's never been more glad then to just sit back and finish up her paperwork in the quiet. Once she's done, she can head out to the nearest bar, get drunk, and pick up some hot woman to take home for the night, and try desperately not to think about how she doesn't seem to fit against her just right like a certain bright red-haired officer – who Frankie still can't get out of her head – seems to.
Fighting against her desire for Chloe these past couple of weeks has been exhausting, and all Frankie wants to do is to find a way to go back to enjoying mindless, no strings attached sex with strangers, and she's determined to try as many women as she needs to get back there.
It's late when she finally finishes up, the station mostly quiet apart from a few officers mulling about as they pass in and out preparing for their night-shifts, and that's why Frankie's caught completely off guard when she goes to log her final item into evidence, to find Chloe already inside the room searching for something.
She hadn't even known Chloe was still on shift, but as the door clicks shut behind her and Chloe turns to see who's entered, their eyes instantly locking, Frankie can't help but immediately feel weirdly unprepared about being alone with her so unexpectedly after days of being so careful about ensuring that doesn't happen.
"Price," Frankie acknowledges awkwardly, feeling like she should at least say something now that they're confined in such a small space together, even as they struggle to maintain eye contact as an increasingly familiar, heavy, and insufferable tension settles around them.
"Detective," Chloe nods rather stiffly in return, glancing away swiftly as she goes back to searching for the evidence bag she's looking for, and Frankie tries to ignore the way Chloe's cold rebuff makes her heart pinch painfully.
Frankie swallows thickly and clenches her jaw as she squeezes past Chloe to get to the shelf she needs, hurrying to log her evidence in the correct place so she can get the hell out of there as quickly as humanly possible, and away from the unbearable weight suddenly crushing down on her chest and making it hard for her to breathe.
She doesn't mean to let their bodies brush as she passes Chloe in her desperate route to leave, but it really is a small space, and Chloe seems to mistime stepping in to allow Frankie more room to pass by behind her, and then suddenly Frankie's breasts are pressing briefly, faintly, into Chloe's arm, and that little, barely there touch, is enough to draw them back together like an inescapable addiction.
It sends a shockwave through Frankie's body, a prickle running down her spine as her pulse races beneath her skin, and every sense she has becomes attuned to nothing but Chloe Price; the smell of her floral perfume invading Frankie's lungs and making her head spin, the sound of Chloe's sharp, shaky inhale as she turns to face Frankie, the warm brown of her eyes darkening under her dilating pupils and making Frankie flush heatedly, the pressure of her grasp as her fingers curl around Frankie's neck and tug her into a searing kiss, and the addictive, unique, heavenly taste of Chloe's lips that Frankie's been craving and hungering for like a desert that's been without rain finally surging back with her own.
It's startling how easily they fall in to each other, fitting easily together again like some fucked up jigsaw puzzle, like they haven't been apart for the past couple of weeks with the weight of their last conversation between them.
Frankie doesn't know how long they stand there kissing heavily, making out like horny teenagers that are too inexperienced to do more than kiss, but as their kisses gradually grow in intensity, Frankie feels herself growing dizzy, her knees buckling beneath the increasing urgency of them.
Except the truth of the matter is that they're not inexperienced at this, not with each other, not at all, and Chloe seems to remember this fact first, her hands sliding down from their grasp at Frankie's neck and pushing firmly at Frankie's shoulders until she's backed up against the wall, the length of their bodies pressing flush against one another as Chloe turns their kisses deeper, dirtier, all tongue and teeth, and lets her greedy hands wander freely over Frankie's curves.
The movement unsettles Frankie and leaves her stunned into inaction for a long, drawn out moment, not used to Chloe being the one to take the lead and dominate, but then just as quickly, her hands are scrambling for purchase at Chloe's waist as she eagerly returns the frantic ferocity of their kisses.
