Archive of Our Own

Frank hasn't had a normal Friday night in a long time.

Usually, his nights consist of washing blood off his body, stitching himself up, and cleaning his guns. They’re made of handfuls of painkillers, bottles of whiskey and random books that replace the silence of an empty apartment. A mosaic of distractions for a haunted mind and a broken spirit, some would say.

Nights like tonight are scarce and verge on a miracle. They’re a much needed break in the bleak, bloody routine of his life, and Frank would rather shoot himself in the foot than admit it, but he’d lie if he said he didn’t look forward to them. It’s past 10pm. Radio is quietly playing in the corner of Curtis' kitchen. Curtis is giving him shit about something stupid he did this week and Karen’s shoulders shake from laughing at their childish back-and-forth. There’s boxes of takeout lying around, and three unfinished bottles of beer stand abandoned on the table while the three of them talk and laugh and holler over one another.

Somehow, on nights like these, life feels like it’s worth living. 

He's just about to take another chug of his beer when his phone starts buzzing on the table. 

Curtis raises a brow. “Who could that be? Madani’s still on your ass about that CIA job?”

Frank scoffs. “Shut up.” He told Madani he’s not interested. And she had enough of a brain not to try to convince him to change his mind.

He reaches for his phone and turns it over in his palm. It’s a videocall. The name that pops up immediately splits his face open with a grin.

His thumb swipes across the screen.

“Hey, kid.”

“What’s up, Rough Road?” 

Amy smiles back at him from the other side, giddy and radiant as usual. Her grin is infectious, a beaming little thing that turns his heart to mush and his bones to jello. Her hair sits atop her head in a messy bun, golden curls sprouting out everywhere, and she's wearing her favorite light blue oversized t-shirt with the emblem of her school on it. Strings of fairy lights shine in the dark behind her, outlining the edges of her bedroom, but her face is illuminated by the yellow light of her desk lamp, casting long shadows of her eyelashes down her cheeks.

Karen drops the slice of pizza she just picked up back into the box and rushes to Frank’s side. She leans heavy against his back. “Is that Amy?”

“Hey girl!” Curtis waves when Frank angles the phone to catch him in the frame too.

Amy lets out a delighted laugh. “Hey! I see the band’s all here! What’re you guys up to?”

Curtis raises his beer. “Just hanging out, y’know? Stuffing ourselves with junk food—”

“—and making sure this one here doesn’t do anything stupid.” Karen adds and teasingly clamps her hands on Frank’s shoulders. He whips his head up, an offended glare ready to fire, but it melts away the second their eyes meet and she gives him that angelic smile of hers.

“Right, Frank?”

Damnit, this woman. He rolls his eyes with a grunt, but drops a featherlight, blink-and-you-miss-it kiss to her hand.

Which the kid, of course, clocks. Her eyes zero in on it like a hawk on its prey, and one tip of her mouth perks up in a sly smirk. She doesn’t comment on it, though, only nods approvingly.

“Thank you for your service! Someone has to keep an eye on him when I’m not there.”

Frank grumbles. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Very fucking funny.” But then Amy flashes him that cheeky smile again, her chin propped against the heel of her palm, and — Christ — he can’t be mad even if he tried.

Another thing he’d never admit — kid’s got him fuckin’ wrapped around her little finger.

As she yaps away, answering all the small talk questions Karen and Curtis throw at her, he takes a moment to study her carefully, as always when she calls. Months have passed since she left for Florida, and with each call, the evidence of sending her there being the right decision grows stronger. Her cheeks are sunkissed and peppered with freckles. Her hair — healthier, shinier, more curly. Her gaze shimmers like sea waves in the sunlight, and the fear and wariness that once lurked in there have been replaced by the zest for life and call of adventure.

And yet, her eyes are surrounded by thick, heavy shadows tonight. Her shoulders hunched, posture slumped. She’s forcing herself to stay alert even though her eyelids are drooping. Despite all her best efforts, Frank is still able to pick up on little clues hiding just below the surface, such as the barely concealed fatigue that causes his pulse to race with worry.

“You doin’ okay?” He asks, because he has to. Because even though a part of him understands that this might be nothing but the typical turmoil of a teenage girl navigating her new life, he finds himself unable to escape the grip of his darkest fears.

Amy’s expression changes into something softer. Her lips curl back up, and she huffs a chuckle into her hand, nodding like she already knew the question was coming.

“I’m okay. Really,” she insists when he opens his mouth again. “I’m doing some homework now— I know, never thought you'd see the day, huh? Anyway, I've been agonizing over this essay for the past few hours and I thought it would be a good time to take a break.”

Frank glances at the hour displayed in the top left corner of his screen; 10:23pm. A break? It’s a good time to call it a night.

It’s tough work, trying to suppress his groan. Jesus Christ, how many times did he tell her not to overwork herself? School is important but losing sleep and ripping your hair out for a grade is nothing but counterproductive. Lisa was the same; straight A’s earned by countless hours of studying, nearly perfect attendance because she never wanted to miss a day of school, even when she was sick.

She excelled in everything she touched. Always striving to make him proud, even though she didn’t need to.

Karen drags her chair closer to him and leans against his side to get into the frame. “It's Friday night and you're slouching over homework instead of going out?” 

“Can't tonight. A big storm is coming— I can see your face, Frank, we're safe here, stop being so paranoid, jeez— but we got plans for tomorrow. Ashley and Mel are taking me to the mall for a dress hunt. Y’know, girl stuff.”

“A dress hunt? What's the occasion?”

Amy’s smile becomes a little more sheepish. She waves a hand as if to dismiss Karen’s excitement. “It's nothing, really. The school is throwing this… prom-thing? I dunno. It's next week. Parents are really involved because it's like, for them, to honor them or whatever. Like a parent-kid dance, which is a tradition, aparently.” She shrugs. “Yeah, I don't know, I'm not… I’m not going, so...”

The three adults exchange puzzled looks. Curtis places his bottle on the table with a loud clank and leans into the phone. “What’d’ya mean you're not going? Your first school dance and you're not going?”

