Chapter Text
Franky Franklin was exhausted. This was nothing new. He was used to staying up late, working on projects, deciphering codes, making gadgets, or plotting his next date idea, but this was something different. He was running away.
He shivered, pulling his too-big coat tighter around his shoulders, sneaking a surreptitious look behind him. There were others on this same sidewalk, a couple with a child, umbrellas raised against the rain, a teenage girl across the street, and an older woman making her way slowly behind them all. Franky kept his gaze on the old lady for a moment longer, then made a turn, casual as he could make it, into the alleyway to his right. He ducked against the shadows of the wall, tipping his hat lower. This would have to do for tonight.
Franky Franklin had been tired before. He’d been drained, paranoid, worn out, exasperated, and heartbroken. But this was the first time he’d ever been on the run.
Franky checked his exits –the other end of the alley, the outlet into another, and as a last resort, breaking into an apartment complex– and shifted his bag off his back, sinking to the ground slowly. Tomorrow, if all was clear, he’d check out that abandoned auto shop on the edge of town, it would make for a great hidden workshop.
Slowly, he forced himself to relax, angling so that he could see the alleyway entrance before him. The last invention he’d managed to cobble together before abandoning shop was in his hand under his coat, ready at a moment’s notice. And beneath that, in a holster hidden at his side, was a gun. He told himself he wasn’t afraid to use it.
That day, he’d asked himself if he was overreacting. If none of this was necessary. Maybe he could have stayed, tried to figure things out. At the least, he thought he should have tried to comfort the poor kid and her mother. He took a deep breath, fighting back the shivering that threatened to dig into his bones. But no. Franky had seen who’d been poking around during the next week, at a safe distance. Staying hadn’t been possible. He’d made the right choice. Hadn’t he?
There was no way he could’ve stuck around. He wouldn’t have stood a chance. They would have nabbed him and done who-knows-what to make him spill every secret he knew, endangering the only people who cared about him–
His head sunk even further, and he hugged his knees. And just like he had every day since, Franky Franklin cursed himself for being a coward.
“You’re a hard man to find, Mr. Franklin.”
Franky’s hand flew from his coat out of reflex, and the twin forks of metal shot from their casing, arcs of electricity jabbing between them– and came to a stop as the wires providing their surging energy ran out of line. The figure standing at the entrance to the alley, silhouetted against the darkening gray sky, hadn’t flinched, and the mini-taser’s arcs fell to the ground uselessly.
Franky swore and jumped to his feet. Make for the second path if they follow, the third if they don’t. The gun is a last resort. He heard the figure cry out, asking him to stop, but he was already on his feet, bag in hand, sprinting for his escape routes. The back of his mind registered the voice as feminine, young, but that made no difference to him. He knew what kind of people came searching for people like him, and he also knew what fate awaited him if he dared reason with them.
His feet striking the wet cobblestones, Franky darted around the corner. He couldn’t hear any footsteps following, so he went with his second plan, continuing forward. This route was counterintuitive, he’d scouted it out earlier in the day for that purpose. Once he was out of this alley, he’d have to make a break for the market and hope she wasn’t backed up by anybody with a vehicle.
Franky turned the corner and slid to a stop, horror replacing the adrenaline in his blood. The same figure stood before him, slight, silhouetted, and directly in his path. She spoke again. “Ok, so, that one’s on me, I really shouldn’t have tried to be so dramatic.”
The girl’s voice was higher than before and a bit… exasperated? Not threatening. Franky squinted, the rain on his glasses not helping anything. He reached into his coat, and his hand tightened on the grip of the pistol beneath his coat. Did he…?
“Let’s try this again.” She cleared her throat. “I’ve been looking for you, Uncle Scruffy-head.”
Only one person was allowed to use that name. Franky’s eyes widened, his grip on his weapon loosened, and he took an involuntary step forward. His voice broke, but he managed. “Anya? Is that you?”
She looked down, as if unsure what to say.
Now that his eyes had gotten used to the dimness a bit better, Franky saw that she’d hidden the distinctive outline of her hair ornaments with a poncho’s hood.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I should have… Anyway.” She rushed forward, and before Franky could react, she’d thrown her arms around him, burying her head in his chest.
“Anya?” he’d raised his hands in shock.
She took a deep breath, not letting go of him, her grip almost… desperate.
“You’re… so far from home, what are you doing here? How did you find me?” Anya didn’t reply at first, just hugged him tighter. He returned the embrace, and found a smile spreading on his face. “Hey, hey, it’s nice to see you, too.” She’d grown up so much in the past few years, and even in these past nine months, she’d still gotten even taller.
She let go, and, taking a breath, stepped back. She met his eyes, her own narrowed. “Franky, I don’t care that you left. I understand, better than you think I do.”
He blinked, taking a step back. What? “Anya, what– How do you…?”
“It was scary for all of us.” She reached out and took his hand in both of hers, and the warmth immediately eased the deep chill. “You did what you needed to do. So please, don’t beat yourself up anymore.”
Any words he had been trying to say fled from his mind. They were instead replaced with an entire cocktail of emotions. Confusion, shock, but also that warmth. The kind that went deeper than just her human touch, the kind that eased the guilt. The guilt that had festered under the panic and fear of running for nine months.
Tears began to prick at his eyes, and he shook his head, trying to stave them off, with little success.
She smiled at him, and it was genuine. “I’m glad you’re ok.”
And then Franky remembered. He smiled back, shoving the tears away with his sleeve, putting on that same brave face that he used whenever his friends asked him about his love life. “Hey, kiddo, don’t worry about me. I’m more worried about you.”
She squeezed his hand, and then let go. Anya drew herself up, trying her best to look older than her fifteen years, determination shining in her emerald eyes. “If you’re worried, then help me. Franky, I don’t have a lot of time, but I’m going to get you something to eat, and in exchange…” She drew in a breath, then released it, more serious than he’d ever seen her. “I want you to tell me everything you know about the day my papa disappeared.”