Work Text:
02/52
It had been 9 months since Frankie met Tommy, and half that time he was locked up for another case of theft. He’s been nothing but good to Frankie, tells him he's the little brother he never had. As nice as the gesture is, it sounds weird to his ears, hearing him call him a little brother.
Tommy’s found a place they can practice at night, where his voice hits the walls just right and everything sounds perfect and that’s where they spend Valentine’s day. It is a little bit illegal, but, with Tommy, everything is; he comes with it as a package deal. Ma and Pa don’t know, of course, and Frankie doesn’t tell them. He just says he's hanging with Tommy at his place (and, yes, he gets back before 11).
05/53
Mother’s Day was last weekend and Tommy booked them a gig. A few days before, Gyp asked Frankie if he would sing My Mother’s Eyes during their set. There was no other answer but yes. Not because of his influence or his potential intimidation tactics. It was the sincerity in the old man’s eyes. Could he say no when he felt the same way about his own ma? Never.
A long time ago, Frankie asked Tommy about his parents. “Ghosts,” he had said and left it at that. He's not sure whether they died or they left and he's not one to push Tommy’s buttons-- at least not about family. On Saturday he offered him an invitation to their Mother’s Day dinner. Tommy denied it, saying, “Nah, Frankie, that’s your family, I don’t wanna get in the way. Not tomorrow.”
He almost let it slip out that he already considered him family. He's not entirely sure why he didn’t tell him so.
07/52
Independence Day. Tommy said it was an opportunity. This obviously meant he had something less than moral and/or legal in mind. Frankie let him talk him into it, the way Tommy always can. He couldn’t tell whether it was a gift of Tommy's or a fault in him (in all honesty, it was most likely both). He had a point though, and Frankie could see where he was coming from; the city would be a ghost town, almost. Everyone was going to clump up the way people do during big events and watch spectacles happen and fireworks go off.
The warehouse should’ve been empty. And it was, at first. They had three crates of jewellery between the two of them and when the warehouse door jimmied, they bolted, taking only what they could carry. Frankie dropped a box, since he’d been carrying two and Tommy pulled him away from it (“Don’t worry about it, Frankie, just run!”).
They ended up heaving in a little alley that seemed miles away from the warehouse but was actually just a few minutes. Frankie apologized for the lost batch of watches and Tommy gave him a level look before he burst out laughing. For a second, Frankie was embarrassed, thought he was laughing at him. Tommy grabbed the back of his neck and said, “I’m just glad we made it out! And, look, we got some free watches out of it. No worries.” Frankie smiled in relief and exhilaration.
Later, his ma told them about the police helicopter hovering an American flag around New York so high it could be seen from Jersey, and they had to pretend to look regretful they missed it. Frankie may be beginning to realize why it feels so out of place when Tommy calls him a little brother.
11/52
Thanksgiving was a community thing for them, not just a family event, because, let’s face it, if you’re from Jersey, your neighbors are your family. It was a consideration at first; no one wanted to leave the people who didn’t have their families there yet to feel left out, and then it became tradition. Tommy would fit right in.
Frankie could see how Tommy struggled, flicking through excuses in his mind. He told him he didn’t need to come, just that he would be welcomed if he did decide to drop by.
He and his pa were just laying some sausages on the grill when he felt a hand at his back as it traveled up to his shoulder. “Tommy, you made it!”
“Looking good,” he complimented the food, before dropping his hand from his shoulder to greet his parents.
Frankie's stomach flopped as soon as it had fluttered. Not you, ya yutz, he was talking about the food, Frankie had to remind himself. The night continued as expected, except for minor interruptions here and there from Frankie's very, very stubborn heart.
12/52
Tommy was unreadable. Frankie thought he understood how to get around him, what issues to press, which to leave untouched, but he’s a jigsaw puzzle and Frankie's some third grader. The day people walk on the moon is the day he’ll ever reach Tommy, truly. You invite a guy over to watch the New Year’s fireworks, you expect him to show up if that’s what he says, right? Apparently, that’s not the way it always goes, and don’t get him wrong, he knows Tommy, he's no idiot, but when he says something, he’s always kept his word, so far. So Frankie was waiting on the rooftop, a quarter before 12, and freezing.
They’d decided to meet 30 minutes ago and he was nowhere to be seen. Frankie almost left right then when he walked through the door leading to the rooftop, tipsy and a bottle of vodka in hand.
Frankie knew he sounded bitter when he said, “Tommy, you made it.” And he almost cringed in annoyance when he replied, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, my hand to God.”
He stayed far enough away that he had to raise his voice to ask him what took him so long.
“I had things to do, people to see.”
Tommy faced him completely when Frankie said, “I don’t think liquor needs an appointment to see you,” and he saw the bruise that was well-colored on his pale cheek and all at once Frankie took in his disheveled state and lack of winter clothes and pulled him out of the snow into the stairwell past the door, leading back down to the building's main floor, sat him down as soon as he shut out the biting wind.
“I brought some liquor to warm us up.” He took a shivering swig from the bottle.
“You idiot, what happened?” Tommy shook his head while Frankie wrapped his scarf around the other's neck and hugged him close, willing the chill to subside.
Soon after, the fireworks started and Tommy tried pulling away, but he wouldn’t let him. “Frankie,” he tried, “they’re your favorite part.”
“Screw the fireworks,” he assured him. He sagged, the poor guy, and took another gulp of vodka.
And that was just Tommy wasn’t it? Letting you get close enough to peek through the window, but pulling the blinds closed once you had the chance. Would Tommy always be like this? Would Frankie be the one to get through to him? He hoped so as he rubbed his hands against his arms through a thin sweater and hummed a calming tune.