“I don't… really have a reason to,” she replies with another shrug like it’s no big deal. “I mean, what am I gonna do there, stand awkwardly under a wall? No, thank you.” Her eyes drop, as does her voice. “It’s not like I have someone to go with, anyway.” 

“Bullshit, kid,” Frank scoffs. “Last I checked, you’ve got friends.”

“I guess…” 

He rubs a gruff hand over his face.

“You still got that money I sent you last month?”

She frowns. “Yeah, but—”

“Use it. Get yourself something nice tomorrow.”

She leans back and looks at him hard. “Frank— no. This is supposed to be for emergencies.”

His heart can’t help but crack a little, hearing that. There are habits she still can’t abandon, even when completely safe. Like stashing money. Updating her fake IDs. Keeping a bag packed with necessities under her bed, ready to go if things go south. He figured some of it was his own paranoia bleeding into her, his desperate need to keep her safe driving her to take these things extra seriously to make it easier for him. He was happy she was prepared, but he didn’t want it to always be at the forefront of her mind. The whole point of setting her up in Florida was so she could stop looking over her shoulder all the time and worrying about survival. All this shit is supposed to be behind her.

“This is for living, Ames,” he says, trying to keep frustration out of his voice. “Normal stuff. Like groceries, and school supplies. And prom dresses.” He lets out a sigh and allows his voice to drop to a softer cadence. “Go have fun with your friends, kid. You deserve it.”

She seems to turn it over in her head. Weigh all the pros and cons, consider possibilities. And Frank hopes she’ll see what he sees — a chance for her to be a normal kid. Have fun, live a little, experience something she never got to. It’s an opportunity he doesn’t want her to miss.

Her fingers drum against the surface of her desk, blue nail polish gleaming in the lamplight. There’s a galaxy of little stars stretching down from her thumb and wrapping around her wrist, doodled on her skin with a gel pen. Some are already smudged and fading, as if she’s been wearing this makeshift tattoo all day.

“Okay,” she sighs. “Fine. For you.”

Her eyes roll at the sight of his grin. “Attagirl. And get some sleep, alright? I can see you’re about to pass out.”

Immediately, like at the crack of a whip, she sits up straight. “But I have to finish this essay—”

“Ah-ah. What did I tell you? What’s the point of a good grade if you’re half-dead?”

Now it’s her turn to drag a hand over her face. Frank decides to ignore the way the gesture mirrors his own almost perfectly.

“Jesus, okay.” Amy huffs. “I promise I’ll get full eight hours of sleep. Happy?”

He gives her a shit-eating grin.

“Happy.”

But when she will get these eight hours, is another thing entirely. It sure as hell ain’t gonna be now. Karen, with her journalist brain always yearning for a story, begins to question the kid about current weather conditions causing any trouble, which then somehow turns into a full-fledged tale about how sharks are basically huge puppies, but diving near to a school of jellyfish may not be the best idea after all. And before Frank realizes what is happening, it’s nearing midnight, his phone is propped up against his empty beer bottle and they’re all struggling to catch their breaths, doubling over with laughter. Amy’s shoulders tremble with the force of her giggles even when it all dies down, and Frank takes a minute simply to watch her, soaking up the freedom and happiness she exudes all around her, quiet pride swelling in his chest.

However, when her eyes catch the image of him through the screen, the smile that had graced her face mere moments before fades away, replaced by a haunting look of concern that he knows too damn well.

“Are you okay?” She asks.

Caught off guard, Frank looks down and realizes he's been clutching his ribs this whole time. The subtle, throbbing ache in his right side gradually seeps into his awareness, causing his breath to catch momentarily. He withdraws his hand and, not really knowing what to do with it, he lets it fall from sight, clenching it tightly into a fist. 

“Yeah, nothin’ to worry about, kid. Just a cracked rib, that's all.”

He decides to omit the fact his skin is an angry shade of purple underneath his clothes. That his ribs protest with every breath because he’s been repeatedly kicked in them with a steel-enforced boot a few nights ago. Curtis muffles a cough with his fist while Karen buries her grimace behind a waterfall of blonde hair, and Frank is glad they’re both keeping their mouths shut; Amy doesn’t need to hear about them finding him on his bedroom floor, spitting out blood. She looks scared enough.

Quiet now, the girl bows her head once more, lets a few loose curls fall over her face. She chews on her lip, drawing in a deeper breath, and Frank already knows what’s coming.

“Are you going out tonight?”

It’s almost like a ritual at this point. Every time, like clockwork, he’ll ask if she’s doing okay, and she will ask, in that careful way that will keep her from acknowledging the ugly part, if he’s going to kill anyone tonight. She still hates it, and he can’t blame her. There’s a part of him that feels… maybe not remorse, but some strange version of guilt, for doing what he’s doing. Guilt tinted with a specific kind of shame. Like he’s letting her down, disappointing her every time he puts a bullet in someone. Even when that someone is a piece of shit and getting rid of them will make the world a little safer for her.

She knows all the why and how. Knows she will not talk him out of it and he’s too stubborn and too fucking broken to stop. So she lets him be who he’s meant to be. Her only condition being him coming home in one piece.

Only, there’s been a few close calls lately. He’s gotten a little reckless. A lot more pissed off. Between the gang violence being on the rise and getting Red’s sorry ass out of trouble more often than not, Frank’s nerves has been getting more and more frayed. His body has been a patchwork of more bruise than clear skin a few times too many. He’s been coming home in one piece, sure, but leaving traces of his own blood behind him as he drags himself through the threshold. 

He never wants Amy to know; doesn’t want to scare her more than she already is. But she can read him like an open book, even through the blurry screen of her phone. She always figures it out, the slightest wince or tension in his shoulders giving him away.

“Got a night off,” he says now, his smile reassuring. “Doctor’s orders,” he adds as his eyes jump to Curtis watching him from the other side of the table.

Amy studies him, looking for something she might have missed, making sure he’s telling the truth. But he’s good tonight, only one bruise still coloring his left cheek besides the ribs, a split brow he already forgot about. She takes notice of it all, opens her mouth as if to say something, but in the end only nods, her shoulders slumping in relief. Her mouth twitches, a hint of a smile that glitches before it fully takes shape into something soft, something tender.

