what-the-fic

[what-the-fic]

I love them so much. I was secretly hoping for Frittsie with this ask.

💗

For a friend of Frankie’s.

💗 a moodboard about another significant relationship in my muse’s life

frankie peterson + gerard pitts

send me one of the following symbols and i’ll make a moodboard for my character!

[what-the-fic]

The girls 🥹

Todd infodumping as a form of flirtation is hilarious to me. Thanks for coming to my ToddTalk (awkward silence)

Calling Pitts by his first name feels especially funny these days. I’m all in.

I’m so excited to see more Freeks, that I might just have to finish the final chapter of Cece’s story 😍

Frankie's Shorts Series;

PART IV: Girls Talk

Part III can be found HERE.

This story and Frankie wouldn’t be the same without @what-the-fic 's Cecily and @farrradays ' Claudia, so thank you for a thousandth time for creating these lovely ladies and changing mine and Frakie's lives for the better 🩵

"Like a bolt out of the blue; fate steps in and sees you through; when you wish upon a star; your dreams come true" — Dion and the Belmonts, When You Wish Upon a Star

It was late at night when, through the corridors of NYU residence hall, muffled giggles and attempts to whisper between two friends could be heard.

“Shh– ush… You're going to wake up the whole floor!”

“Me–?! You're the one who can't stop giggling like a teenage– girl!”

“I AM a teenage girl! Wait– no, scrap that, I am insulted!”

“Shut it! Oh! Oh my god– wherearemykeyes?!”

A rustle through a small, but surprisingly deep purse ended unsuccessfully, while another search through pockets of a coat that was definitely too thin for that time of a year ended up victorious. The door of the girls' dormitory ended with a few new scratches before they managed to find the keyhole.

“Okay now, we have to be quiet as a mo– OUCH!”

“What happened?!”

“I tripped over your shoes! When did you even take them off?”

“Shh–! You're going to wake up Cece–!”

Suddenly the room brightened up, and they both squinted their eyes, not expecting the attack of light.

Cecily Thomas, the third roommate, was sitting on her bed, with her hand still on the light switch of her bedside lamp. She smirked with amusement to herself.

“You two would have woken up dead from their slumber!” she chuckled, “I assume the dance at Sigma House was fun?”

“Oh, it was great! I wish you went with us, the boys are so much fun!”

Claudie was the first to fully regain her sight, already barefoot, she approached her roommate excitedly.

“I barely got to sit down all night, my feet are killing me!” Frankie exclaimed, getting rid of her shoes and lightly kicking them off with a sigh of relief.

Claudie laughed, as Frankie plopped next to her on the bed.

“I wish I got the chance to dance with Todd…”

“You didn’t?” Cecily cocked an eyebrow in surprise. Was she wrong about the match between her friends?

“As if!” Frankie answered for her friend, “She danced with one guy. Then, when the boys showed up, she and Todd got into talking about some nerdy stuff and they just– never stopped!”

“Really?” Cecily asked with relief. Of course, she was right about them being each other's type.

“Honestly, I didn't even realise,” Claudie said, with a bright pink blush spreading across her face, “until Frankie came to us and said that the dance was almost ending. It was such a pleasant conversation, though! He has a lot of strong opinions that I wouldn't expect at first–”

“That sounds like Todd alright.”

“–and we left in the middle of our discussion, I wish we had finished.”

“I have a feeling you'll have plenty of opportunities to finish it,” Cecily smiled warmly, before turning her attention to her other roommate. “I take it Meeks is a good enough dancer then?”

“You know it! Although it was Pittsie who really gave me a workout, they were right when they said he's quite the dancer.”

“Which one are you trying to date again?” Claudie teased, elbowing her lightly.

“Ah, no! Gerard is lovely, and Steven could definitely use some of his confidence, but–”

“I'm joking Frankie! I'm well aware which one holds your affections,” Claudie turned to Cecily again. “The whole way home she wouldn't shut up about him.”

“I can imagine.”

