Archive of Our Own

Had you known what was to happen to Frankie at work that day, you would have made him stay home.

That morning had been like any other.  Frankie and you in the girls’ room, each wrangling a daughter into her clothes for the day.  Vivi laughing as Frankie playfully tickles her belly before taking her little hand and walking her across the hall to their bathroom.  He lifted her up onto the bathroom counter and stood behind her for safety.  As she leaned her body back against his shoulder, he prepped her little toothbrush before handing it to her.  He gently guided her in brushing her teeth, something new that had been added to her morning routine for the past few months now that she was old enough. 

Once you had Rosie’s shirt finally on, you brought her to sit on your hip as you glanced across the hall at your husband being the incredible father he is. 

It was all followed by Frankie bringing a flying Vivi into the kitchen as he held her up like Superman in his large hands, all with flying noises he was an expert at making.  He settled her down in her booster seat and placed a kiss to the top of Rosie’s head as she sat in her high chair, arms flailing as she banged her tiny fists on her tray. 

You slid him a thermos full of fresh coffee across the counter as you started slicing up some fruit to appropriate bite size pieces for the girls.  A familiar warmth slid along the back of your head before thick fingers gently tangled in your hair to tilt your head back just enough.  Frankie’s smile filled your vision as you accepted his tender kiss of gratitude for the coffee.  A second kiss was pressed to your temple before he passed behind you.  With one hand pressed to your lower back, he reaches up to grab two sippy cups from the upper cabinet before grabbing juice from the fridge to fill them. 

It was a familiar dance between the two of you as you started your day as a family.  The two of you moving around each other in the kitchen as if it was choreographed.  Moments of coming together where mouths meet and smiles are shared before continuing. Fingers trailing across the skin of the other as each moves past.  Soft words shared, inside jokes laughed at, before settling down at the table with your daughters as you all share the first meal of the day. 

Frankie lifted his arm to check the time on his watch before announcing he had to leave.  It was kisses to the cheeks of his daughters and one initial kiss to your lips that had him coming back for a few more before he finally dragged himself away with a ‘Love you.’

It was the last time you’d have him for two weeks.   

Frankie’s boss had called you, telling you that Frankie had been standing near some shelves when a box fell, hitting him in the head.  It had knocked him out cold for a couple minutes, gave him a cut on his head, but otherwise he seemed to be okay now.  He let you know that he was being taken to the hospital as a precaution and to get the cut stitched up.

The first call was to Santi, who in turn called Will.  Both men rushed over to your house and while Will stayed with the girls, you and Santi headed to the hospital.  By that time, Frankie was already stitched up and was waiting on the results from precautionary tests done. 

You stepped into his room and immediately went to his bedside, “Baby, my god.  Are you sure you’re okay?  Lou said you were, but he also said you were knocked out from it,” you gently brush his hair from his forehead to see the few small stitches, “How bad does it hurt?”

Santi notices first with a questioning look, the unusual look from his friend towards his wife, but doesn’t say anything as he continues to watch the interaction. 

Frankie leans back from you, his hand coming up to gently move your own away, “I’m sorry, but do I know you?” and he looks to his friend that’s behind you for an answer that maybe he knows.

“What? Frankie, stop. That’s not funny,” you give him a look before cupping his cheek.  But again, his hand wraps around your wrist and slowly pulls it off his face. 

“I’m not trying to be funny,” he answers with a bit of confusion on his face.

You look over your shoulder to Santi as your heart starts pounding. 

Santi steps forward, “Frank, you know me?”

“Wish I didn’t, but yeah I know you,” Frankie chuckles even though neither you or Santi do.

Pointing at you, he asks Frankie, “You know her?”

Frankie looks at you again, eyes taking in your features and looking into your eyes, but you don’t see it.  There’s no spark of love or recognition there and your heart plummets. 

Looking to his friend, Frankie shakes his head, “Am I supposed to?”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, your vision is quickly being blurred by tears, “Frankie, I’m your wife.”

While the doctors examine him again after this new revelation, you’re crying outside in the hallway with a worried Santi by your side.  From the additional questions Santi posed to your husband, Frankie thinks it’s ten years ago, which means you and the girls don’t exist to him. 

“I don’t know what to do,” you cry helplessly as Santi hugs you close, “He’s my husband and he doesn’t even know me.  God, he doesn’t even know our little girls,” sobs wrack your body as Santi holds you, rubbing your back. 

“We’ll figure this out.  You’ve got me and the guys to help you both through this.” 

Clutching the back of his shirt, “What if he never remembers, Santi?  He’s the love of my life.”

“And you’re his.  That man is so devoted to you and his girls, not even this could stop him from ultimately coming back to you.  We just have to give his brain some time to right itself is all.”

Frankie’s doctor leaves the room and gently closes the door behind him.  At the sound, you both step apart to hear what he has to say. 

Wiping your tears, your hands shake as you wait for the prognosis. 

The doctor looks between you both, “His MRI and CT scan didn’t show anything when he was first brought in.  No damage at all, thankfully.  Because of that fact, I feel confident in saying that the amnesia is temporary.  The only thing is there is no way to say just how temporary.”

Your lower lip quivers, “Well, what’s the longest temporary amnesia you’ve seen?”

There’s a hesitancy before he answers, “Upwards of a year.”

“A year?!” you panic.  Santi quickly interjects, “How’s a year considered temporary?”

“If it’s not permanent, it’s considered temporary,” he answers in a tone that he knows is not a very helpful response.

“What do we do? There has to be something that we can do to help him gain his memory back faster,” you plead.

“I’d suggest keeping him to his usual routines as best you can.  It will be an adjustment for both him and you, but to be around the familiar is the best thing for him right now.”

Tears roll down your cheeks, “He doesn’t even remember who I am.  You expect him to just go back to the house with the wife he doesn’t know and two little kids he doesn’t have any feelings towards?”

Santi squeezes your shoulder in comfort, “Hey, we’ll figure it out.  One of us will stay with you, if it helps him.”

“I understand this is incredibly difficult right now, but he just needs time to regain his memories back.”

Santi was elected to tell Frankie what was going on with him.  You waited in the hallway, anxiety flooding your body.  When Santi came to get you, you felt nervous.  That empty look in Frankie’s eyes is burned into your broken heart. 

With a gesture to the chair pulled near the bed, Santi has you sit down.

“I’ll be out in the hallway.  You two should talk a bit.”

Frankie’s nervous, too, you know from the way he rubs the skin between his thumb and forefinger, right over his tattoo.  The urge to reach out and hold his hand is strong.  That warm, slightly calloused hand that’s been all over your body.  He must catch you staring at it because he curls it and rests it on his lap.  It breaks your daze and has you looking at that handsome face you’ve been waking up next to for years. 

Your voice sounds smaller than ever, “How are you feeling?” But he ignores the question completely, “You said you’re my…wife?”

Nodding, “I am. We’ve been married for six years.  Together for eight.”

His eyes widen briefly and then he swallows, “Wow, okay,” there’s a brief silence before he hesitantly starts to ask, “Do we have any – “

But you’re already nodding, “Two little girls,” you choke back a sob, “Sorry,” you wipe a tear quickly, “Violeta and Rosalyn.”