“Good,” she breathes out. Then stronger, “Good. So, are you going to get eight hours of sleep?”

Curtis snorts into his drink. Karen glances aside, pressing her lips into a narrow line to suppress a grin.

Frank sends them both a glare, then gives one to the kid as well, but she simply replies with another shrug and a classic snarky remark.

“Be the change you want to see in the world, just saying.”

“Alright, smartmass. Off to bed you go.”

Amy chuckles. 

“Sir, yes sir.”

“And I’m expecting pictures from that dance next week.”

“Aww, Frank!” Her hand dramatically lands on her chest. “You want to frame something? Put it on your nightstand? How sweet!”

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, eyes rising to the ceiling. But a grin forces itself onto his face anyway. “Go to sleep already.”

With a shake of her head, Amy lets out a soft laugh. “Okay. Goodnight, Frank.”

“Sleep tight, kid.”

Jesus, this girl. She hangs up and he’s left staring at his phone with a dopey grin engraved in his face as if she took the chisel to it herself. His heartbeat’s like a pebble falling down the stairs, knocking out the rhythm of something he has almost forgotten and thought he wouldn’t recognize: hope.

Every call, no matter how long or short, always leaves him with one lingering thought.

She’s gonna be okay.

From the other side of the kitchen, Curtis clears his throat. “So, I think we should state the obvious.”

Frank glances up, only to discover him and Karen sporting identical smirks, arms crossed and standing side by side like a pair of mischievous twins.

He frowns. “What?”

Curtis points a finger at him. “She wants you to go with her. To the dance.”

“What? No," he scoffs, but his chest tightens dangerously at the idea. “Don't be fuckin’ ridiculous, Curt. That's not— She didn't say—”

“That's the thing, Frank.” Karen moves around the table and takes a seat on its edge. “She didn't have to say anything. It was clear as day.” 

“Didn't seem so clear to me.”

“Because you didn't listen.” When he still looks unconvinced, she drops in the chair next to him and leans in close. “She won't say the hard part out loud, but she wants you to be there. That’s the whole point of this dance.”

The kitchen suddenly feels too small. Frank rises abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair, and begins to pace the room restlessly like a caged animal. Hands raking through his hair, he lets out a deep exhale. 

Sure, he misses the kid. More than he’d ever care to admit. The plan was to cut all ties for her safety, but he knew the moment Amy stepped onto that bus that he would never be able to do that. He was content with the calls, though. As long as she was far away from him and this city, he was fine with an occasional catch-up session over FaceTime. 

Sometimes, though, thoughts of visiting her did enter his mind. The idea of just getting in the car, hitting the gas, and heading south. Just for a day, just for the weekend. So he could really see how she's doing, not just get a glimpse of it on the screen once a month. But every time, like a wave of ice-cold water during a storm, his fears follow. His brain feeds him the sound of gunshots and the image of a perfect life turned to ruin. And each time, he throws the idea out. He won’t risk it. He won’t do it to the kid.

What Karen and Curtis are suggesting is more than an impromptu visit on a random Saturday. It means more. Holds more weight. It implies the idea of something that could never be, not in Frank's book, not anymore. The idea of Amy wanting him there, wanting him to share this special thing with her, makes something dislodge inside his chest. It makes him yearn for something he's too afraid to want.

He refuses to make a promise he can’t keep. More than anything, he refuses to give the kid any false hope.

He can't. He's not…

“Frank. You should go.”

He shakes his head with a scowl. “I don't know, Karen…”

“She's right,” Curtis’s voice echoes from the hallway; Frank hadn’t even realized when he disappeared. Seconds later, his best friend returns to the kitchen, carrying a large black box in his hands. “And you should wear this.”

Frank takes a staggering step back.

“No.”

Karen looks worriedly between the two. “Why, what's that?” 

“Curtis—”

“For years, I’ve listened to this man brag about saving this thing for his kids,” Curtis replies. “When they died, he wanted to get rid of it. Wanted me to burn it. But I had a feeling. I knew it was something he would later regret.” He approaches Frank and extends the box to him. His voice softens. “I know you never wanted to see it again. And I know it's not the same. But there's a girl out there who looks at you and sees her hero. And she might not be saying it to your face, but believe me, there is nothing she wants more than for you to be there for this.”

When he doesn't move, Curtis offers him the box again. “Make the kid's day special, Frank.”

Frank swallows hard, his heart racing as he locks eyes with Curtis. The sight of the box sends shivers down his spine, pushing him away. Yet, deep inside, a quiet voice urges him to take it. A voice that strangely sounds a lot like Lisa.

Holding his breath, he hesitantly extends a hand toward the box.

Lifting the lid is almost like opening a grave — here lie the last remains of his old life. It brings back memories, both good and bad, holding the story of a soldier, husband, and father long gone. Every piece is neatly folded into a perfect square, with no wrinkles in sight, and the golden buttons shine brand new in the light of the overhead lamp. On top of it all, the cap and gloves sit next to each other, untouched by time. 

“Oh my God,” Karen gasps quietly over his shoulder. Frank stares down at his formal marine uniform blankly.

He's not that man anymore. Hasn't been since that day at the park. The medals and ribbons attached to the suit are no longer his. His own name stares back at him from a small silver pin, but it might as well bear the name of a stranger.

And yet, the image forms itself in his mind without permission. The vision itself is old, replayed endlessly in his head back in the day, but the face is new. Amy, standing there in a nice dress under the kaleidoscope of lights, a tinge of rosy pink on her cheeks. Her smile, growing bigger and brighter when she sees him. The pride that threatens to burst his chest wide open when his gloved hand reaches for hers…

He lets the lid fall shut.

“Curtis, I— I can't…” Frank stutters and shakes his head again. “Not just because…” he swallows, “I don't wanna ruin this for her, man. We agreed I stay away so she's safe.”

A gentle hand comes to rest against his shoulder.

“If you don't want to wear it, that's okay,” Karen says. “But if you're worried about her safety, think of it as a cover.” Her smile is warm and encouraging when he looks at her, eyes sparkling with tender excitement. “No one will bat an eye at a marine surprising his daughter at her school dance.”