“The way he talks sometimes I just– I just want to squeeze his face and kiss him until I can't breathe–”

“Frankie!”

The girls giggled, and this time, it was Frankie's turn to change the colour of her cheeks to bright red. She laid down on her roommate’s bed, closing her eyes and just then, it got to her how truly exhausted she was.

“How was your jazz thing, Cece?” Claudie asked as they heard Frankie’s light snoring begin.

“Well, the music was bad, but boy, can they stir up a great martini.”

“In that case, next time we're going there before the dance. If I ever have to drink another beer I think I just simply combust.”

[what-the-fic]

Reading one of your stories at 5am brings back so many good feelings. 💙

I love these two so much. Freeks is so soft.

Frankie's Shorts Series;

PART III: Midnight Visits

Part II can be found HERE

Nobody expected the spanish inquisition, and nobody expected a Frankie story ever again, probably. But they've been bothering me lately, so here it is.

"I go out walkin' after midnight; out in the moonlight; just hopin' you may be somewhere a-walkin'; after midnight, searchin' for me" — Patsy Cline, Walking After Midnight

Steven Meeks wasn’t sure what exactly woke him up from the unplanned nap he took between one assignment and another, but he was kinda glad that it did. For the first time in his whole life, Steven Meeks was behind on schoolwork, and he had no idea nor an excuse for himself. He dragged himself from the couch, grabbing his glasses from the coffee table, ready to go back to his desk with an abandoned almost an hour earlier sketch of yet another floor plan when a soft knock on his dorm door stopped him. First, he turned around, confused if he did actually hear a knock or if it was just the rain, drumming against the windows, but then he heard the sound again. He shook his head, ready to reprimand his friend and roommate.

"Pittsie, I swear, if you've lost your keys again–" he stopped abruptly, when, after opening the doors, instead of Pittsie, he saw Frankie, the pretty waitress he met a few weeks back, at his doorstep.

Was he still dreaming?

"Steven! Uh, hi," she hugged herself tighter, her wet hair falling on her face, "I'm sorry, I know it's late, but I just finished my shift–... is, uh, is Pittsie here?"

He blinked, adjusting his glasses with his index finger. Well, if she was looking for Pittsie, then it wasn't his dream.

“No, uh, I think he's still at the library…”

Her eyes widened, and he could swear for a second he saw tears welling up in them before she blinked them away. Forgetting all subtlety, he looked her up and down, noticing that she was still wearing her waitress uniform under her thin coat and, more importantly, that she was soaking wet. It turns out the rain was pretty strong that evening, after all.

“Well, um– sorry for bothering you,” she said, shivering, “I should probably go–”

“Nonsense,” he opened the door wider, finally getting his logical thinking back, “come on in, you must be freezing.”

She hesitated, but he stepped back, allowing her to have a straight path inside the small dorm room.

“Uh, you can give me your coat, if you don't mind that is, and I can turn up the heater,” he talked, walking over to a small drawer and reaching inside, “I- of course, I will get you some towels but there's- there is a blanket on the couch, you can take it,” he circled back into the middle of the room when she was standing uncertain. “Would you like some tea? I should probably get you tea, it'll warm you up just fine.”

“Steven it's alright, I can just–”

“I'll get you tea. And towels. And– just wait here, please, I'll be right back,” he babbled, getting out of the room, closing the door behind him softly, and leaving her alone in his dorm room.

She blinked a few times, still frozen in place when another shiver went through her body. She really was cold.

Frankie slowly took off her coat that started dripping on the floor already and she messily put it on the heater on the wall. She grabbed the blanket from the couch, as Steven instructed and wrapped it around her shoulders. A sweet aroma of cinnamon hit her nostrils, and she felt weirdly comforted by it, wrapping the blanket around herself even tighter and finally getting a good look at the room.