Frankie’s eyes soften at your heartache and then he realizes the first name you said, “Violeta? That was what my abuelo –“

“- called your abuela,” you finish for him with a small, albeit sad smile, “That’s why we named her that.”

His chest aches at that fact, then he quietly asks how old they are.

“Vivi – uh, Violeta, is 2 and a half.  Rosie is 10 months.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, then quickly apologizes for his language. He rubs his hands down his face, “This is just…a lot to take in.”

“I know,” you agree, thinking how it is for you, too.  You don’t add anything, letting him lead the conversation. 

Rubbing his temple, “Santi said…said that the doctor thinks it’s best if I go back to your place.  Thinks it will jog my memory?”

Your place. He doesn’t call it home.  It hurts tremendously.

Nodding, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.  Frankie sits up a bit more, “Look, I don’t – As far as I know, I don’t have any kids or anyone counting on me,” he’s being gentle in his tone, “I don’t think I can just walk into the role of a father once I step inside.  Or – or a husband.”

Hearing that out loud, in his own voice, it wrecks you.  Tears fall fast despite your nodding, “No, I know,” you try to control the shuddering breaths you’re taking, “I’ll just tell the girls you aren’t feeling well and to leave you be.  It’s not that far from the truth, anyway.  And I don’t expect anything from you in any other way.  I just want you to come back to us, the you that remembers he loves us.”

Those beautiful brown eyes of his are trained on you, the corners of his mouth slightly turned down as he watches you cry over him. 

“I’m sorry,” you wipe at the tears, “This isn’t easy for me either.  You’re able to remember what you believe is your whole world, but my whole world is sitting here looking at me without an ounce of recognition,” those last words cracking with emotion. 

Frankie’s eyes fall to the covers of the hospital bed, “I’m sorry,” he softly mumbles.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, baby,” but you close your eyes, “Shit, sorry.  Force of habit. I’ll try to work on that,” you whisper as another lump forms in your throat.  When you open them, Frankie’s holding the hospital-issued tissue box out to you.  Looking to him, you then pull a tissue free and wipe your eyes, “Thank you,” you mutter. 

“Sure,” he answers just as meekly. 

After several long seconds of silence, you muster enough energy to look at him again, your husband who doesn’t even know you, and ask, “How’s your head?”

Frankie gives a tiny nod, “I’ve had worse,” then he looks at you with a slight tilt of his head, “I – uh – was in the military…”

A sad hint of a smile, “Delta Force.  I know.”  Thankfully, it’s at that moment that Santi peeks his head back in.

“Everything good?” 

It’s hard not to stare at Frankie, to really see the man you’re so hopelessly in love with not have any love in his eyes when he returns your gaze.  The pain in your chest is heavy and your hands are still shaking. 

Standing up, you’re quickly saying “Excuse me,” as you walk past Santi and out into the hallway until you find the women’s bathroom.  Locked in a stall, you cry your heart out for yourself and your kids. 

Santi watches you leave then turns his head towards his friend, “Did you say something to her?” almost accusatory.

Frankie rubs his hands down his face, “Except tell her that I don’t remember her? No, Pope. Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell is going on here?” he feels helpless, “And she knows we were Delta Force?” he motions to the door you just walked out of.

Santi nods, “She’s your wife, Fish.  She knows everything about you.” 

Frankie leans his head back and looks up at the ceiling, “Last thing I know is that I broke up with Isla a few weeks ago and now I’m sitting here being told I have a fucking family.  What the fuck, Pope?”

His friend scrunches his face trying to remember this Isla from 10 years ago and he comes up empty. Instead, he shakes his head and sits down in the chair you had been occupying, “I know this is a lot, but it’s all the truth.  That woman that was here, Fish, when I tell you that you’ve been head over heels for her since the first night you met – I’ve never seen you happier since she came into your life.  Believe me on that.”

“It’s hard to when I don’t even know her.”

Santi offers to bring Frankie to the house himself and you sadly agree that it’s probably the best for Frankie and it also gives you some time to set up things. 

There were colorful post-it’s everywhere.  You had labeled where everything was in the house so Frankie could move around with ease if he so chose to.  Where the mugs were, the utensils, the plates.  On the fridge, you listed what was in the garage and what was in the basement.  You even managed to corral the girls to make a run to the supermarket to pick up some of Frankie’s favorite snacks and drinks. 

The sound of a car pulling in the driveway has you peeking through the curtains.  As your husband steps out of the car, the way he looks over the house like it’s the first time he’s seeing it tears you up inside.  This was going to be so much harder than you anticipated. 

Will’s already here with you, helping to entertain the girls while you set everything up and to give Frankie another familiar face.  He walks out to greet them before they make it inside.  You watch from the window as Frankie’s face lights up at seeing another friend, a brotherly hug shared between the two.  Will leads them inside where you’re waiting, the girls having been lured to their bedroom with toys as to not be too overwhelming for Frankie all at once. 

But when Vivi hears her Daddy’s voice, she comes running out of her room and right over to him with arms up.  Her father visibly stiffens and takes a step back which absolutely kills you.  Frankie’s eyes dart to his friends, not even you, before Will steps in and quickly scoops her up, “Come here, lil’ fish fry,” he kisses her cheek and seats her on his hip.

Vivi shakes her head and reaches out to Frankie, “No! Daddy!” 

The color in Frankie’s face seems to drain at the word and it makes you sick to your stomach.  There’s a tremble to your hands when you step in front of Will to block your daughter’s view of her father, “Sweetie, Daddy doesn’t feel good.  His back hurts very bad. We have to leave him alone for a bit, okay?” 

But Vivi keeps looking at him over your shoulder, “Daddy! Por fafour!” she tries again, already aware of how happy he normally gets when she uses Spanish, arms reaching out to him.  The heartbreak in your daughter’s eyes at her father seemingly ignoring her punches your gut and you’re finding it hard to breathe as cruel emotions swell in your chest.  Frankie can hear it in your voice, the watery tremor, that once again he’s made you cry.  Plucking your daughter from Will’s arms, you’re explaining to her again about Frankie not feeling good – “Remember how sometimes he can’t pick you up because his back hurts?” -  as you walk away towards her room without ever looking back at him.

Frankie shakes his head at the men standing around him, “Fuck, I can’t do this.  This – I’m causing them more pain by being here.  I don’t know the first thing about being a fucking father.  And she – she can’t look at me without crying,” he’s referring to you. 

Will responds first, “It’s because she loves you a whole fucking lot, Fish.  This is tearing her apart.  But she’s doing this for you.  Doctor said it’s the best thing to help you.  If you remembered her, you wouldn’t be surprised at all that she’s willing to put herself through this in order to help you.”

Frankie looks after where you walked out of sight, “I’m traumatizing those kids.  They think they’re dad doesn’t love them.”

Will crosses his arms against his chest, “She’s trying not to let that happen.”