It's insane how a single sentence has the power to take a man’s breath away. Frank's lungs deflate, his chest seizes itself shut, and his ribs nearly crack from the weight of what he's feeling. Amy isn't his but he would be lying if he said he didn't love the kid like his own. Every single decision regarding her that he made was dictated by this feeling, even when he himself had yet to figure out why. Taking care of her meant letting her go, putting distance between her and the violence that followed him, no matter how much it hurt them both to be away from each other. 

He still remembers the cold, hollow feeling taking over his chest whenever he left home for deployment. How it always started to spread the moment he pulled Frankie and Lisa in for one last hug, how it settled in his bones when he kissed his wife goodbye. It stayed with him the entire time, freezing him from the inside even in the scorching heat of the Middle East. A gaping hole inside his chest that he was only able to forget about when in the field, fully focused on his mission.

When they died, he was sure this feeling became permanent. But grief is something different. His grief is a bleeding wound he will never be able to close. Hot and sticky and burning, the agony only drowned out by the quick release of his rage. But it isn't cold. 

Cold was watching the bus take Amy away. When she pulled him in for one last hug and cried silently into his shoulder. That's when he became hollow again. That's when the emptiness resettled in his bones. 

The only thing that ever made him feel warm and whole again was stepping off the plane and having Maria run into his arms. It was sneaking into Lisa's dance class and giving her the biggest applause. Pulling up to Frankie's soccer practice with windows down and sunglasses on his face, watching the boy nearly trip over his own feet in the haste to reach him. 

The grief will never go away because they are never coming back. But Amy is out there. Living her life. Preparing for a school dance she doesn't want to go to because the one person she wants to share it with isn't there.

Frank gives the black box another look and releases a long breath. He takes it from Curtis and allows its weight to settle in his arms.

A hesitant smile begins to bloom on his face.

What is a thousand miles anyway?

“You, uh, got any good shoes to go with that?”

It’s a strange feeling, putting it on again. The part of his life represented by it had long since ended, died along with his family. He's changed since then, transformed into a different man, a different being. Fallen apart, and reconstructed himself beyond recognition.

And yet, the uniform still fits him like a glove.

From the shoulder boards informing of his rank to the blinding white of his trousers, it’s nothing but a nicely dressed lie. Every medal and decoration pinned to his chest is a meaningless piece of metal. Once upon a time, wearing it had filled him with a deep sense of pride, but it later transformed into a haunting reminder of all he had lost.

However, as he stands in front of the mirror in his motel room somewhere on the outskirts of this small coastal town, fiddling with the gold buttons of his black jacket with skill honed over the years, Frank feels that there is something right about it. Somewhere deep down, something strangely familiar is beginning to sprout back to life, filling every dark corner of his body with newfound light. He doesn't know what it is, can't quite name it, but it holds an echo of those good old days, a breath of fresh air that reminds him of home. 

He had only worn this uniform a handful of times, and only on really important occasions. The inauguration into the Marines. His wedding. That one time at the White House, when he got passed-out drunk with his squad at the inaugural ball. After his retirement, he wanted to save it for Lisa and Frankie. Planned to wear it to his son's graduation. Imagined putting it on to take his daughter to her homecoming.

His hands tremble on the collar.

Different school. Different girl. Different life. And yet the nerves are still the same.

A strange mix of fear and almost childlike giddiness swells in his chest so much that he finds himself unable to breathe at times. A smile forces itself onto his lips every time his mind wanders off, imagining the long-awaited reunion. His palms are sweating no more than they had on his wedding day, and he could swear his heartbeat is so loud they could hear it all the way back in New York.

The last two pieces of the uniform lie on the pillow next to the box — a pair of white gloves and a dress cap. For a moment Frank’s hand hovers over the gloves, but in the end he reaches for the white hat instead. He throws it onto his head, straightens it, and adjusts it. Takes a step back and relaxes his shoulders, then stands at attention and puffs out his chest.

First Lieutenant Pete Castiglione, of the United States Marine Corps.

On his way to surprise his daughter at her school dance.

Karen was right; it's the perfect cover story. How much of this stuff is out there online these days? People will believe it instantly. Eyes will be on him and the cameras will be rolling for sure. Some teacher in the back will shed a tear. The staff will probably gossip about it for days to come. And no one will have any reasons to doubt it; everyone will buy the lie.

Only, it isn't a lie. Not to Frank. 

Amy… she’s not his. Not by blood or any meaningless scrap of paper with a stamp on it. But he can't deny what his heart is telling him. He cannot escape the comforting warmth that envelops him each time she calls, the radiant smile that her voice effortlessly brings to his face, or the restless worries that keep him up at night. There’s a deep, resonant pride that echoes in his voice each time he speaks her name. It’s all the same as it was back then; he felt it all with Lisa and Frankie from the moment they were born.

This strange thing growing in his chest isn't new. He just buried it so deep that he was sure it would never see the light of day. He wasn't expecting to ever feel it again, but that night at Lola’s Roadhouse, when this random kid, who had no place to be there, called him Rough Road and made him break into the first genuine smile in months, the first crack in the surface appeared. The first sunbeam broke through. 

He was a father once. He should have known what it meant right then and there.

Is he ready to be one again? Will Amy accept him as one? Will she let him walk into her new life and embrace the role he was merely tiptoeing around before? She never had a family, for all he knew. The kid's been in the system, or on the streets, her whole life. Nothing but a bunch of shitty group homes and foster families that tossed her out like yesterday’s garbage the second they realized she couldn't be molded into their perfect image. She rarely speaks about it, but he was able to piece together some things from the scraps she gave him, and he didn't have the heart to push for more. But he knows. He is the first person in her life who actually cares about her. The first person who even resembles a parental figure, no matter how their story started or how much he was trying to fight it at first.

He's still terrified of fucking up her life. Part of him is still convinced he's about to start a domino effect that will end in tragedy. But he isn't fighting it anymore. 