A small couch, from where she took the blanket, only one desk that was littered with some papers and a chair accompanying it. There should be two desks, and she wondered if they swapped one for a couch. As little as she knew Pitts, it did sound like something he would do. On the other side, there were two beds pushed aside to the walls, one neatly made, which she assumed was Steven's, and the other one's sheets were scrambled all across it. The nightstand next to Pitts’ bed was equally messy, decorated with empty chocolate wrappers. The second nightstand only had a small lamp on top of it, that was now off and a single picture framed. Frankie really didn't want to impose, but after a few seconds, the curiosity got to her, and she approached the nightstand, taking the photo to examine it.

Seven boys in a courtyard with a smaller figure in the middle, clearly older, which she assumed must have been a teacher. She recognised Steven right away, sitting in the front next to another ginger boy. There was a shy smile on his lips and a spark in his eyes behind the glasses. In fact, all of the boys looked happy and inspired.

Must've been a good teacher, Frankie thought.

She looked at all the boys again, then she realised that the very tall boy in the back, with a ridiculous buzzcut, was Gerard. A snort escaped her lips, and she covered her mouth with her hand, amused. That's when the door opened again and Meeks returned with a mug in one hand and carrying a bunch of towels in the other.

“Sorry–” she put down the photo immediately, “I wasn't– I didn't want to pry.”

“It’s quite alright,” he shrugged, putting the towels and the mug down on the desk, dangerously close to all the papers, “I mean, it is framed and on display; it's not like you searched all my drawers to find it.”

She smiled softly. “I guess not.”

“Here–”

He handed her the towel, himself taking the mug of tea again and he sat on the neat bed, encouraging her to do the same. The blanket slid off of her shoulders when she started to slowly dry her hair with the towel.

“Must've been nice,” she started and seeing his confused look, she motioned at the photo, “to have a tight-knit friend group like that.”

“It was.”

He smiled, nodding his head, but there was a sadness in his expression that Frankie recognised as there was more to the story. She wasn't going to ask.

“Pittsie mentioned you were in high school together.”

“Oh, he and I go way back; I have known him since we were in diapers.”

“That sounds like something I always wished for.”

“You didn't have many friends growing up?”

“I mean, it's not like I never had any friends. There were always some people around me I could call that. It just always seemed a bit… shallow?” She laughed at herself, putting the towel down. “Jesus, that sounds so pathetic, sorry.”

“No, no, you're fine. What do you mean?”

“Well, there was always someone to go shopping with, or exchange silly gossip, but… no one to really talk to. At least I didn't connect with anyone that much. And boys… well, you know how teenage boys are.”

“Yes, I suppose I'm well informed on that topic.”

Frankie laughed at how serious he sounded. He handed her the mug that still had steam coming out of it with a familiar aroma.

“Is that… cherry?”

“Oh, uh, yeah… I don't know, it was the only tea I had. Must've grabbed it without looking instead of regular,” he struggled to explain himself, knowing perfectly well that he chose this particular flavour very much on purpose the last time he was grocery shopping.

“You must be very keen on cherry then? I mean you always order the pie when you're in the diner too.”

“It was you who suggested it the first time I was there!”

“The other girls seemed to notice that they get the biggest tips after selling it to clients… but that might have something to do with the age of the patrons and the length of our uniform, though,” she stuck out her tongue, disgusted by the thought. “I thought I might test it out. And hey, you keep ordering it, so it has to be a pretty decent pie.”

“You never tried it?”

“I'm not the biggest fan of cherry, to be completely honest.”

“Then–” he pointed at the mug.

“The flavour is alright, but the texture of the fruit makes me want to barf.”

Steven stared at her wide-eyed as the whole plan he was building for a solid few weeks crumbled to the ground. She didn't even like cherries, and yet there he was trying to stomach the cherry pies for weeks, actively seeking the flavour in other dishes just because it reminded him of her. And now, feeling his face and ears getting hotter, he must've looked like a cherry himself. What an embarrassment.

“To be completely honest, diner food, in general, is pretty shit. I only tolerate the fries, because they let me eat them for free. And I heard the black coffee is decent too. At least that's what Cecily said.”