Santi and Will go to console you and Violeta, leaving Frankie to wander the living room.  It’s the first time he sees photographic proof of his life with you.  Framed pictures on the wall of the two of you and your shared life.  There’s some with the girls, too.  His daughters. He can’t even say it out loud because it just doesn’t sound right.

Even so, each picture makes him pause as he’s taken aback by the way he sees himself looking at you or one of the girls in almost every picture. It’s pure love.  And it’s reciprocated by you in the ones where you’re looking at him.  It’s like he’s peering into private moments of some other couple, not one that he’s a part of.  But the love between them is so obvious, it almost feels palpable just from looking at these photographs.

After wiping your tears and you weakly lying to your daughter that you’re okay, you leave the girls with their Uncles as you take a steady breath before walking back into the living room.  Frankie’s standing there, staring at the array of framed photos lining the walls. 

How did this happen?

The man standing before you looks in every way to be your husband.  The man you fell completely in love with.  And yet, you’re nothing but a total stranger to him.  Worse, the daughters you share with him mean nothing to him either. 

It’s clear he doesn’t hear you walk over because he never glances at you.  Instead, he’s so enamored with this version of himself in these pictures who really seems to be the family man that you’re used to. 

A whiff of your perfume makes him feel a warmth in his stomach, and he knows you’re standing near him.  A step back from the wall and he shoves his hands in his pockets, like he’s afraid to do anything slightly wrong that may cause you more pain. 

You lift your hand as if touch him, but quickly cross your arms at your chest instead.  With a quiet voice, “If you have any questions about anything, please feel free to ask me.  Doesn’t matter what it is if it’s going to help you remember. ” 

Frankie glances at his feet with a tiny nod before turning his head to look at you, “How did we meet?”

The memory always brings a smile to your face, it’s the night your life changed in the most wonderful way.  As you recall the story to him, Frankie can’t help the soft smile on his face solely due to the one that appears on your face as you fondly remember the turn of fate that had you meet your soulmate. 

“It was just very, you.  You’ve always been protective,” you quietly add on.  Frankie looks back to the pictures.  It makes sense.  You’re usually protective of the ones you love and by the look on his face in these photos, there’s some version of him that loves you very much. 

That night, Benny came over for pizza so that all the guys were there – Tom’s absence was explained away by a long vacation.  No one felt it was necessary to get into the whole Colombian trip if the amnesia was simply temporary. 

With the familiar faces all around, it was the most relaxed you’ve seen Frankie since his memory loss.  For most of the meal, he stays pretty quiet while his buddies do most of the chatting.  The girls are sandwiched between Santi and Will who easily take care of them throughout the meal, trying to distract them from their currently absent father.

You try not to stare at Frankie for too long, but part of you just can’t fully understand how he cannot remember this life of his.  Watching him eat at the same table you’ve shared meals at for years, without the usual banter or eye contact that there’d be, it has your heart racing in despair and your mind whirring with what the hell kind of future you may be looking at now.

Those espresso-brown eyes find yours across the table and you just stare back at him.  How? How could this man not recognize you in any way? It’s Frankie for fuck’s sake!

Santi takes notice of your trance first.  A quick glance at Frankie shows his friend practically squirming in his seat as you keep looking at him, the tears pooling in your eyes obvious even to him.

A cleared throat first, before Santi grabs your attention, “Think the girls are finished.  You need help with them?”

A small shake of your head as you stare at your husband’s best friend, giving a few seconds to let the words sink in before you look to your daughters and see them getting restless as they’re no longer interested in eating. 

“No, I have them. It’s fine,” and you begin to stand up.

Will’s hand lands on your forearm to stop you, in a low voice, “You’ve barely eaten anything.  One of us can take care of them, it’s no problem.”

Giving his hand a friendly squeeze, “I’m not really hungry,” you admit before fully standing up and picking Rosie up from her high chair before taking Vivi’s hand and helping guide her out of her booster seat. 

It’s been about an hour since you left the dinner table.  After bathing the girls, you’re in their bedroom and pulling Vivi’s pajama shirt over her head when you hear Frankie’s laugh.  It squeezes your heart and clouds your eyes with tears once again.

“Daddy’s mean,” Vivi suddenly says with a pout that breaks your heart.  It shocks you as it’s never been uttered by her before.  You pick her up, taking a seat on the edge of her little bed before holding her in your lap, “Sweetie, that’s not true.  Daddy loves you very much.”

She tugs on the bottom of her shirt, her face crinkled in sadness, “Daddy didn’t play with me.”

Brushing some loose curls from her forehead, you kiss her head, “His back just hurts real bad, baby.  When someone doesn’t feel good, we have to take care of them, right?”

She nods, so you continue, “Well, we have to take care of Daddy by not having him move around too much, okay?” Though she says okay, you know it did not truly satisfy her feelings of the seeming abandonment at the hands of the man who would normally be making her giggle all the way to bedtime.

“Bedtime, mija,” you kiss her cheek, helping her crawl into her bed before pulling the covers over her.  It’s then that Benny appears in the doorway and Vivi spots him first.

“Bunny!” Vivi smiles, never quite getting ‘Benny’. 

“Fish fry!” He responds with that big smile, then he looks to you, “I’d like to take over bedtime story time, if it’s alright?  Figured maybe you want to spend some time with – “ but, he lets that last part fade off. 

Part of you wants to say no, it’s too awkward when all you want to do is cuddle into Frankie’s arms and tell him how much you miss him and love him.  But you know Benny’s right so you give him a small nod, “Okay, yeah.”

There’s not even a chance for it to feel awkward thanks to Santi’s gift of gab.  As soon as you walk into the living room where they gravitated, Santi’s reaching an arm out to have you sit next to him, “Come here. We were telling Frank here about the time Benny tried to use Vivi as chick bait only for her to throw up all over his shirt.”

It’s hard for you to find the humor in anything but you muster up the best laugh you can give before looking to your husband, “You were really proud of her for that, by the way,” a small smile peeking through at the memory of a proud Frankie of his infant daughter.   Frankie gives a polite smile and it only makes you want to crawl inside yourself even more. 

As the tales of their past shenanigans wind down and the night gets later, Santi and Benny leave with Will staying behind to take first watch. 

“Frankie, you take the bedroom.  I’ll get the blow-up mattress from the basement and stay out in the living room,” you offer.   

He’s shaking his head after the first sentence, “I’m not kicking a woman out of her bed.  The couch will be perfectly fine for me.”

Another strike to your heart, “It’s our bed, ba - Frank.  It’s just as much yours as mine.  You need familiarity, and I want to give that to you in every way I can.”

Frankie looks to Will for some kind of assistance, a kind that he’s not even sure of, but Will just simply stares back at him.  He was never one for giving easy outs.

When his hands fit to his hips as he leans on one leg, you feel your chest ache at the familiar stance.  Frankie sighs, “What if I get that mattress from the basement, and – and I sleep on the floor in the bedroom?” 

It’s agreed upon and you instruct him where to find the mattress downstairs.  Soon enough, Will’s settled on the couch as Frankie’s pumping air into the laid out rubber square.  Once it’s filled, he carries it to the bedroom where you left the door open to let him know it was okay to come in.  With you settled on your usual side, he realizes his side is by the door.  It’s not surprising to him, the military man inside would always pick the door – as would a family man. 