When he pulls up to the school’s parking lot, the party is already in full swing; he is fashionably late, as Karen would put it. The muffled sound of music is coming from somewhere in the back. People in formal attire are standing in small groups in front of the building — adults mostly, parents and teachers, chatting and taking a smoke break. Heads turn as he exits the car, his white cap pulling attention like a flashlight in the dark. Conversations are cut off and replaced by whispers, but Frank pays them no mind; he nods and tips his hat politely where he has to, but he is in no mood for mingling or small talk. There is only one person he wants to focus on tonight and she is somewhere inside, oblivious to everything.

The only person who knows he's coming is waiting at the school's entrance, looking no less intimidating in a suit and tie than he did strapped head to toe in battle gear in Afghanistan. 

“Lieutenant Castiglione, welcome!” Josh greets him as Frank approaches, extending a hand his way.

“Principal Davis,” he says in return, shaking the man’s hand. “It’s been a while. Thank you for the invite.”

“Of course. Please, this way.”

As soon as they enter the building, Josh throws his arm around Frank's broad shoulders and pats his back. “Good to see you, buddy.”

“Good to see you too, man.” Frank replies, returning the gesture. “Thank you for letting me do this. And for, y’know, everything.”

“Of course. Amy is a good kid. I’m really glad you two have each other.”

Frank chuckles, ready to dismiss the comment. But his laugh is abruptly interrupted as a group of boys rushes by, their voices loud and filled with excitement, charging towards the door like a stampede, and almost colliding with a lady who is about to enter.

“Hey!” Josh shouts after them. “No slamming—”

The door slams shut.

“...doors.”

Frank shakes his head with another chuckle. “See you got your hands full tonight.”

“Oh, you have no idea. These kids can be bigger assholes than the ones we had to deal with back in the day.”

The music, although still muffled, is becoming louder. He can now distinguish the tune, not only the bass, which is rattling the walls. And it hits him. Like a bolt of lightning piercing through the sky and igniting every cell in his body, Frank realizes with a jolt that he's just a few steps away from the doors to the gymnasium where the party is taking place. 

He slows down and swallows hard, suddenly nervous as hell.

“I know what you're thinking, brother,” Josh says when he spots the uncertain look on his face. “But she wants you here.”

“How are you so sure?”

He smirks. “Because she can't shut up about you.”

Frank frowns and eventually pulls his gaze away from the door, giving the other man a bewildered look. Josh merely laughs, shaking his head.

“Amy had a million questions about you the second she arrived,” he says. “They came slowly at first, like she wasn't sure if she should ask them, but once we got to know each other a little better, they all spilled out. She told me her story too, your story, and the look she got in her eyes, man… I see it in some of these kids sometimes. The spark that lights up when they talk about that one good thing in their shitty life they hold on to like a lifeline. The one thing that kept them from giving up.” Stepping right in front of Frank, Josh places both hands on his shoulders. “For Amy, that's you. Whether you planned it or not.”

Frank looks at the gymnasium doors again. The kid is just behind them, hidden in the crowd, probably putting on a brave face for her friends. Letting herself be dragged onto the dancefloor while praying for the night to end. And she doesn't know. She doesn't know that he's standing right here, with a lump in his throat and sweaty hands. Scared out of his goddamn mind. 

“I don't wanna fuck this up,” he whispers. “I sent her here so she could have a normal life. The shit I do… I can't have it catch up to her, man. What if…” he licks his lips. “What if I ruin this?”

“And what if you make everything better?” Josh counters with so much hope in his voice. He then steps aside to clear the way for the doors and offers him a friendly pat on the back. “Get in there, Lieutenant. Make the kid’s night special.”

That's what it is about, isn't it? A gentle warmth begins to envelop his chest, a tender feeling he thought was lost to him in his past life. The desire to make your kid smile, to see them happy, to do something good. He always wanted that for Lisa and Frankie. And it was so easy to give it back then, so effortless when his shadows were lighter and darkness wasn't so heavy yet, when the scars were yet to be formed and begin etching their stories.

He's not that man anymore but maybe he can be. For Amy, he can try to resurrect himself — despite the scars, despite everything that's keeping him chained to his own personal hell. For tonight at least, he'll claw his way out of this rubble, if that's what it takes to make her happy.

With one, final breath to steady his raging heartbeat, he steps through the doors.

The first thing that hits him is the music; at a volume much louder than he initially anticipated, the booming sound sends vibrations through his entire body. It's a popular song, something he keeps constantly hearing on the radio lately, and it has the crowd going, teenagers in tight circles jumping to the beat and shouting every word while most of their parents and faculty occupy the quiet corners and round tables on the far side of the room. 

For an average small-town school, the Parents' Board didn't skimp on the decorations — the hall is bathed in shades of deep night sky blue, with the ceiling illuminated by hundreds of tiny golden lights. Strands of white satin drape it gracefully, like soft clouds hanging over the entire dance floor, and glitter-covered stars shimmer on gold chains above everyone's heads, with the largest one, sparkling like a disco ball, hovering over the center of the place. Each table is topped with a rich bouquet of flowers surrounded by dozens of candles, and the buffet is packed with delicacies straight out of a top shelf New York restaurant.

Frank can't help but feel overwhelmed by how truly remarkable everything looks. A tremendous amount of care has gone into making sure the kids will remember this night for a long time. He always imagined Lisa's prom would be like this, that she would feel like a princess, immersed in a fairytale as she walks into the room in her dream dress.

Looking at it all, he wants Amy to feel this way too. After everything she's endured, the kid truly deserves every bit of happiness she can get her hands on.

That's when he spots her. That waterfall of her long, blonde hair cascading down her back, no longer unruly curls but perfect, shining waves. A pitch black dress, elegant and classy with thin straps crossing over her exposed back, and the flared, ruffled skirt ending just above her knee. He encouraged her to get herself something pretty and she must have found the most beautiful dress in the whole damn world because holy shit, the sight of her nearly brings him to his knees.