“Not a big fan of coffee?” he asked, retrieving his voice. Not that he planned to ask her out for a coffee one day or something.

“I'm not a fan of torturing myself for an idea. I like my coffee as sweet as they come. And with cinnamon.”

“Noted.”

Frankie smiled again, finally taking a sip of her tea. The flavour was not bad at all.

“Thank you, Steven.”

“What for? It's nothing.”

“For taking care of me.”

[what-the-fic]

Sit down. Inhale. Exhale. The gun will wait. The lake will wait.

I assure you death will wait. Death has a lot of time. Death can attend to you tomorrow. Or next week.

You need not die today.

Stay here--through pout or pain or peskyness. Stay here. See what the news is going to be tomorrow.

Excerpt of "To the Young Who Want to Die" by Gwendolyn Brooks || Dead Poets Society (1989)

[what-the-fic]

Put it in reverse and try again, Chuck.

[what-the-fic]

[what-the-fic]

Being a Charlie girl is

“Gender roles are a construct and I WILL NOT carry his things because I am the one with a purse”

and also

“I cannot trust this man from literal fucking Harvard to carry anything important on his own. I refuse to be held at customs because he left his passport in a sandcastle”

[what-the-fic]

dead poets society as text posts because why not

[what-the-fic]

May - 1961

A/N: Frankie belongs to the darling @hystericalqween, and Claudie belongs to the lovely @cursebreakerfarrier - sorry I haven't updated this in forever. There is one scene left. It could come out this month, it could come out in 2033. Your guess is as good as mine.

“Cece, what happened to you?” Todd’s eyes were wide as she limped through the alleyway, bloodied, shivering, and soaking wet. Saying nothing in response, she leaned against the bricks of the shop wall and struggled to catch her breath. Todd wasted no time wrapping her in his jacket and helping her in through the secluded door. Despite his help, she barely upright as they descended the dark, narrow staircase that led to the once-nearly-condemned club.

Charlie, looking up from the mugs he was drying, dropped one of the ceramic pieces with a crash. He raced to Cecily and lifted her onto the barstool, ignoring the broken shards that scattered around the base. “Fire hoses? Seriously, Cecily?” Charlie muttered to himself as he retrieved a first aid kit from behind the bar. With weeks to go before the place opened, the proprietor-to-be reminded himself to purchase another round of medical supplies. The protests were close by, and they were growing out of control, yet the only violence Cecily had seen had been from those meant to protect the peace.

Taking a clean bar towel from the shelf, Charlie wrapped Cecily’s dripping hair and helped her out of her jacket. “What were you thinking, Baby? These things are getting dangerous,” he chided gently as he inspected her for cuts and scrapes. “It’s hoses today, but how long until it becomes tear gas and bullets?” He gave her no time to speak as he cleaned and bandaged the spot on her arm where she had fallen when the police had turned the hoses in her direction. “Journalism is becoming dangerous. I worry about you.”

Cecily’s eyes flicked from Charlie’s to Todd’s. “I wanted to talk to you about that. I’ve decided not to go into journalism. Todd and I. Well, he’s been such a help in getting me through this poetry class. You know, I have enough English credits now; I think I want to do something else with what I’ve learned. You know, between Todd and Keating, it was easy to see that I don’t belong in a job like that. I’ve decided my future is in storytelling, and with all I’ve learned from Claudie’s friends, I’d like to write plays. Maybe, in the meantime, I could take some shifts with Frankie here at The Cave?”

“And you decided all of this in the ten minutes since getting hosed? Cecily, it’s not wrong to want to do the right thing. There are consequences to acting impulsively and aggressively,” Charlie muttered.

Pulling away, Cecily cast a fiery stare. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you, of all people. Charlie, I made my decision a week ago. I was at the protest because I wanted to be there. It was the right place to be. What is happening in the world is wrong. If anything, I thought you’d be proud of me!”

“That’s just it, Cece. I am. More than you know.”

[what-the-fic]

I do not recommend using it like that but my AI Meeks is a better therapist than my therapist.

