#franky beam this man and his factory!!

[thisiswhatshefelt]

Franky & Michelle

opie x reader

word count: 1403 a/n: this is part of a longer fic that i’m not exactly sure i’ll ever post, but it’s fine as a oneshot. i envisioned opie going on long road trips by himself before he propects for samcro. he’s in his early 20s when he has a strange encounter with the reader during a pit stop. warnings: a few swear words, guns (duh, it’s soa. no one is harmed).

Opie notices her out of the corner of his eyes the moment he walks into the convenience store. A duffel bag is thrown over her shoulder and she’s expertly slipping snacks and candy into the bag, being mindful not to alert the young cashier at the counter. His eyes meet hers, but her movements don’t falter.

She continues padding her duffel with one hand and presses her finger to her mouth with the other, signaling for him to keep quiet.

It’s not his business, so he has every intention of doing just that. Has every intention of paying for his pack of cigarettes and walking out of the store right up until he hears the cashier swear.

“Shit,” the teenaged cashier mutters under his breath as Opie puts his ID on the counter. Opie wonders his offense but quickly realizes the cashier is looking past him.

Opie turns to see an older man hauling the girl to the front of the store by her arm. There isn’t a shred of panic on her face, Opie notices. She hasn’t tried to struggle, run, or even attempt to plead with the man, as someone in her position would normally do. Opie reads disinterest on her face for a moment right before her expression softens.

“It's not going to work, baby,” she says, a small pout forming on her bottom lip as she sighs. “They caught us.”

It takes Opie a moment to realize the comment is directed at him. He cocks his head slightly like a puppy who has heard an odd noise in the distance. His eyebrows raise and then draw together, forming a crease between his eyes. “What're you-”

“I'm really sorry about this,” the girl continues, looking from the cashier to the older man. “He was supposed to distract you here while I got out the back, sir.”

Opie’s confused scowl is deepening while heat rises at his neck. He’s staring at her in disbelief, but the men don’t notice because their eyes are trained on the girl’s act.

“I just came in here for a pack of smokes,” he tells them. “I don't know what the hell she's talkin' about.”

She shakes her head, “We can cut the act now, Franky.”

“Jeb,” the older man calls out to the cashier, grasping the girl’s arm tighter, “Call the cops.”

“Hey, hey-” Opie starts to take steps back just as the girl swiftly escapes the older man's grasp but doesn’t make for the door.

“No, please! Look, I'll put it back-” she unzips the bag and begins unloading the food on the counter. “Oh, Franky, what are they going to eat now? Our kids, you see- they're just so hungry, and this is all I could think of since he got laid off from the factory. We just spent the last of our money on their breakfast. We shouldn't have been stealing. W-we weren't thinking straight, just please let us go.”

Opie is stunned watching her. He knows he should’ve been out the door five minutes ago, but he can’t stop watching the masterful performance. He stares as tears actually well up in her eyes right before dramatically throwing herself at him. She manages to wink at him before burying her face in his shirt.

Under his chin, her shoulders shake, and he can hear her soft sobs. He knows this is all a con, but he finds his arm slowly settling around her frame. It’s reflex, something she was counting on. Opie sees the older man's expression soften at the scene she’s set.

She’s good, Opie thinks. Damn good.

“Alright, alright, Miss. Settle down.” The older man’s voice has lost its gruffness. “Jeb, hang up that phone.”

Jeb hasn’t even picked up the receiver. The girl eases out of Opie's embrace, wiping her eyes and sniffling. “What- what are you doing?”

“Just this once,” the man says, putting the food back in her duffel bag, “I can maybe turn a blind eye. We won’t call the cops.”

“Really?” A sad, yet hopeful smile is burgeoning on her mouth.

“Really?” Opie echoes, but his words are laced with incredulity.

“Yeah, just...the boss is gonna be back any minute, and he'd tear me a new one if he knew I was givin’ away free stuff.” He hands her the bag, and she gladly accepts, throwing it over her shoulder.

“I-I don't even know what to say, sir,” she beams, locking her arm with Opie’s. “Thank you so much! This'll last us until I get paid in a few days, Franky. Isn't that great?” She looks up at him, expectantly.

“Uh, yeah, that's great...Michelle,” Opie strains, drawing out her alias through clenched teeth.

She breaks character for just a moment. Long enough to quickly raise a disapproving eyebrow at him. She faces the men again. “We should be getting back. Kids must be getting pretty restless right about now.”

“That's probably best,” Opie agrees as they both take a few steps back.

They turn simultaneously and head for the door, trying to maintain a normal pace. His hand is on the door when he hears the cashier’s voice. “Oh, don’t forget your ID!”

She and Opie look over their shoulders to see the man retrieve the card from the cashier. He’s absently inspecting it as he approaches them. “Wait a minute, your name’s not Franky.”

A silence passes between the four that could only have lasted a few seconds but it feels like the rest of the afternoon has passed while they stand there. The girl’s façade drops completely, and an impish grin pulls at the corner of her mouth.

“Whoops,” she mutters before barreling out the door.

Opie grabs his ID and shadows her. He hears the man yelling profanities behind them and then the unmistakable sound of a shotgun cocking. The sound gives him enough motivation to keep running until he gets to his bike across the lot, and her footfalls aren’t too far behind.

The engine turns over just as the man lets off a shot. It hits the ground only a yard or two from her feet and she yelps, stumbling to the ground. She’s back up before Opie can get off the bike to help her.

“Get on!” Opie shouts. The man is loading more shells into the shotgun. She finally closes the gap between them and gets on the back of the bike. She barely has enough time to clasp her arms around his torso before the bike takes off. Another shot is fired in the distance as they speed out of the lot.

Opie feels her firmly tapping against his stomach four blocks later. He pulls the bike over in a park and turns off the engine. She’s off the bike in the next moment with her hands on her knees, catching her breath. Opie doesn’t realize he’s breathing hard as well. They’re teeming with adrenaline and share the next wordless moments coming down.

“So are you clinically insane or what?” Opie questions once his hands stop shaking.

“I don’t think so,” she answers. “At least, I haven’t been diagnosed formally. Psychiatrist hasn’t mentioned anything.”

He chuckles lightly, not exactly sure if she’s telling the truth or messing with him again. She takes the ID card that he doesn’t even realize is clutched between his hand and the handlebars. She inspects the name quickly before handing it back.

“Hmm, Harry,” she says, studying his face as if to see if it fits his face. “You looked more like a Franky at the time.”

He almost tells her the nickname but thinks better of it. This isn’t the time or place to get into conversations about childhood nickname origins. And she hasn’t even offered up her own name yet. Opie doesn’t press her for one.

“You need a lift somewhere?” He already knows her answer. Her body language is closing off as the adrenaline ebbs. The question is only there to be courteous.

“I’m good right here,” she tells him, securing the bag on her shoulder. “Thanks.”

The sun is beginning to set, and the trees enclosing the park look more like shadows than greenery. “Take care of yourself, alright? At least, try not to get shot at.”

“Of course.”

He gives her a doubtful look.

She smiles and puts her hand over her heart as she begins to back away. “I swear on Franky and Michelle, baby.”