That's her. That's his girl. Standing there on the other side of the room with a group of friends, laughter spilling from her lips. And God, how he missed her laugh. He can nearly hear it above the music, so vivid it feels as though she's right beside him. His heart swells at how free it is, how her entire body is shaking with it as she throws her head back in pure abandon. He sees her lean toward one of her friends, a tall girl with long black hair and a glittery silver gown, and whisper something in her ear while surreptitiously pointing to a boy hanging out in another circle. Something fiery and protective wakes up screaming inside Frank’s chest, but it’s silenced almost immediately when he sees it’s the friend who is smitten, hiding her blushing cheeks behind a manicured hand, while Amy wiggles her brows and gives the girl that famous smirk of hers. The two ladies then chuckle together, heads leaning against one another, sharing a secret no one else knows about.

His breath hitches in his throat. 

This is her life now. Teenage gossip, pretty dresses, school dances and the kind of freedom she never knew before. Was he really about to step into it with his fists covered in blood and a gun strapped to his back? With the trail of violence and death dragging behind him all the way back from New York? 

“What are you waiting for?” He hears Josh say, feels his hand slam against his back again. “Go on.”

Frank swallows hard. His hands are sweaty, heartbeat going faster than a galloping horse. Josh mentions something about his principal duties calling him, then disappears in the crowd, leaving him alone. People are starting to notice, more eyes turning his way. Teenagers are talking. News travels fast, especially in these circles, and he doesn't want anyone to spoil Amy’s surprise. 

It’s time to move. 

As he walks through the dancefloor, his pace slow and measured, people part in front of him like sea. He can see the smiles, the looks of realization, spots a phone or two going up — all the while Amy continues to be unaware of anything. And while everyone is expecting to witness a heartfelt reunion, Frank’s fears return once more; it's like he’s walking into a trap, like the next step he takes, his foot is gonna step on a landmine and blow this whole thing up to pieces. 

His mind racing, he thinks back to the day he returned from his last deployment. How he went to Lisa's school straight from the airport, how her eyes lit up when she saw him at her dance practice. That day, that moment, was the beginning of the end for him. A chain reaction started by something as simple as a soldier’s homecoming, ending in tragedy the next day. 

And now he's retracing his own steps. What if it's gonna happen again? What if this is, once again, God's shitty sense of humor and the rug is gonna be pulled from under his feet? Isn't he nothing but a death omen? Is everything going to fall apart the second he touches it? He's never been able to protect what's dear to him. Never been able to keep the people he loves safe. He's only ever been the very reason they were doomed. 

Is this whole thing a mistake? Maybe he should have stayed away. Only, he's never been good at staying away either. He's not as strong as Lieberman. Thought he was, when he put Amy on that bus. Told himself it was the right thing to do, that she was better off without him. But he wasn't strong enough. Amy is too important to him, he cares too much for his own good. He couldn't stay away.

Is she about to pay the price for his weakness?

One by one, her friends start to notice him. Their conversation fading away as their eyes lock on his approaching figure, jaws hanging loose in shock. The girl in the silver dress straight up gawks, speaking loud enough for the entire group to hear.

“Whose dad is that?”

That's when Amy turns her head. And if Frank wanted to turn back and leave before, it was too late for that now. 

She squints, confused by the abrupt shift in subject. But suddenly her eyes widen in shock and her body stiffens as she stares at him, those enormous gray eyes meeting his under the shadow of his cap. He can see tears gathering at the edges of her long eyelashes, glistening like the lights above their heads. Her entire face softens and the corners of her mouth fight for their lives, trying to stay in place instead of rising up into a beaming smile. Her lips twitch, letting forth a breathless sound of his name unreadable to anyone around but him.

And just like that, all his anxieties disappear.

“Excuse me ladies, may I steal my girl for a bit?” He asks the surrounding girls as he approaches, turning his charm on and tipping his hat with a smirk. He gives them just a fleeting look, his attention fixed on Amy and Amy only as he offers his hand, but notices how the brunette connects the dots and immediately rushes everyone away, clearly knowing more than the others. 

They’re left alone. Around them, the music fades out, replaced by the voice of Josh, who can be heard starting a speech. Neither of them is paying attention to that, though.

“Wh— How?” Amy stutters, blinking in disbelief. “Why? I mean—”

“Well, you said it was a parent-child thing, right? So I thought, how about I go and surprise my kid—”

She crashes into his chest without warning. He doesn’t even get to finish the sentence as the air is forcefully taken from his lungs. Frank stumbles back, taken off guard, but soon finds his footing. And with a joyful laugh, he wraps his arms around her, drawing her near and surrendering to the warmth of the moment. 

It was worth it. The long drive, the fears, the nervousness. For this moment alone, it was all worth it.

There’s a small choked-up sound, a shuddery breath — and then she's rapidly pulling back, wiping her face with the back of her hand and blinking the incoming tears away.

“Sorry. Sorry, I— Gosh, I'm leaving makeup all over your—” she starts hastly rubbing her fist over the spot just below the ribbons, her chin wobbling despite her best efforts to keep her composure. But Frank dismisses her with a soft laugh and takes her hand away.

“Jesus Christ, stop it. Come here.”

He pulls her back in and envelopes her in an embrace he's been longing for her since the day she left. The moment she's in his arms, everything settles, his heartbeat transforming into a soothing rhythm, and all his worries from the last few months dissipate into nothing. Burrowing his face in her hair, Frank allows himself to breathe out a deep, relieved sigh; she's here, he tells himself. She's safe. Her world isn’t falling apart.

Amy squeezes him tight, head pillowed gently on his collar bone, and clings to his back like her life depends on it.

“Frank…”

Hand in her hair, he holds her just as tight. “Hi, sweetheart.”

And now there's a laugh, or a sob, or a mix of both and fuck if it doesn't make him hold her even closer, if it doesn't make him never want to let go. He leans back slightly, cradling her face in his large hands, and takes a look at her, immediately taking note of the tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Hey, hey, shh, no no no no no. No crying tonight. Don’t wanna ruin your look, right?” He says, swiping his thumbs under her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. 

Amy lets out a wet chuckle. “I just can't believe you're here.”

And those words, the dazzling grin that blooms on her face as she speaks, the gentle way she grips his wrists, it all convinces him that he made the right choice. And for once, he allows himself to let go of his fears, banish the demons, and just be — be present, be open, be himself. A version of him he thought had died a long time ago.

“Yeah, I figured I owed you a visit. Can't survive on phone calls alone, can we?”