[what-the-fic]

freeks + poetry by dead men

[what-the-fic]

𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 & 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒 *✧･ﾟ:*

Some aesthetics for Freeks because I had a shitty day and I miss them :')

[what-the-fic]

Oh my goodness look at these 3 🥺

“It got windy!”

Meeks, no. You’re in love.

Frankie's Shorts Series;

PART II: Settling In

First part can be found HERE.

The Christmas miracles just keep on happening on this blog, huh? Anyway here's another Frankie story!

"It's autumn in New York; that brings the promise of new love." – Diana Krall; "Autumn In New York"

Working at the Diner definitely wasn’t a job Frankie ever imagined herself to be doing, but it wasn’t all bad. Despite the Diner being located in a busy part of the city, most of the time there weren’t many people around, apart from regular customers, and even on more crowded days it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. The pay wasn’t spectacular, but it was enough to not get kicked out of her dorm, at least for now, even if she had to take night shifts for the extra cash. She was somehow able to balance out school with the job at the low price of sometimes falling asleep in the morning classes. Thankfully, there was always Claudie and her color-coded notes in case she missed anything.

Just a few weeks was all that it took for her to get fully settled and get to know both the rest of the staff and the usual patrons.

Another evening was passing by smoothly, when the bells tied to the doors jingled and she spotted a familiar face stepping into the diner accompanied by an autumn wind.

"I was wondering when you would finally show up," she approached the boy with a smile, ready to guide him to a booth.

Gerard Pitts' face lightened up at the sight of her.

"I didn't want to jinx it," he said, following her to a free booth in the center of the diner, "but I see my worries were unreasonable. That is a cute apron."

"Why thank you," she curtsied jokingly as he took a seat. "And thank you for putting the good word for me to the owner. Really."

"Don't mention it, I'm glad I could help."

"Now," she flipped open her notebook, "What can I get for you?"

By the time Pitts finished making his order, Frankie had already filled a whole page. She furrowed her brows and dared to ask,

"Are you waiting for somebody?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Why?

"Well, do you want me to get you the order when they're already here?"

Pitts just waved his hand dismissively, "No, I'm sure he'll just order for himself."

Frankie's eyebrows rose up, but she restrained herself from making a comment and just retreated to the kitchen to get the order and prepare his milkshake.

When she came back, with a tray full of food, Pitts' mysterious companion was already there. She quickly set the items on the table before the tall boy and when she finished she could finally acknowledge the ginger shifting nervously in the seat across from Gerard.

"Oh, Frankie, this is Steven Meeks," Pitts introduced him, already slurping on the milkshake. "Meeks, this is Frankie, I told you about her."

"Only good things, I hope," she said and smiled brightly at the other boy. "It’s nice to meet you!"

Still not uttering a word, he nodded and smiled ever so slightly at her.

"So," Frankie cleared her throat, trying to avoid more of the awkward silence, "what can I get for you?"

Meeks, realizing that she was still talking to him, stammered a little before his eyes fell on the pie display behind her.

"Would you like some pie?" she asked, following his gaze.

"Um, yeah. Yes please."

"Great! I'll be right back then."

Steven barely kept himself from staring back at the counter with the most dumbfounded expression the world ever saw. In his head, however, he was already cursing at himself.

"What's wrong with you?"

He snapped back out of his thoughts just to see his best friend narrowing his eyes at him.

"Nothing! What– why, why would there be anything wrong with me?"

Pittsie shrugged, "I haven't heard you stuttering so much since… I don't know."

"It's just… uh, cold."

"Cold?"

"Yeah! It got really windy outside."

"Sure."

They watched themselves carefully, for what felt like an eternity for Steven, until Pitts turned his attention back to his food.

"So, what do you think?" He finally asked.

"Pretty… uh, pretty great! The place I mean. Can't believe you never told me about it."

Pitts made an acknowledging sound, but didn’t get the chance to answer, because Frankie came back and set a plate in front of Meeks.