It's because nobody has touched her in awhile, Frankie thinks, that even the slightest touch of Chloe's fingers sneaking beneath her shirt and grazing against her bare skin, makes her part from their kisses with a gasp.
Chloe's eyes sparkle smugly at the reaction her caress has drawn, and Frankie instantly feels the need to regain the upper-hand, to be the one leaving Chloe a trembling, moaning mess at the mercy of her expert lips and hands. Before Chloe even has a chance to initiate another kiss between them and capitalise on Frankie's weakness, Frankie surges forward and kisses Chloe hard, her tongue sweeping into Chloe's mouth as she presses Chloe back against the shelves opposite them with her hips, easily sliding her thigh between Chloe's legs and drawing a deep, appreciative moan from the back of her throat.
While Chloe's momentarily dazed from their change of pace, Frankie takes the opportunity to trail her lips along Chloe's jaw, kissing and licking down the delicious slope of her neck until Chloe's panting wantonly and heedlessly grinding her hips down against Frankie's thigh, trying desperately to create some sort of satisfying friction.
Frankie palms Chloe's breasts, thumbing her hardening nipples over her shirt as she sucks at Chloe's neck, overcome with the need to leave a mark, wanting Chloe to see it when she looks in the mirror and remember how she got it and who exactly gave it to her.
When Chloe whimpers in response and draws Frankie's face back up to hers, nipping at her lip before kissing her roughly, it feels like everything is back to how it should be between them, and Frankie wonders if maybe she was overzealous in deciding that it would be for the best if they never did this again.
The thought passes just as quickly as it comes though, when Chloe suddenly ends their incessant, heated kisses by pushing at Frankie's shoulders, creating some space between their heaving chests.
"What's wrong?" Frankie pants breathlessly, her eyebrows knitting in confusion as to why they're suddenly stopping just when things are getting good. "I thought you wanted this."
"I do," Chloe murmurs back, biting at her bottom lip coyly, her cheeks flushed sexily. "Just not here, okay?" she adds as she reaches to gently brush the hair from Frankie's face with a fond smile curling at the corners of her mouth, and letting her thumb idly trace over Frankie's kissed bruised lips. "I told Kelley I'd stay and help him finish up his report, but I can come by later when I'm done. I'll bring some wine and some Chinese, and then we can pick up where we left off and properly mingle limbs."
It suddenly feels like it's too much again – Chloe's gesture far too sweet and tender – that it sobers Frankie immediately, and forces her to take a step back away from Chloe's body and her misplaced affection, and sternly shake her head.
"We're not together, Chloe," Frankie replies coolly, feeling like Chloe needs yet another reminder of the simple fact; that perhaps they both do. "Why do you have to keep trying to make it more than it is?"
She doesn't need wining and dining, and the promise of coming over later, it's too planned, too familiar, too intimate. Frankie doesn't understand why Chloe can't seem to get that. Chloe's not hers, just like she's not Chloe's. Frankie's nobody's but her own.
What they're doing is nothing like Gail and Holly or Andy and Sam. They're not a couple, hell they're not even dating. They're just... Frankie doesn't know how to explain it, or what to call it exactly, all she knows is that it's different from what those couples have; it's most certainly not love what she and Chloe share.
(It can't be...)
Chloe's expression remains muted but Frankie sees the glimmer of anger in Chloe's eyes, in the way her nostrils flare slightly at her words. "Yeah, I got that we're just fuck buddies last time we spoke, Frankie," Chloe bites back as she pushes herself away from the shelves, her arms coming to fold defensively across her chest and forcing Frankie to take another step back as she pushes into her personal space, "but since when does offering to bring take-out make it more? It's just food, fuel to give us energy. I never said I'd bring candles and flowers. I'm not trying to romance you, Frankie, despite what your insufferable ego might be telling you. I'm just trying to be friendly."
The bluntness of Chloe's outburst cuts into Frankie like the sharp blade of a knife, piercing her all the way down to the bone, wounding her irreversibly, and leaving her struggling to find a response as Chloe remains fiercely staring her down.