You point to his side of the bed where you have a clean set of sheets folded, “Sheets for it.  And you can shower and change in the bathroom, here,” pointing to the ensuite on your side, “I laid out a towel and washcloth for you.”

He says thank you, followed by your name.  Your actual name.  You haven’t heard ‘Girasol’ from him since the morning of his accident.  It’s getting harder and harder to hold yourself together the more he unknowingly does things that makes him feel further and further away. 

When he takes his sleep clothes, that you had also left out for him, into the bathroom, you listen for the shower to turn on.  As soon as you do, you use the sound to cover the sobs you let out into your pillow.

Just like everywhere else, Frankie sees the post-its in the bathroom.  A little note letting him know which toothbrush is his.  Notes on the mirror letting him know what of his is behind the mirror in the medicine cabinet.  It hits him just how much you’re trying to make this as easy for him as possible despite it still all being incredibly difficult for you.   

He wakes up the next morning and sits up slowly to see you’re still asleep.  You two had shared awkward ‘good nights’ and that was it.  The rubbery squeaks of him moving on the mattress make him cringe, hoping to not wake you up.  There’s no movement from you and he figures that all the stress has tired you out.  He quietly tiptoes past the girls’ bedroom and doesn’t see Will on the couch.  The sound of a cupboard door quietly shutting has him finding his friend in the kitchen. 

Will glances at him, “How’d your night go?”

Frankie runs a hand through his bedhead, “Awkward.”

A mug of coffee gets slid to him before Will takes a sip of his own, “You made the right choice choosing to stay in there.”

Frankie runs his thumb along the rim of the mug, “I did it for her.”

“That’s exactly how her husband would think,” Will informs him.  Frankie shakes his head, “I’m not her –“

“ – But, you are,” Will firmly states, “I know you’re confused right now and this is a lot, but you’re a fucking Delta Force soldier, Fish.  This?  This is nothing for you.  But this is everything to your wife and your kids.  They deserve to get their father back and she deserves to get her husband back.  And you -  fuck, man - you deserve to remember just how fucking amazing your life is with them.  You need to fucking try, Fish.  I’m not saying jump in headfirst, but make an effort with all of them.  If you just fucking stand around like a ghost, what good is it doing anyone?  Ask to help and get started in trying to fit in here.  It’s the only way you can help them and yourself.  You hear me?”

Frankie puts the mug down and grips the edge of the counter.  His shoulders tense as his knuckles turn white before he frustratingly turns back towards his friend, “Nothing for me?!,” he angrily responds in a hushed voice, “I wake up to be told that I’m some woman’s husband and then to top it off, a father? How is that nothing for me?  I have no idea what I’m doing here!  This is not the life I remember, it’s not the life I want right now.  I’m not ready to fucking settle down.  For Christ’s sake, I have no idea what the fuck I’m supposed to do here,” he runs his hands down his face.

Will grips his friend’s shoulder, harder than needed, his teeth gritted at times as he quietly, but heatedly retorts, “It is nothing for you.  You’ve been through real hell and back – your fucking life on the line, bullets flying past your fucking head!  Now you’re here – in a beautiful home with a woman who loves you and two little kids, who you helped fucking make, who adore the shit out of you.  Your wife’s entire world has been turned the fuck upside down.  This is her hell.   You’re sure as fuck not her husband right now, but somewhere deep down you still are and that’s what we’re trying to get back for her.  For you!  You love that woman, Frank.  You love her more than life itself and those girls? The way you dote on them and protect them is something else.  A husband and a father are who you really are, brother.  You’ve even said so yourself over the years.  So, stop feeling sorry yourself, because it’s bullshit.   That woman, those girls, they all bear your name – they’re Morales’ whether you like it or not.  You’re not a piece of shit, Frank.  You never were, so don’t fucking start now when it counts the most.”

Just as Will releases Frankie, you come around the corner into the kitchen.  The two men hold their breath, expecting a reaction from you at what you probably just heard, but it never comes.  Exhausted, you rub your eye and spot the back of Frankie first.  Giving his ass a small grab, you then slip your hand under his shirt to smooth across his lower back as you tip your chin up for a morning kiss.

Frankie goes still and the seconds of hesitation are what it takes for you to fully wake up and remember the horror that is your life now.  Eyes wide, you yank your hand back and take a stumbling step backwards, where Will’s arm shoots out to steady you.  Head whipping to spot Will, your hand covers your mouth before looking to your husband again, “I’m sorry,” you whimper out in pure embarrassment, “I’m so sorry! I didn’t – I completely –,“ but you choose to shut up instead and quickly leave the room, back to the safety of your bedroom where they hear the door shut.

Frankie shakes his head, “I gotta get out of here,” he mumbles and heads for the back door. Will grabs his arm, “Where the hell are you going?”

He yanks himself out of his grip, “Just give me a fucking minute!” and leaves the house to walk into the backyard. 

Will watches as his friend rubs at his face before putting his hands on his hips.  He leaves him for now to instead walk to your bedroom where he raps a knuckle against the door, “It’s just me.”

The weak, “Come in,” has him turning the knob and entering the room.

As if you were caught doing something terrible, you’re rambling to Will, “I completely forgot.  I guess I thought it was just a nightmare and I just saw him standing there – and – it’s how it would have normally been,” you look at him with glossy eyes.  Will puts his palm up in a silent cue that you’re okay to calm down.

“He’s in the backyard right now.  I guess you did freak him out a bit with it and he needed some air.  No one is blaming you for it – in every other way, that man is your husband and you were acting on instinct.”

“Yeah, well, he couldn’t have been more uncomfortable,” you cover your face briefly, then you take a deep breath and drop your arms to your side.  “It can’t be more awkward, right? Let me just go apologize and get it over with.” 

With that, you walk past him and straight through the house to the backdoor where you see him through the glass panes in the middle of the yard, his arms crossed as he toes at the grass.  At the sound of the door opening, his head shoots up and when he sees it’s you, his arms drop to his sides.

Without giving him a chance to make the situation any more awful for you, you walk over to him, “I just needed to say I’m sorry.  I wasn’t thinking and I just saw you standing there and –“ a sigh, “We’re just usually very…hands on with each other and it’s hard to just stop that out of nowhere.  I’m sorry for making you more uncomfortable and I’ll try harder to keep my hands to myself.”

It’s all said with a breath of obvious anxiousness and Frankie just stands there, listening.  As he listens, he takes in the fact you’re wearing his t-shirt – the same one he wore during Delta Force training and held onto.  Noone has ever worn that t-shirt but him.  He never let any girl he’s dated wear it because it was just too sacred to him.  A symbol of one of the toughest challenges in his life that he conquered.  Seeing it now on your body, it makes the realization really gnaw at him - your lives truly are intertwined.  You’re someone incredibly important to him.  Someone he’s entirely comfortable with.  Why can’t he just fucking remember?