"Here you go. Cherry Pie, two scoops of vanilla ice cream."

"Oh, I didn't–"

"Trust me," she winked at him.

Steven didn't respond, feeling the heat flushing to his cheeks again, glad that Frankie had already turned back to Pittsie.

"How's that milkshake?" She asked, resting a hand on her hip.

Pittsie finished it with a loud slurp and wiped the cream off of his lip.

"Absolutely amazing. We were just talking about it, in fact. Frankie, you just got yourself two loyal customers."

Frankie smiled at him warmly.

"I'm glad to hear that. I'd love to see you here more often" She said, looking briefly at Steven and his flushed face again.

[what-the-fic]

Omg! Frankie & Pittsie are such a cute duo!!

I cannot wait to see more of her adventures.

Frankie's Shorts Series;

PART I: A Helping Hand

Can't believe she actually let me finally finish this one. I am excited for this little series even if it definitely won't have a clear publishing schedule as I mostly write Frankie to have a break from DWtD. Anyway I'm still hyped for it! (and a little stressed out too)

I dedicate this chapter and all that will come after it to @kc-needs-coffee & @farrradays because without you and your lovely girls there would be no Frankie and there would be no story ❤️

"If you smile through your fear and sorrow; smile and maybe tomorrow; you'll see the sun come shining through for you." — Nat King Cole, "Smile"

The first frat house party Frankie ever attended didn’t turn out to be anything like she imagined it. Even though the house was huge, it seemed that every corner of it was being occupied by someone. Of course, she knew no one had come here to enjoy their time alone, yet Frankie couldn't help but wish she could find some place she could hide in, away from the crowd, or at least wish she had some company to not stick out like a sore thumb. She probably shouldn't go alone to begin with but she convinced herself that maybe it was a good chance to finally meet someone other than her roommates.

Unfortunately, neither of them could accompany her to the party that evening, or at least that was what she assumed. Claudie, who Frankie also would share most of her classes with, while very nice, was constantly busy, despite the fact that classes hadn’t started yet and Cecily… Frankie wouldn’t dare to admit it, but she was too intimidated by the redhead to even come up with an idea of inviting her. She had a feeling that she wouldn't be very keen on going though.

After exploring the house some more and getting a refill of her drink, she managed to find a little couch to sit on. Without much enthusiasm, she looked around the room and decided that after finishing her drink she would head back home, when a tall figure shadowed over her. She flinched and looked up to see a boy looking at her with a very serious expression on his face.

"Sorry, did I steal your seat? I can move if you want to, I was already on my way, so-"

To her complete surprise, the boy’s features shifted and he smiled at her warmly. She was astonished by how kind he suddenly looked, compared to his previous look.

“No, no! I mean, you can go if you want to, of course, but I thought you looked a little sad, so I decided to come over to ask if everything was okay.”

“Oh.” Her eyes went even wider, “I’m fine... just kinda got a lot on my mind, you know?”

He made an acknowledging sound and nodded towards the free seat next to her, “May I?”

“Uh, sure.”

He sat with so much energy that she felt the whole couch bounce and extended his hand, “Gerard Pitts.”

“Frankie Peterson,” she smiled, shaking his hand.

“Nice to meet you Frankie. So, are you a freshman too?”

She nodded with a somber expression on her face. “Yeah, though I was hoping that I would at least get to attend some of my classes before everything went to hell.”

Gerard furrowed his brows, confused, and Frankie sighed. She did not come to this party to think about her situation, and she definitely wasn’t planning on spitting out her entire dumb life story to a complete stranger she met less than five minutes earlier, but there was something oddly comforting about Gerard Pitts that made her talk and she wouldn't stop sharing until she reached the present day.

“...and because my mother is a stuck up cow, who can't stand anything not going the way she wanted to, she cut me off, basically. I mean, technically, the first month of Uni is paid for, but the dorms are not and I did try to get a job, but I feel like I'm either unqualified to do anything or my mother sabotaged the whole thing," she concluded, "and I have barely any money left and no couch to crash on, because the only people i know here are my current roommates.