She's not sure if it's luck or bad fortune that has Kelley popping his head into the room before she can compose herself enough to reply, but whatever it is, Frankie feels like there's no right way to untangle the chaos they've let themselves fall so clumsily into, no way to make sense of it at all.
"Hey, Chlo... Detective Anderson, hey, sorry I didn't know you were in here too," Kelley apologises with a sheepish smile. "I hope I'm not interrupting, it's just I could really use a hand with that report," Kelley says with a small smile, glancing between them somewhat cautiously when neither of them pay him much attention, refusing to look away from each other. "Shaw is on my ass to have it in within the hour, and then I was thinking maybe we could grab some food afterwards, Chloe, my treat, just to say thanks for all your help."
Frankie feels her hackles rise at his mere presence, his voice grating on the last shreds of her nerves and filling her veins with the irrational white, hot, untameable heat of anger.
"Seems to me like you already have a friend, Chloe, no need for any more," Frankie sneers unkindly, the words rushing from her mouth before she can over-think them.
She doesn't wait for Chloe to respond then, before pushing roughly past Kelley and leaving them to each other, and tries to ignore the way the thought of them together, sharing food, sharing drinks, maybe even sharing their bodies, is making her feel sick to her stomach.
Frankie wishes that she didn't catch the devastatingly hurt look on Chloe's face out of the corner of her eye as she blows past her, because it steals the anger from her at once, and in its place leaves her heart aching so damn much that Frankie doesn't think she'll ever be able to forget it.
She doesn't know how she's supposed to move past this mess if she can't.
The music in the club is ridiculously loud.
So loud, that Frankie can't hear anything, especially not her own plaguing thoughts, instead all she can feel is her heart thudding along in time with the baseline, and the alcohol rushing through her bloodstream as she lets herself get swept away amongst the mass of swaying bodies on the dance floor.
She lets herself lose track of time, content to just get fucked up and relish in the mindless bliss it brings her. It feels good not to think, to forget all of her worries, just for a little bit, and have her focus hijacked instead by the vodka shots she's downed and that are currently burning through her veins and clouding her mind.
In this club, in this moment, Frankie is nobody.
She's not the detective with the disgraced ex-partner, or the woman who other women can't stand to be around for longer than they have to and whose relationships never last, she's not the abandoned daughter, or the fuck buddy that's not really a buddy.
She's simply just another swaying body lost in the crowd, and it feels amazing.
It feels even more amazing when Frankie feels somebody's breath hot on the back of neck, hands settling in on her hips and moulding their bodies together as they guide her to the beat of the music. It feels even better when lips press to her sweaty skin, trailing lust filled kisses down along her neck as cool hands slip up beneath her shirt, and scratch wantonly against the heated flesh of her stomach before moving up to squeeze roughly at her breasts.
It should be even better still, when a hand curls around her forearm and tugs her into the nearest toilet cubicle, fumbling hands making quick work of unzipping her jeans while they trade sloppy, blundering kisses as eager fingers finally slip inside her, but it isn't.
Her mind flashes with images of red hair, of eyes that penetrate into her soul, of knowing fingers and a knowing mouth, of a sweet but confident smile and teasing kisses that leave her body feeling like jelly, and just like that her random hook-up doesn't feel the same as usual, the easy, mindlessness of her encounter is missing, and Frankie is left clenching her eyes tightly shut as guilt crashes through her, and hopelessly willing her body to block out the images and just respond.
It doesn't, and for the first time in her life Frankie feels dirty and shamed and fakes an orgasm just to get it over with, and realises that while she wishes for everything to still be the same, it's not.
In fact every thing is totally fucking different now, and it's all thanks to Chloe Price.
And no matter how much it terrifies Frankie to even fleetingly consider what that might really mean, or how much the notion of it makes her want to run, she knows that she can't; she knows she has to face up to it, in some way, and sooner rather than later.