He rubs the back of his neck and nods, “You didn’t have to apologize, I, uh, I got why it happened. Sorry that I, uh, that I couldn’t – “ he thinks for the right words, “Couldn’t – reciprocate what you were looking for.”

It makes your chest ache and you give a slight shrug before responding sadly, “Something I’m getting used to.”

He’s taking you all in.  It’s sort of the first time he’s truly faced you, all alone, since he got here yesterday.  Your hair is adorably messed from sleep and the shirt of his on your body stirs that same warm feeling in his belly like when he could smell your perfume.  Even if he doesn’t remember you, he’s not going to stop himself from admitting how attractive you are.  And from what he’s seen so far, you’re a wonderful mother and you clearly have a deep love for him to be putting yourself through all of this simply to help him. 

Will is right.  He needs to at least try.  If not for you, for himself.  For this other version of him that clearly exists.  That man loves you dearly and that man deserves to enjoy this incredible life he has here.

He watches you shuffle your feet as an awkward lull falls upon you both.  Scrambling for anything to fill the void, you look to him, “Do you want something to eat?  I can make whatever it is – it’s probably easier that way for now.”

“You don’t need to cook for me…”

If you just fucking stand around like a ghost, what good is it doing anyone?  Ask to help and get started in trying to fit in here.  It’s the only way you can help them and yourself. 

“…but I actually wanted to ask you, what time do the kids wake up? If it’s okay, I’d like to start learning their routine and everything. You know…see if it jogs anything.”

It’s obvious by the slight lift of your brows that you’re surprised by his request, even if you try to steel your face from revealing it.  Running a hand through your hair, you glance back at the house and then back to him, “It shouldn’t be too long now.  You can just watch from afar if you’d like.  Vivi thinks you’re mad at her because you’re obviously not acting like you’d normally would with her.  That alone hurts me, because you would never make her feel like that.   So, if you start to really help today only to end up pulling back tomorrow, it’s only going to make her feel worse and I can’t have that.  I’m trying to keep their life as normal as I can right now.”

The news that one of the little girls already thinks terribly of him makes him feel awful.  He may not remember being a father, but he remembers that he’s a Tío to a few little ones.  If one of them told him he was mean, it would break his heart.  So, he can simply only imagine how this little girl feels thinking her own father doesn’t like her. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he’s stuttering out his own apology now, “I never meant for her to feel like that.  This is just a lot to step into.  I don’t want to hurt them like that.”

Tucking your hair behind your ear, you nod, “I know.  She’s so young, she hopefully won’t remember any of this in a couple years.”

It still tears him up inside because despite the fear of being a father, he saw himself in those little girls.  Could see the features of his they inherited and standing here in front of you now, really looking at you, he can see the parts of them that are from you, too.  Those innocent babies are part of him.  He owes them to act halfway decent.

“I won’t pull back tomorrow,” he blurts out, “I’d like to be more involved and I promise I won’t pull back tomorrow.  I don’t want her thinking her father is mad at her.”

“Well, thank you. I appreciate that,” you rub your arm in a moment of self-soothing, “We’ll take it slow today, just in case.  They should be up any minute now, so we better head back in.”

Frankie takes a day to do what he’s skilled at – observing.  He takes note of the routine you seem to have with the girls.  He tries to take the baby steps to do what Will’s pushed him to do. 

You don’t ask him to come with you to get the girls properly awake – including diaper changes, potty time, or anything else.  He’s standing awkwardly in the kitchen, nervous as all hell, as he shares with Will the conversation he had with you outside.

“Frankie,” you call to him as you walk into the kitchen with Rosie on your hip and Vivi leading the way.  Your once-husband spins on his heel, surprised you’d involve him so quick. 

Motioning to the youngest in your hold, “Could you help Rosie into her high chair?”

“Hi Daddy!” Violeta excitedly waves and runs to his legs, hugging one.  He feels Will discreetly tap his back to react appropriately.  With a visible hesitation, he reaches down and runs a quick hand over her curly mop, “Hey, Violeta.  Good Morning,” he says in a nervous tone that has you closing your eyes in fear that he’s going to make this worse for them.

“Sweetie, come here,” you call for her, “Let’s get you in your booster seat while Daddy helps Rosie, hm?”

He’s frozen as Vivi clings to him, her little head turning to look at you as you give her the best smile you can muster as you reach a hand out to her. 

“No hello to your Tío?” Will assists, kneeling down to her level with arms wide open.

Vivi giggles and runs straight into them, freeing Frankie from her hold.  He lets out a soft sigh of relief, but when he looks up you’re looking at him with concern.  Straightening up, he walks the few steps over to you and takes Rosie from you as you pass her to him. 

As requested, he seats her in her high chair just as Will walks over and places Vivi in her booster seat.  Once you have breakfast made and everyone begins to settle to the table, Will purposefully pulls out the chair next to Vivi before plopping down in the one furthest from the girls.  With you in your usual seat, Rosie pulled up next to you, that leaves Frankie to assist with Vivi.  To his credit, he cuts her food up without being asked to and keeps an eye, although a nervous one, on her.  Vivi chatters about the story that ‘Bunny’ had read to her which keeps the breakfast from being too uncomfortable. 

There is a moment when Vivi’s fork slipped from her small grasp and Frankie found himself quickly reaching out where he grabbed it before it hit the floor – it felt reactionary, like something he’s done before.  It leaves you speechless as you look from the fork in his hand, to his face…is he back?  But the way he’s still carrying himself, as if he doesn’t belong here, lets you know it’s not the case. 

Towards the end of the meal, syrup is smeared along Vivi’s face which has Frankie hesitantly grab a napkin and look to you for approval in touching his own daughter.  Catching his eye, you give an encouraging little nod and watch as he softly asks her if he can wipe her face.  Vivi, none the wiser that her Dad doesn’t remember her, nods and turns her face towards him like she’s done countless times before.  Frankie very gently wipes her little face with the napkin. Will looks at him and gives him a discreet, approving nod. 

Afterwards, Will is the one who suggests the walk to the park with the girls and has Frankie come with.  He does it to give you time to yourself because he can see how much you’re hurting with every minute that goes by without your Frankie being back.  You wonder if they’ll ever be a day where you stop crying.

Frankie continues to try.  At night he asks to sit on the floor when you read the girls bedtime stories and one afternoon when Vivi takes his hand to lead him out in the backyard saying she wanted to play, he lets her.  It’s the first time you saw him pick her up when he shows her something on a leaf of a tree. 

Will stays around for four days and Benny stays for two before Frankie approaches him. 

“Ben, I want to give it a try on my own,” he quietly requests of him on the sixth morning. 

The blonde man eyes him carefully, “You’re sure?”

Frankie nods, “I appreciate you and Will staying like you’ve been, but I’d like to see how it goes without the safety net you’re providing.”

“I’ll only go if she’s okay with it, so let me ask her first.  But I’ll tell you this – you might be one of my best friends, but the guy you really are now? The one we’re missing?  He’s even better.  I won’t think twice about kicking the shit out of you if you do anything to break their hearts more.  You got me?”

