Fic: Standoff 'Little Paper Umbrellas' PG13
Title: Little Paper Umbrellas
Author: raseri_brann
Fandom: Standoff
Pairing: Flannery/Rogers but not really. One sided angst.
Rating: PG13
Notes: I’m crazy.
Warnings: I told you I’m crazy. And? I’m not sure if the guys would call Rogers ‘boss’, but I’m running with it for now. If it’s wrong, don’t sue me. We really don’t have that type of money.
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, the company, or the screenplay but damn does my subconscious want to.
Little Paper Umbrellas
Frank Rogers knows a lot of things about life. He knows his weapons. He knows his tactics. He knows he likes dark hair, a bit of stubble and enough meat on a man’s body to ground him in the moment.
He knows Matt Flannery irritates him. He knows Matt Flannery is one hell of negotiator. He knows Matt Flannery doesn’t wear cologne, but somehow smells good, even at the end of the day. Just like he knows Matt Flannery’s hair is as dark as the ink that had gotten all over his hands from the ball point pen Frank has been twisting in his hands from the moment he’d sat down to do his paperwork.
“Boss?”
He looks up to see Duff in the doorway. The fuzz of his second’s hair is darker than normal. A lot like…
“What Duff?”
“You finished yet?”
Frank pushes the pile of papers away and pinches the bridge of his nose. “What’s happened now?”
Duff eases into the room, closing the door behind him. “We were all going down to the bar. Thought you’d want to come.”
Frank stares down at his paperwork. He shakes his head and throws down his pen. “Yeah. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
The bar is full of light. No one who came there liked dark corners very much, or not being able to see who came and went from the front door. But Frank could have done with a dark corner or two, seeing the newly declared couple curled close to one another over their drinks at one of the booths.
Duff leans into the bar, resting his beer on the polished surface. “How long you give ‘em?”
Frank cuts a look at his second, but runs an eye over the target. The two nestled heads were turned away from them, Lehman’s hair catching red highlights from the track lighting that lit up the walls of the bar. “She’s pretty smart. I’d say a week.”
Duff’s laugh catches the pair’s attention. Caught, Frank can do nothing but tip his drink towards them in a salute he knows is mocking. Soon enough, she says something that turns Flannery’s attention away from the crew at the bar. Frank can’t help but be glad, but still…He grabs the waitress on her next pass.
“What’s the girliest drink you got here?”
She’s a blond, twenty something and not interesting enough to spark any type of flagging heterosexual lust he might have had. She gives him a look.
“The Pink Drink, how’s that?” The tone is a half step from sass and a closer hop to irritation. He slips her a twenty and orders the drink.
“For you?” Her plucked eyebrow arches.
“Naw. For him.” He points to the pair at the booth, the him slipping out before he could help it. Frank ducks his head. He sees Duff out of the corner of his eye, turning to look at him.
“You’re ordering it for Flannery?”
Frank leans back against the bar and watches the entrance. “Sure. Why not? She’s the smart one, she’ll need a little help in getting him to relax. And besides,” he takes a large gulp of his beer. “He needs it.”
Duff finishes his first beer and takes the second from the man behind the bar. “Really?”
Frank knows that tone of voice in his second. “It’s just a drink, Duff.”
“The Pink Drink at that.”
“It’s embarrassing enough without getting him riled.”
“Just thought you might want to get him riled.”
The headache Frank thought he’d left at the office was coming back. “Why would I want to do that? The man gets riled on his own easy enough.”
“Yeah. But you sure like helping him get there.”
It’s the musing note that makes Frank’s blood chill. He sets his beer on the table and pushes it away. “What are you getting at, Gonzalez?”
Duff rocks back on his heels, raising his hands. “Nothing, boss. I ain’t saying nothing.”
Duff’s eyes are too dark to read, even in the light of the bar. The light sweat Frank could feel under his arms and along the line of his shoulders makes his shirt stick to his skin. “Good,” he finally says into that awkward silence. “Good. Because I ain’t saying anything.”
Duff nods, but Frank can almost see the gears in his head turning. The lingering taste of beer in his mouth is turning sour. He hears an exclamation from the pair in the booth and decides it’s time to call a taxi and head on home.
He’s about to slap down his part of the tab when The Boss comes in. From the way his crew is heckling her, he knows he’s trapped. Flannery’s approach is expected, but The Boss sitting down for drinks with them is not.
He’d already known Flannery wasn’t a dog person. But seeing that laugh, and The Boss slam down tequila like a sailor on a two day pass is interesting enough to keep him at the bar, watching.
“You like him.”
Duff’s voice is quiet, and trapped between his men, Frank knows he can’t get away without causing a scene.
He turns to look at the other man. “I don’t hate him.” He goes for a causal shrug, but knows it fails by miles. He’s never been a casual guy.
But the expected narrowing of Duff’s eyes doesn’t happen. Instead the crinkles around his eyes grow, and the wide smartass grin flashes across his face.
He claps Frank on the shoulder, hard enough to draw a grunt. “A week, you think?” Gonzalez looks past Frank at the separated pair. The mirth narrows down into a look Frank’s seen too many times over a strategy table. “Maybe you’re right. After all, she’s too smart for him. Maybe too smart for herself, if you know what I mean.”
Frank manages a blink. “What are you planning, Gonzalez?”
The Cheshire grin comes and goes. “Don’t you worry, boss.” Another clap to his shoulder turns him in time to see Flannery looking his way. “He’s not half bad with a rifle, you know? He just needs a little…help.”
“You’re drunk. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe.” Duff nods and draws away. “Maybe not.” He slaps some bills down on the table. “Hey Martin, you’re taking us all home, right?”
The groans from the men cuts the story time at the bar. Frank watches as Flannery and Lehman slip out, his hand hovering just above her back as he guides her to the door. Frank looks to the booth, to the drink sitting all alone at the table. He squints, looking again.
It’s missing its umbrella.
Duff bumps his shoulder as the men start filing out to the cars. “See ya later, boss.” He takes a step and turns back. “And Flannery?” He winks. “We like him too, sir.”
Frank watches them head out, shaking his head. But he looks at the drink and feels a silly grin wanting to spread across his face. He turns to the guy behind the bar.
“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to sell those little paper umbrellas, would you?”
end.