Pitts, who was nodding along while listening, furrowed his brows even more as her voice trailed off. When she finally finished, he looked her up and down and finally asked her a single question.

“Say, do you think you could mix a milkshake?”

“I… think so?”

“Then don’t pack your bags yet, Frankie. I think I might know a place that would be perfect for you.”

[what-the-fic]

April 1961

The spring rain fell over the quiet diner, and though it was gentle, it was deafening against the silence of the last patrons as Frankie cleared the group's favorite table for the last time.

Charlie was the first to speak as the last empty strawberry shake was taken for a final wash before it was auctioned off with the rest of the diner's supplies. He huffed a long sigh without looking up from the booth, "It's the end of an era."

"No more pie," Meeks frowned.

Todd nodded as he wiped the whipped cream from his lip, "That was the last milkshake. Thanks for sharing it with me, Claudie."

"I'm already dying for another cup of coffee," Cecily whined.

Worst of all, the diner's closure had left Frankie without a job. With summer on the way, the pressure to find a new occupation was weighing heavily as the clouds loomed over the city.

"Let's just take a walk. Surely, we will find a new place to hang out, and maybe Frankie can find a new job," Meeks suggested, his eternal optimism shining through the dreary atmosphere. "Let's try the next block. It's quiet, but who knows, everything we need is always closer than we think," he added as he took Frankie's hand.

Cecily burrowed deeper into her trench coat and took Charlie's arm as they ventured down the alley. Record stores, used clothing, and a cigar shop passed by when Cecily started to recall a night spent in the area. "I think there's a jazz club over here. Maybe they did comedy, too?"

Charlie took note of a set of steps leading to the alleyway's basement. "Looks like there was a club here. Maybe a speakeasy back in the day," he shrugged sadly as he noted the sign on the steps that indicated the room was for sale. "Too bad places like this had to die. It would have been a good time."

"Not really," Cecily scoffed. "This was the place! We went last spring to see a talent show. My sister danced with a juggler. Very cute. The act was great, but the whole place was small, damp, and kind of dark. It was like hanging out in a cave or something. It's a shame. Nobody is ever going to buy this place," she sighed; a smile lingered on her face at the memory of the show.

Charlie's mischievous smile spread across his face and to Todd's, even when Charlie asked him for the five dollars he had in his wallet. "Meeks, you too. Empty your pockets."

"It's grade school all over again," the redhead sighed as he handed over the $6.37 from his coat pocket. "Meeks, give me your lunch money,” he sighed.

Charlie clapped his old pal on the shoulder and offered a comforting grin. "I'm not robbing you. I just made you a silent partner."

"In what?"

"The key word is silent," Charlie winked at his companions as he disappeared inside the old brick room.

A/N: Frankie belongs to the incredible @hystericalqween and Claudie to the wonderful @farrradays - Only 2 chapters left, but from here on, it's a fun and pleasant ride for our beloved wordy people.

[what-the-fic]

19 March 1961

** The one with the TW - Cecily Remembers Her Sister**

The sand retained its warmth from the afternoon sunshine on the beach on the last sunny day The Hamptons would have to offer for the rest of spring break. The gang had spent the day on the crowded stretch of highway too long to enjoy the sunny afternoon. After hours in Long Island traffic, they had shared a pizza from the marina and let the droning of a spaghetti western fill the tired silence of the first night of the spring holiday until only Cecily and Charlie remained awake.

The beach house was large enough to fit all six people, but with most of the group sleeping where they landed, Cecily realized the girls wouldn't be sharing the room they had intended. At some point, she knew she would have to rest but was hoping to outlast Charlie as he reclined in the armchair next to the television. As long as he could be lulled by the sound of the shootout, she could continue avoiding the thought in the back of her mind. She would sleep alone, as she has for months.

