Work Text:
Just Give Me A Reason (We're Not Broken, Just Bent)
Bridget walked toward the bar; it was a walk she hadn’t done in a few months.
Not since the night she met Franky.
Bridget had woken up at 5am, having forgot to turn off her alarm on the weekend. Her hand had travelled instinctively across the duvet, searching for Franky, and her eyes opened slowly when her fingers met with nothing. She wasn’t too worried at first; Franky often got up in the middle of the night to get more water or use the bathroom. And so Bridget had waited a few minutes, half-asleep, for the brunette to return.
When there was no movement after ten minutes, Bridget started to grow concerned. She left the bed and padded down the hallway toward the bathroom. No lights on, door open. Bridget then continued on towards the kitchen and living room, wondering if Franky had perhaps had a bad dream or couldn’t sleep and came out to think.
Finding no trace of Franky, Bridget wandered back to the bedroom. She stood in the middle of the room, hand over her mouth, as her eyes scanned the furniture and fixtures around her. She was trying not to panic; it wouldn’t be a helpful emotion in this situation. Where could Franky have possibly gone in the middle of the night? Was there an emergency? Bridget instinctively moved to the closet and pulled the door open. Her face dropped as she saw the empty hangers where Franky’s clothes once hung.
Gone.
No.
She rushed toward the bathroom, now finally feeling her heart pounding as she tried to not to cry in frustration. What had happened? Had she woken up and run? Why? What could Bridget possibly have done to make Franky flee in the middle of the night? She felt her heart breaking.
This can’t be happening, no, no, no.
None of Franky’s products littered the bathroom counter.
Fuck.
Bridget moved out of the bathroom and practically ran down the hallway, coming to a stop where Franky’s coat once hung. An empty hook.
The full weight of reality hit her: Franky was gone.
Bridget fell back against the wall, her mind going a mile a minute. Immediately her mind went to the worst; that Franky didn’t love her. Putting her face in her hands at the thoughts, she tried instead to bring the psychologist to the fore. There must have been a catalyst, a logical explanation that centred around Franky… but what could it be?
Bridget shook her head. This was futile. She knew better than to try and guess at what was going through Franky’s head without clue or context. Bridget just needed to ask Franky directly what happened. From there, she could understand and reason with the spitfire brunette.
And so the next step, hoping that Franky could perhaps be persuaded back from whatever edge she had settled on, had to be finding Franky.
She had spent only a few moments sifting through the possible places where Franky could be. She knew that Franky would not go back to her own apartment - it wasn’t a place that she was particularly fond of - and so Bridget chose to be patient, and found herself the next evening standing outside the bar where they had first met. It was her first choice of destination - it was Franky’s default - a familiar, comfortable place where she was guaranteed to feel at home.
She entered the bar and, as her eyes adjusted, she found a familiar brunette staring morosely at her drink, in a booth at the back.
“Thought I’d find you here.”
Franky’s head whipped around, her shocked eyes landing on Bridget. She huffed as a smile tugged at her lips.
“That is outstanding,” Franky’s voice dripped with sarcasm as she looked back at the drink in front of her. Bridget took that as her cue and slid into the booth opposite her.
“Why?” Bridget asked without preamble. She was hurt, though her previous anger had died away and was replaced with a desperate need to understand Franky’s actions.
Was she not enough? Did she overcrowd Franky? Make her feel trapped? Was she just not what Franky wanted?
She’d had both friends and clients in the past recount stories of their partners leaving them suddenly, citing that they just didn’t love them anymore, or that they couldn’t keep this up for years ahead. Bridget just never thought it might happen to her.
“Ask Ann… or Will! Or Vera,” Franky responded dully, taking a sip of her drink.
“I’m asking you.”
“Look at me, Bridget.”
Bridget immediately noted the use of her name over Franky’s preferred nickname; she was dealing with Franky in crisis mode. Franky gestured to herself, her tattoos, her face, her body, all over.
“I am looking at you,” Bridget responded immediately, being sure to keep her eyes on Franky’s, not breaking her gaze. She wouldn’t let Franky get off lightly.
“Who the fuck was I to think for one second that we could ever be right together?” Franky asked hopelessly, “you’re elegant, classy as fuck, you have a career and toff friends and your life is perfect.”
“Franky…”
“I’m a kitchen assistant who is barely scraping by with dreams and nothin’ else. I’m not classy, I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’m just me; a fuck-up who will end up ruining your life, and I can’t do that to ya.”
Bridget sat silently, absorbing Franky’s words. She could admit she was somewhat relieved that it wasn’t a case of Franky no longer being in love with her, though she knew the situation was no less precarious. She had to tread carefully.
“I won’t lie to you, Franky, I have been very fortunate in my life.”
Bridget reached across the table and tugged gently at Franky’s hand, entwining their fingers. Franky unconsciously brushed Bridget’s hand with her thumb.
“I have had advantages that others may not have had, and yes, my friends are toffs,” Bridget gave a small smile as Franky snorted in agreement, “and up until the moment you left my bed, I would definitely have said that my life was perfect.”
Franky frowned.
“You think you’re ruining my life,” Bridget continued, “when, in actual fact, you have made my life that much better and more beautiful just by being in it.”
“You’re just sayin’ that after-” Franky tried to interject but she was overruled by Bridget, who gripped her hand a little tighter. A reassuring squeeze.
“I’m not just saying anything, Franky. I love you, I am in love with you, and I mean you, as you are right now, in front of me. I’m in love with the woman who swooped in and saved me from drunken advances, the woman who walked me home and made me believe that falling in love in one night is possible. I don’t care that you’re a kitchen assistant or that you don’t have a degree or any of that. I want my Franky, because she is and always will be good enough for me.”
Bridget pulled her hand away.
“I want you, I choose to be with you, and I would choose you again and again. I’m not sure what else I can do to make you believe in yourself… in us.”
As Bridget finished, with a sigh, Franky deflated a little in her seat. Bridget was curious to know whether it was in relief or defeat.
“You’ve got a way with words, Gidge.”
Gidge. Bridget felt her body relax at hearing the nickname of which she was so fond.
“But…” Franky leaned forward, her voice dropping, “I prefer action.”
In that moment, under the dim lights above them, Bridget saw desire warring with a small slither of self-doubt. She hadn’t quite extinguished all of Franky’s fears just yet, but it was certainly progress.
She could work with that.
“Oh yeah?” Bridget countered, leaning in over the table herself, until their lips were mere inches from each other. Franky didn’t retreat, and Bridget felt her face flush and her skin tingle from where Franky watched her, “what are you gonna do about it?”
Franky opened her mouth to respond in kind, but the words were lost on her tongue. Instead, she brought her hand up to Bridget’s cheek and tenderly caressed Bridget’s face with the pad of her thumb.
“Thank you,” was all she whispered.
“No,” Bridget murmured in response, “thank you, Franky. For making my life perfect.”
Franky smiled, a small smile but one that lit up her face and eyes. Bridget knew the exact moment she switched from somber to cheeky, it was all in the dimples in her cheeks.
“What say we get outta here?” Franky suggested. Bridget grinned and closed the distance between them, delivering a lingering heated kiss on Franky’s lips. It was one filled with promise, and desire, and Franky groaned as she felt Bridget’s tongue seek entry. She acquiesced, and the kiss grew more passionate, both leisurely taking control in turn. Eventually, they parted, and Bridget sat back in her seat, a satisfied smile painted across her face.
“Now…” Bridget grabbed her clutch slowly, taking a long breath and looking over at an equally dazed Franky, “you gonna walk me home?”