People erupt in a loud round of applause at something Josh says. He tells parents to grab their kids, everyone find partners, as the first tunes of an acoustic guitar filter in through the speakers — a melody soothing for the soul.

Frank takes a look around. Fathers gently grasp their daughters' hands, while mothers tenderly wipe away unseen dust from their sons' shoulders. People start swaying to the music, holding quiet, private conversations, and it's all so homey and domestic, so unlike anything he's used to these days. 

Amy’s smile dims as she watches the crowd, the kind of longing in her gaze that breaks his heart in two. It's the look of a person who never even dared to hope to experience something like this. A person who believes they will never fit the mold, never be worthy of this kind of life.

He offers her his hand.

“So what do you say, kid? May I have this dance?”

She looks at him like he's speaking a foreign language. “You serious?”

“Do I not look serious?” He grins. “Come on, I even dressed up for you!”

And that does it. Her face lights up with a gleaming smile, the kind that seems to cast light on everything around her. She grasps his hand, trusting him to guide her into a small opening amidst the crowd of people. With a tender grip, Frank intertwines his fingers with hers, his other hand finding its way to her back and pulling her into a gentle but protective hold. As she rests her hand on his upper arm, a man with a guitar takes his place on the stage and starts singing words that can only come from a parent’s heart.

I know that I'm complicated

I don't have a lot to say in

The daylight

Maybe I'm uncomfortable

Little unpredictable, sometimes

The two of them start to sway slowly. For a few moments neither of them say anything. Tears keep forming in Amy's eyes but she does her best to keep them away, blinking furiously every time they threaten to spill. She doesn't look at his face, only able to give him glances, but Frank on the other hand can't take his eyes off of her.

The simple black heels she’s wearing make her a little bit taller but still not as tall as him. Her makeup is flawless, the dark eyeshadow and mascara enhancing the striking gray of her eyes. She carries herself with an undeniable elegance and confidence, her posture unwavering and her chin lifted, as if challenging the world to stand against her. She went through hell and came out victorious, taking the second chance at life by the horns and using it to its fullest potential.

Whatever it's worth, I know that it hurts

You are the ocean and I am the earth

Hide in my head, leave things unsaid

I am the needle and you are the thread

He’s in awe of her. He’s proud of her. His beautiful, wonderful, incredible girl.

When she catches him smiling, he effortlessly sweeps her off her feet with a single, graceful spin. Taken by surprise, Amy bursts into a delightful giggle before twirling right back into his arms.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” Frank says, earnest and proud, when he catches her.

She gives him a toothy grin. “Wow, charmed dialed up to eleven, huh?” A pause. “Thank you.”

Eyes getting misty again, she tries to hide it behind a breezy sigh, casually tossing her hair over her shoulder. Frank can't help but laugh; subtlety has never been this kid's strong suit. She sizes up his attire — her inquisitive eyes wandering from the cap all the way down to his shoes.

“So. What's with the outfit?” She asks. “I thought you hated playing dress up.”

Ah, the distraction tactic. He has to give her that one, the kid's clearly having trouble wrapping her head around the situation. Not that he can blame her; his own emotions are like a tornado swirling around his chest.

Nodding, Frank throws a look around to make sure no one is eavesdropping. 

“I, uh, I've been saving it for a special occasion, you know? Had to look sharp for my girl.”

Even the blue lighting of the place can't hide the blush that colors her cheeks.

“So that's actually— whoa...” She looks him up and down again, in awe this time. “I remember seeing pictures online. You were given some kind of medal…” Her fingertips run over the decorations pinned to his chest. “What do they all mean?”

Frank's gaze drops to the ribbons. He points to the one her index finger rests on — a rectangle of red, white and black stripes with a beige square in the middle.

“That's for serving in Iraq,” he tells her. “And that one,” he points to the one above it, red with a single blue strap across it, “is the Good Conduct medal. Given for exemplary behavior, efficiency, and fidelity in active Federal Military service.”

Her finger moves to the red and yellow one next to it. “And that one?”

“National Defense Service.” 

Seeing how her curiosity dries her tears and helps her gather her composure, Frank starts pointing all the other ones around it.

“United Nations Medal, Navy and Marine Corps Overseas Service Ribbon, Expert Rifle, Expert Pistol.”

A chuckle. “Figures.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Global War on Terrorism Service, National Defense Service, Bronze Star and…”

“Purple Heart,” Amy gasps. “I know that one. From a movie, or something. It's given for being wounded or killed in action, right?”

Frank beams at her proudly. “That's right. I’ve got two of those.”

“Two? Of course you do.”

He can't help but laugh at her dramatic ass, especially when she thwacks at his chest, all while wearing that irresistibly cute pout. His reaction only makes her roll her eyes.

“You're impossible.”

“Yeah, missed you too, kid.”

She halts, her expression softening as she takes in the sight of him and recognizes the sincerity reflected in his gaze. Her eyes fall to the ground, fingers gripping his shoulders in a nervous tick and he can practically feel her entire body coiling up in his hold.

The man on the stage continues his song.

Will you wait?

Wait

Wait for me now

If you'll wait

Wait

Stay and you'll figure me out

“What is it?” Frank asks softly, tilting his head to catch her eyes.

Amy curls her lips between her teeth. “You didn't have to do this, Frank,” she whispers. “You didn't have to come.”

The emotions conveyed by the melody guide them through the song, delicate strums of the guitar allowing them to continue their pace. With an instinctive tenderness, Frank draws Amy closer, his hands gently resting on her waist. He's not much of a dancer, never has been, but Maria taught him the basics for something exactly like this.

“I wanted to do this for you,” he tells her. “You're family, kid. You deserve to have this.”

“A fake daddy-daughter dance?”

“Who said it's fake?”

Tears well up in her eyes again as her gaze locks onto him in pure disbelief, her breath hitching in her throat. And it fucking breaks his heart that she still doesn't get it, that she still doesn't allow herself to believe that this is real. It's not some sort of stupid game they play, a staged show for everyone to see. 

“What happened to staying away to protect me?”