The unexpected threat has Frankie give a fast nod, “Yeah, I got you. I won’t, though.  Promise.”

Benny checks with you privately to make sure you’re comfortable with him leaving you alone with your husband who’s now a stranger. 

When you hesitantly agree, Benny adds, “Alright.  Listen, I’m not going far, okay.  I’ll be in my car which I’m parking right down the street.  You need anything, you call me and I’ll be right here.  Okay?”

It’s so extra but it’s also makes you feel a lot better. Hugging him, “Thank you, Benny.  My Frankie would thank you, too.” 

“I miss that guy.  This guy doesn’t have that same light to him, he only got that from loving you,” he hugs you tighter. 

After Benny leaves, it goes okay.  There were a couple times where you could tell Frankie was getting a little overwhelmed, one was when Vivi and Rosie were both crying.  You were crouched down, trying to console both, when he surprised you.  He reached down and gently picked Rosie up, holding her to his chest and sweetly rocking her as he spoke softly to her.  For a minute, you thought your Frankie was back and you felt the hope starting to grow in your veins, but then he looked at you and asked if it was okay that he did that.  It felt like ice water was splashed in your face as you just nodded.

Nighttime brought its own surprises.  Frankie asked to read the bedtime story, though he sat in the chair instead of Vivi’s bed.  When she asked him to make the funny voice, he looked nervous but when he then made the effort to do one, you found yourself genuinely smiling.  It was the first one that Frankie’s seen on you, at least with something he had done and not the girls.  The sight of it had him craving to get it from you again. 

When the girls were asleep, you were surprised that he followed you into your shared bedroom instead of going to the living room to pump the air mattress up.  Looking at him, his hands rise up a little in a calming gesture, “If you’re not comfortable with it, just say the word, but I’d like to try to sleep in the bed tonight.  I’ll stick far away on my side or we can put a wall of pillows up even, if you’re worried about anything.”

The thundering in your chest feels loud, “Are you sure?”

He nods sheepishly, “But obviously only if it’s okay with you.” 

It’s a huge step for him. It’s an important step.  It’s the sixth day of him without memories of you, so this could only be helpful. Right?

But there’s a small part of your mind saying that this man may look like your husband, but he doesn’t know you. 

“That’s fine, but I think I’d like to do that pillow wall thing.  I just – I don’t want you to have to worry about anything either.  I know this is a big step for you.”

He helps you set it up after you grab the extra pillows from the closet.  When it’s finished, he checks with you to make sure it’s to your liking – which is so typical of the Frankie you knew.  You change first in the bathroom and are settling into bed as he goes in next. 

When he comes back out, the only light on is the one on his side.  You’re curled up, facing your side with your eyes closed.  With nowhere in the room to look without thinking of him, you opt to trick yourself to fall asleep faster by closing your eyes.  It works for all of 20 seconds when you feel the very familiar movement of the mattress as he gets in and it makes your throat tighten. 

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. 

There shouldn’t be a wall of pillows separating you and your husband in your marital bed.  He’s supposed to pull you close and kiss you so lovingly as he wishes you good night.  He supposed to call you his Girasol. 

Frankie clicks his bedside lamp off and he hears the sniffles you’re trying to keep quiet. 

He swallows thickly before whispering into the darkness of the room, “I can go back on the floor if you want,” hating to be the constant cause of your sadness. 

“No,” you manage to choke out, “I need to get used to this.” 

Neither of you say anything again, but he knows you’re still awake because of the movement he can only assume is from you wiping the tears from your cheeks.  Then you speak, and your voice sounds so small and so sad that he feels something start to sit heavy in his chest.

“You can say no,” you quietly start, voice still watery with tears, “But, would it be okay if you just held my hand?”

Frankie lets out a soundless breath as tears begin to fill his eyes.  You’re so broken over him and he wishes he could fix himself so you wouldn’t feel any more pain. 

“Yes,” he responds and you hear a small thud on the pillow wall which you can only assume is his hand.  You slowly reach out into the darkness and you slide your palm along his wrist until it’s sitting against his own.  There’s a small gasp from you at the contact – it’s the first real touch from him in a week. 

It’s Frankie who slips his fingers between yours. 

It’s too much and not enough all at once.  He hears the whimper from your throat first and feels the squeeze to his hand.  Next, he hears your voice crack with emotion when you softly sob his name, “Frankie…”, he blinks a few tears free, “...I miss you so much,” you cry. 

The man beside you quietly answers, “I know.”

Another week went by of the same.  One of the guys would stop by every couple of days to check in with both you and Frankie, while Santi was busy getting increasingly worried about you.  The longer this went on, the harder it was on you and he could see it.  You haven’t felt your husband’s touch aside from the hand holding at night, which Frankie’s graciously allowed to continue.  There’s been no kisses, no sweet touches, no loving words.  It’s been torture when you can see him right there and yet you feel like there’s a world between you. 

One night, Santi gets you alone in the kitchen, “Hey, the guys and I are going to take Frankie to Benny’s fight tonight.”  The way you look at him is reminiscent of the blank stare Frankie gave you in the hospital and you just give a curt nod.  He steps closer to you, voice low, “I know…I know it’s hard, but we have to keep hoping that he’ll come back eventually.”  That’s what breaks the dam you were trying so hard to hold onto, the tears are in your eyes instantly and sliding down your cheeks, “It’s been almost 2 weeks.  You have no idea what this is like, Santi.  He’s trying, I know that, but sometimes it almost makes it worse.  Frankie was hands on and attentive – not having that – I just – I’m just fucking broken.” 

Your husband’s best friend is pulling you against his chest in a big hug, your sobs muffled by his shirt as he gently consoles you.  Will and Frankie peek their head in at one point to see if Santi was ready to go, but he gives a tiny shake of his head at them, mouthing that he’ll meet them there.   But only Will sees it because Frankie’s eyes are trained on you in Santi’s arms, a look of despair on his face that as much as he’s been trying, you’re still suffering from all this. 

Will claps Frankie’s shoulder and guides him away from the scene.

Calm voice, Santi speaks to you, “I’m going to take the girls tonight.  I’ll drop them with Yovanna before the fight and we’ll give them a good sleepover.  You need some time to yourself.” 

Normally, you’d argue that they didn’t have to do that, so when instead you nod in agreement and thank him, he knows this is worse than he thought.  Wiping your face dry, you force a smile on as you tell Violeta that Tío Santi and Tía Yovanna would be having a sleepover with her and Rosie.  Santi helps you pack their little overnight bags and you help him settle them in his car before kissing them goodbye. 

As you step back into your house, you feel the same as you’ve felt for the past two weeks - alone.

Stepping over to the photos hanging up, you look at the loving life you once had with the loving man you got to call yours.  There’s a physical pain that rips through your chest at the sight of the life you may never get back.  

It takes you a second to realize that the loud scream of frustration is coming from you.

It’s the first time you’ve been able to just grieve as loud as you want.  Tears stream down your face as you yank one of the pictures off the wall and throw it to the floor, shattering the glass.  Throwing your head back, you close your eyes as you wail out loud, “Damn it, Frankie!” Willing for your husband to just come back to you already. 

