Work Text:
Frankie's hands are always cold and stiff. No blood flows through them. Her fingers are stitched and sewn to her palms with the industrial strength thread. On occasion her palm disconnects from her arm. Sometimes a hand will detach itself and run away in search of its long dead owner. She grips everything extra tightly. Her books. Her make up. Her friends. She clings to her possessions with the enthusiasm of a spider with freshly caught prey.
Frankie Stein is no black widow. Not yet. For now her borrowed heart beats only for one. Two? It's hard to keep track sometimes. Any given night she might be dancing with Holt, fingers laced intimately as he twirls her around the dance floor. The very next morning she would be studying with Jackson, arms awkwardly brushing against on another as he explains her Clawculus homework. She stays faithful to them both. When Holt decides to enter a drinking contest, Frankie buys aspirin for Jackson's headache the next morning. When Jackson gets lost in the music, Frankie takes Holt home where its safe.
She carries her purse all the time. It's filled with all the essentials: thread, lip gloss, extra appendages, and the like. Only her beloved knows about the ear plugs, head phones, and pocket mirror tucked away. No one knows about the tracker. It was the first electronic device she ever built. Her father would have been proud but he already disapproves. She needs to keep up with them at all times. They're prone to wandering and transforming at the drop of a hat. Usually it stays turned off. Then Jackson doesn't come to school for a week. Ghoulia always covers for her, supplying a week's worth of homework when the duo (trio?) come back from a misadventure.
He asks if she loves him.
Yes.
What about him?
Yes.
Jackson is Holt. Holt is Jackson. Except when he's not.
He thinks that he is asking for too much. He thinks that one day she'll leave him for someone better. He thinks too much. She kisses his cheek and hugs him tight. This is what they all want isn't it? Not perfect, but no one is.
Frankie's hands are always cold and stiff.
It's the one constant in their life.