Good question. Frank turns to the song for guidance, connecting with the message of pushing through your own roadblocks for a love that’s as easy as breathing but comes with a hell of a lot of responsibility. Understanding the need to do better, figure stuff out and hoping your child will give you that grace and wait for you to come to them ready to be what they need you to be.

I promise I'll get better with time

Do my best to make it alright

Be the one to kiss you goodnight

Forever

Will you wait?

Wait

Wait for me now

If you'll wait

Wait

Stay and we'll figure this out

“I'll be honest with you, it took some convincing,” he breathes out, looking into her eyes. “I was afraid I'd screw this up for you.”

Amy gives a firm shake of her head. “You're not screwing it up, Frank.”

“So far.”

“Frank. You're not.” She casts a quick glance around, ensuring their little bubble of privacy remains intact; no one is paying them any mind, though. Everyone just keeps swaying, immersed in their own worlds just like they are. “I wanted you here,” Amy admits with a shaky breath. “And I know it’s silly, but I miss you and I… I wanted to show you around, like, for real. Show you that I'm doing okay. But I was afraid to ask because I was sure you'd say no. And I know you wouldn't let me come back to New York, even for a visit.”

“That's not true,” Frank immediately responds without hesitation, yet her gaze stays laden with doubt.

“You already thought the phone calls were too much, remember?”

“I–” he stammers, licks his lips, then takes a deep breath. “Jesus, I'm paranoid, alright? You got me there.”

To his surprise, Amy's face softens.

“Yeah, I know,” she whispers, giving her head an affectionate tilt. “You just want to keep me safe.”

“More than anything.”

The song ends on a soft cadence, last chords fading into silence, and people around them erupt with an applause. The singer gives a bow, leaves the guitar and hops off stage right into the arms of his two daughters, who pat him on the back with pride and walk away with him, each with her arm looped through his elbow. 

But the two of them stay in their bubble, deaf to the noise, blind to the chaos.

Amy looks him in the eyes for a long time. Frank holds her gaze, waiting, until whatever’s been holding her hostage sets her free and she falls into his chest with a deep, relieved sigh.

“I'm really glad you're here,” she says, snuggling in.

Frank brings a hand up and smooths it down her hair with a smile. “Me too, kid.” He kisses her forehead. “Me too.”

He was so fucking scared to come, but now he's got his kid in his arms, alive, breathing, and happy, and the world isn’t ending. Hell didn’t break loose. For once, carnage decided to take a rain check at her doorstep. 

The night is still young. A lot could happen. But Frank isn’t afraid anymore.

“My door is always open for you, kid,” he says as soon she pulls away, and grasps both of her hands. “Always. I'm just one call away, okay? Say a word and I'll come. Or get you on the next flight to New York. Whatever you want.”

Amy's gaze drifts to their joined hands, and suddenly her expression changes.

“You sure about that? What about, you know, the danger?”

They’re so alike in a lot of ways. Worrying about things outside of their control. Thinking only of the worst case scenarios. Focusing on the other’s needs, while throwing their own out the window. It could be funny if it wasn’t tragic in a way.

On the other hand, though, maybe that is why they make such a good team.

He takes her chin with a delicate grasp and nudges it upward. “We’ll work it out, somehow,” he promises. “I won't let anything happen to you, Amy.”

She grabs his wrist and squeezes gently, her smile showing her gratitude. As if on cue, another wave of tears floods her eyes and Frank barely has the restrain to hold back a groan.

God, he hates seeing her cry.

“Alright, what did I say? No crying,” he chides, but his grin tells her he’s not being too serious. 

A not-so-elegant snort escapes her while wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “You’re not making it any easier! You can't just– show up here, looking like that, and expect me to keep it together, you know?!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. C’mere.” He reaches for her face with the other hand and she patienly lets him swipe his thumbs over her cheeks, getting rid of evidence.

A new song kicks in, a lively, rapid-fire pop tune that sends the crowd into a frenzy of cheers. Groups start forming, teenagers gravitating towards one another as the first lines of the song come through the speakers.

I was reminiscing just the other day

While having coffee all alone and Lord, it took me away

Back to a first glance feeling on New York time

Back when you fit my poems like a perfect rhyme

At the edge of his vision, Frank catches sight of a familiar silver gown and dark hair. He jerks his head toward the group hovering nearby.

“Go on, kid. Your friends are waiting.”

Amy follows his gaze and spots her friends. She flashes them a sheepish smile but then looks back at him worriedly. “What about you?”

Frank simply shrugs. “I think I'ma hang around for a bit. Play chaperone, all that.”

“But—”

He sets a hand on her shoulder. “I'm serious, Amy. It's your night. Go have fun. Be a kid.” For me.

She looks back and forth between him and her friends, who are waving at her to join them. She wants to go, he can tell, but she also doesn’t want to leave his side.

“Promise you won't disappear?” She asks, holding onto the cuff of his sleeve like her life depends on it and his heart all but melts inside his chest.

“I'll be right here. We can go grab something to eat after, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Attagirl.” 

He presses a kiss to her temple and she grins. Shoulders shaking with laughter, Frank takes off his cap and puts it on her head, pulling it over her eyes. “Now get outta here. Off you go. Jesus Christ.”

“Yes, sir!”

He watches her run to her friends all the while wrestling with the cap that still ends up sitting crooked on her head. The silver brunette strolls over, snatching Amy halfway and pulling her along, mouth moving in tune with the song. Amy glances back one final time to check if he’s still there, gives him a mock salute paired with that sassy smirk of hers, and then she’s throwing her hands up with a cheer, diving into her merry band of misfits as they scoop her up and wrap her in a welcoming, chaotic embrace.

Frank watches on with pride as she spins around and sings along like the world is hers. He didn’t think he’d ever get to experience this feeling, convinced himself the universe was hellbent on stripping him of every chance at happiness he’d ever come across, yet here he is. Watching the girl he loves like a daughter dance the night away.

He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. And judging from the look she sends his way from the middle of the dancefloor, neither would she.

Tonight I'm gonna dance

For all that we’ve been through

But I don't wanna dance

If I'm not dancing with you

Tonight I'm gonna dance

Like you were in this room

But I don't wanna dance

If I'm not dancing with you