Rushing to the bedroom, you pull out one of his t-shirts from the laundry basket.  Holding it up to your face, you take a deep inhale of his collar.  Fresh tears spill over as you’re close enough to smell your husband and the pain of missing him only grows tenfold.  

Santi let Frankie know that the girls would be gone for the night and encouraged him to interact with you more now that you two would be alone. 

When he enters the house, he spots the broken picture frame on the floor, the glass shards still surrounding it.  A panic begins to travel his nerves at the idea that something horrible has happened to you.  A panic that he’s let down this other version of himself for possibly allowing his wife to be physically hurt now, too.  He calls your name with no response and quickly moves to the bedroom where he finds you. 

The t-shirt clutched in your hands, held near your face, as you sleep on his side of the bed.  The dried tear tracks on your face aren’t hard to miss as he scans your body for any injury from the glass.  Unsure of what the best course of action is, Frankie crouches down and hesitantly puts his hand on your hip, giving a little shake as he softly calls your name. 

It takes a couple tries before your eyes are blinking open and you jerk at the sight of him before asking with hope, “Frankie?”

His gazes falls to the floor before meeting yours, “Not the one you’re hoping for.”

A sad nod as you sit up, bringing the shirt to your lap.  His hand moves to grip the edge of the mattress near your thigh, still scanning you over for any injuries.  He’s so distracted by the task that he doesn’t even realize you’re reached your hand out until he freezes when he feels it on his cheek. 

The facial hair tickles your palm, like it always does, and you brush your thumb along his cheekbone, “You don’t know how hard it is to look at you and not be able to love on you like always.  But it meant something with him, it wouldn’t mean anything for you.” 

The question comes out before his brain catches up, “What if we tried?”

It shocks you enough to pull your hand back to your lap as you stare at him, “What do you mean?”

Frankie slowly stands up and rubs his thumb over his hand tattoo, “I’m trying in every way here, but the one thing I haven’t done is be close to you aside from holding your hand at night.” 

Not fully understanding his meaning, you quickly shake your head, “I’m not having sex with you.  You may look like him, but inside you’re not the man who loves me.”

Frankie nods, “That’s completely fair, but it’s not what I meant.  Just a kiss.  One kiss and we leave it at that.” 

Looking at him, he’s so earnest and innocent in his suggestion that you find yourself agreeing.  Standing up, you drop his shirt to the bed. 

A nod from him at your agreeance, “You take the lead on this.  However, you would kiss your – um…me.” 

Slowly, you step into his space, as you lift your arms you explain yourself, “I usually put my arms around your neck, like this…” and you gently bring them around, your chest pressing to his.  It’s now the closest you’ve been to him since everything happened and it’s taking your breath away at being this close to him, knowing that he’s not your Frankie right now. 

“You would put your arms around me,” you inform him just as your fingers sneak into his curls at the back of his head, giving little satisfying scratches that he’s trying not to get lost in the feeling of.  Frankie brings his arms around you, but it’s not like your Frankie.  Your Frankie felt you – his hands would be against your back, roaming around and down to your ass as he kept you close while he kissed you with all the love he had.  This Frankie just loosely wraps his arms around your waist. 

Bringing your face closer to his, you nudge your nose sweetly against his, closing your eyes at the familiarity as you take a small breath.  Frankie stays still, allowing you whatever it is you need.  When you open your eyes, his are there to drown you with the depth of them, the ones that usually told you that you were looking into the eyes of your person.  As your lips begin to touch his, you both close your eyes.  The softness of your lips fit with his, and you kiss this man with a tenderness and a hesitancy.  Frankie doesn’t move at first, but then reminds himself that this was his idea, so he returns the efforts.  It's all very slow at first and Frankie has to move his arms because it doesn’t feel right to him.  A warmth cups your cheek as the kiss grows a bit more. 

When you feel Frankie moving you slowly, you allow him too.  The kiss doesn’t break as he gently settles you against the bedroom door. 

“Fuck, I missed you today, Girasol,” he mumbles against your lips. 

Frankie’s stunned when you shove at his chest while the look on your face is like you’ve just seen a ghost.

With desperation as you clutch his shirt, “What did you just say?”

The way you’re reacting is confusing the hell out of him, but he still answers, “That I missed you…while I was at work,” he looks at you strangely, “Baby, you feeling okay?” the back of his hand touches your forehead to feel for a fever of some kind. 

A heavy sob of relief leaves your throat as you hurriedly take his face in your hands, your question rushing out, “Frankie…when were our girls born?”

“Girasol, what is – “

Hearing his nickname for you again makes the smile on your face grow bigger despite the tears filling your eyes, “Francisco, please…baby, please, just answer my questions right now.”

Those large hands of his smooth across your back as he steps back into you, listing his daughters’ birthdays with ease. 

“And what was the date we met?” you tremble with simmering excitement, thumbs smoothing back and forth across his skin. 

When the man in front of you answers with a smile and no hesitation, you also see it this time. In his eyes, as he looks back at you – that love and adoration that deserted you for two weeks.

For the first time since his accident, you cry tears of joy. 

“Oh my god, Francisco, you’re back!” you cry as you allow yourself to run your hands along his shoulders, his arms, his waist – feeling your husband again. 

Frankie grips your hips, “Back?  Amor, you’re not making any sense.  Are you sure you’re alright?”

It leads you to telling him everything that’s happened in the last two weeks.  Grasping his hand, you point out the pillow wall on the bed, then swiftly pull him to the kitchen where all the post-its are still hanging up.  The words flow quickly from you as you tell him how Vivi and Rosie have missed their playful dad and you’ve missed your husband more than he could ever know. 

After the entire explanation, you finish it by adding with sadness, “Imagine if I didn’t recognize you or the girls for two whole weeks.”

Frankie’s mouth is agape as he looks around at the post-its and takes in everything you’ve told him, and when you say that last bit, he looks at you.  To think of this woman who consumes his every fiber thinking of him as some stranger instead of the man who has vowed his life to her, it would destroy him.

“It would be absolute fucking torture,” he answers solemnly.

Wiping some tears, you nod, your hand held tightly in his.  Frankie turns to you, and instantly scoops you into a hug.  Arms around his neck, you kiss his face, “I can’t believe you’re back, amor.  I was getting scared it would never happen,” and suddenly the full relief of having your husband back to you hits you hard; you fall apart in Frankie’s arms.  Sobs wrack your body, your fingers twisted in the back of his shirt, face pressed to his neck as two weeks’ worth of grief finally and properly finds its way out of you.  Frankie pets the back of your head, his soft voice whispering words of love and comfort as you express the deep sadness you’ve been living with only to finally have your happy ending. 

The resounding emotion pouring out of you has Frankie letting the information sink in more deeply.  He finds himself becoming emotional at the thought that he couldn’t recognize you or his own damn kids.  His arms squeeze you tighter, his lips pressed to your head as he quietly asks in disbelief, “How could I not know you? You’re the love of my fucking life.”