Cecily slipped out of the living room, taking her cold coffee from the long drive with her, and descended the steps to the back patio, reveling in the warmth of the sand under her feet. She stared up at the full moon and watched as the reflection played in the waves. It was just enough to bring her busy mind to a more peaceful place. She sat until the sand beneath her grew cold, and a warm hand on her shoulder brought her awareness back to the present.

"Babe? I thought I would find you here. Care to tell me what you're thinking about?" Charlie offered, pouring hot coffee into the empty mug at her hip. Cecily frowned at the cup in Charlie's hand. He was awake, not asleep alone in the armchair like she wished he was. "Sorry to disappoint, I brought decaffeinated. I thought you might like tea to help you sleep, but I don't know where Todd put it and didn't want to wake him. He looked comfortable."

"I'm glad someone is comfortable," Cecily mumbled into the warm mug as she watched the tide drawing near. Charlie sat at her side and studied her face, and her expression was the same as it had been hours ago on hour six of the traffic jam. Like she was desperate to get somewhere but trapped in the traffic of her own thoughts.

Charlie was lost in the freckles that danced across the bridge of her nose and the way her long red curls fell across her back. At that moment, he realized she wasn't like the others he had chased. He was in love with Cecily Thomas. "Can I do anything to make you comfortable? More coffee? I'll wake Todd up for tea. I'll wake the whole house up to make you smile if I have to."

"You always make me smile, Charlie. That's just it," she sighed and nestled into his shoulder. "I am not used to smiling as much as I did when she was around. I miss being that smiling person. I want to feel as free as I did then - when nothing could stop me from doing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted… without assuming it would kill me. I have so much I want to do in life, but I cannot bring myself to do anything that scares me anymore. That's no life at all. I don't know what I want to do with my life, but I know I want to live it," she confessed.

Charlie wrapped his arm around Cecily and joined her in silence as they sat together in the moonlight. "You have your future planned better than anyone I know. You're going to be a journalist and a damn good one. You don't have to be a war correspondent if that's not what you want anymore. You can change your major. You know, I've changed mine three times. You know I went in for Finance? Imagine me, a banker?"

"Maybe I'm too angry for journalism. Too passionate. But I want to be the reason people feel safe. I have to do this, Charlie. I have to," she protested. "It isn't just school and work that is changing. Everything is getting so real. One minute, I feel like I'm in the prime of my life and missing out on everything the world has to offer. The next, I realize it could have been me just as easily as it was her. Pregnant, pregnant and dead," she buried her face in her knees and continued to mumble. "Anyway, I do imagine you, in the future, and you're certainly not a banker."

Shaking his head, Charlie sighed. "You don't need to do anything you don't want to, Cece. School, dates, career - the world is changing - and fast. After my first class, I knew I was not cut out to be a banker. I want more than that. But, tell me, what do you imagine in my future?"

"I don't know, I haven't imagined your future, but somehow, when I picture mine, you're there," she smiled.

Rising to his feet, Charlie offered his hand to Cecily. "And when I picture my future, you're there. You're safe, happy, and mine. I would never let you get hurt. I want you to be the girl you were before when you are ready to be. Until then, I'm keeping you safe by begging you to get some rest. Come on; I'll take the floor."

"I said I'd like to keep others safe as well, Dalton. I don't see how I can start with you if you're so far away on the floor," Cecily insisted as she followed him up the stairs and back into the beach house.

Charlie froze in his tracks and turned to Cecily, "What?"

"I'm feeling more like my old self already."

[what-the-fic]

- Intermission & Author's Notes-

When I started this story, I gave Cecily's sister a tragic backstory that felt exclusive to women in 1961.

A group of really awful people in my country decided to make this a problem for modern women.

Access to safe medical care should be a right for all people.

My next chapter (March 1961) was a real bitch to write Post-Roe, as it was scripted, outlined, and planned at a time when I felt safe and protected.

While the chapter is not explicit in any way, I would feel irresponsible if I failed to mark Cece's family history with a massive TW.

Stay safe, know your rights, and please, if you live in the 'land of the free' vote like it.