Tears begin to fill his eyes at the obvious heartbreak you’ve been dealing with, and then another thought hits him that has him worrying, “Oh god, do the girls hate me now?  Do they think I hate them?” A few trickles of tears roll down his cheeks as you move to look at him, a quick pout on your lips before you shake your head.  Hands cup his cheeks, “No, baby, not at all.  The guys and I have been distracting them and you were trying your best at still being there for them despite not knowing them.” 

He slowly nods, eyes still on you as he takes that in, “Where are they?  I need to see them.”

“Santi took them for the night.  The guys took you to Benny’s fight tonight and Santi wanted to give me time to myself.  And to be honest, I want you to myself right now.  It felt like part of me was missing when you were like that,” your voice trembles, “God, Frank, the way you looked at me – there was just nothing there,” a watery sob, “There was never an ‘us’ with you.  I was no one to you,” you sweetly caress his jaw, “Having you look at me now, it’s such a world of a difference.  I just want to be with you, Frankie.  Touch you again - actually be able to feel my husband again.”

“Two weeks is too long,” he agrees, hands slipping under your shirt to rest against your bare waist.  A move that has you gasping at the familiarity you missed so dearly.  A gasp that also has Frankie’s need for you grow even faster.  His lips hungrily slot over yours causing a moan to sound from your throat at having him like this again.  The hands on his face moving to grip at the chest of his shirt as his tongue tastes your mouth.  Greedily, you reach down to the hem and lift the fabric from his torso, pulling it higher until he lets you pull it over his head before his lips are right back on yours. 

It's not long until you’re both stripped bare, tangled together on the kitchen floor.  Legs spread as Frankie notches his length at your entrance, pushing slowly until he’s seated deep inside.  He brings his chest down to press against yours as your knees hug his hips.  Your hands spread against his broad back as he tenderly cradles your head in his hands. 

“Baby, don’t even move yet.  I just want to feel you like this first,” you breathlessly request, staring up into the eyes of the man you love.  Reveling in the comfort of finally having his warm, tanned skin against yours once again. 

Frankie rubs the tip of his nose against yours and gives you a small nod, “You keep squeezing me like that though, I may just fill you right now,” and he groans when your pussy can’t help but cinch around him again at being so stretched.

“Do it,” you practically beg, intentionally tightening your cunt around him this time, “I missed you too much not to have you everywhere right now.” 

He heatedly kisses you at your words, “Is that what my beautiful wife wants?  To fill you all night until there’s no mistaking that I’m forever yours?  It’s what you deserve for being so brave these last two weeks.”

Nodding, you dig your nails into his back, “You were gone for too long, amor.  Show me what it’s like to finally have you back.” 

Hot, open-mouthed kisses are matched with Frankie pounding into you against the tiled floor.  He takes you twice there before carrying you to your marital bed.  He rips the wall of pillows clear before he settles you on the bed, mouth latching to your cunt as he eats you like he’s been starving these past two weeks.  Pleasure is ripped from you multiple times as your husband has made his return truly felt. 

The ache in your body feels almost foreign as you wake up from your night of pleasure.  Sheets glide along your bare skin as you move to cuddle Frankie.  When you find no body in bed with you, your heart fires up. 

It wasn’t a dream, but where is he?

Standing up and grabbing his t-shirt to throw on, you race out of the bedroom and find his muscular back crouched over the broken glass from the picture you threw last night.  He’s brushing the shards into the dustpan. 

“Frank?” you ask cautiously.  

His head turns towards your voice before he smiles and stands up, “Just wanted to clean everything up before the girls get home,” he places the items on the nearby coffee table before facing you again.

There’s an air of hesitancy around you as you eye him carefully. 

Frankie’s heart cracks when he understands instantly, “It’s me, Girasol.  I promise you, baby.”

A small breath leaves your lips as you give him the most gorgeous smile he’ll never get tired of seeing.  You run into his arms, mouth instantly pressing to his in a kiss he eagerly returns.  His hands grip the back of your thighs, lifting you up until your legs sit around his hips. 

“I’m keeping you in bed until we know they’re on the way,” he mumbles between kisses, walking you back towards the bedroom. 

Laughter floats down the hallway from the bedroom.  Shortly after, hushed words and soft moans float from the opened door as the slapping of skin then echoes into the hallway. 

“That’s it, baby,” Frankie grunts, hips pounding into you, “She’s almost there,” a drop of sweat falls from his forehead to your cheek, “Let go for me, honey.  I’ve got you now, let go,” he urges through gritted teeth.

Sweet moans as he talks you through it before your crying out his name, clutching his strong shoulders as you tremble with the intensity of your orgasm.  Your pussy strangles his cock as its bathed in your slick. 

Frankie hugs your body to his, lips pressing rapid kisses to your jaw, before stealing more from your parted lips.  His groans enter your mouth as he manages to thrust several more times before he’s spilling inside you. 

He leans on his forearm, both of you catching your breath as he leans down to give quick kisses between fast inhales.  Reaching up, you brush a few rogue curls from his sweaty forehead, gliding your hand down to his cheek to pull him down enough to brush your lips against his chin and both corners of his mouth before his impatience has his lips crushing to yours. 

Tears unexpectedly fill your eyes and you need to pull your mouth from his as a lump lodges in your throat.  Frankie understands though, even without the sob you let out when you tell him, “Baby, I just missed you so much.”

The news of Frankie’s return isn’t shared with Santi when he texts if it’s a good time to bring the girls home.  Instead, you both wait until Santi pulls into the driveway and steps out of his car before you pull the front door open. 

Frankie steps out first and makes eye contact with his best friend, “Heard I might owe you a few hundred beers for looking after my family?”

Santi looks stunned, a squint of his eyes before he feels confident that it’s true, “Not this time, brother.  I’ll always do that for free,” he answers as he and Frankie walk closer to one another.

Santi can’t fight the smile at having his best friend back, “¡Pendejo! Nos has dado un susto de muerte, ¿lo sabías?” grabbing Frankie into a big hug.  (Asshole! You scared the hell out of us, you know that?)

“De verdad, Pope, no sé cómo agradecéroslo,” Frankie gets serious Santi claps his back a few times more letting go. (I’m serious, Pope, I don’t know how to thank you guys.)

Smiling at the pair as you pass by, you open the back door to Santi’s truck and smile at your two adorable kids.

Santi squeezes his shoulder, “Just stick around this time, yeah?” he weakly jokes, before they both look to you at the car, “You think she was strong during your addiction? You missed a hell of an encore, Frank.  What else you want her to do to prove how much she loves you?” he teases Frankie as your husband’s eyes are glued to you. 

“How bad was it?” he hesitantly asks Santi.

Santi sighs, but remains truthful, “You broke her, man.  She was destroyed without you.  Never would have guess it though when she was around those girls.   Did her best to keep them thinking everything was okay.”

Frankie’s eyes get watery, looking at you as you smile and excitedly speak to the daughters you share.  The way his heart beats for you, he’s surprised it hasn’t given out on him yet.

His gaze moves when an excited squeal fills the air and his oldest comes running at him after you place her little feet on the ground.

“Daddy!” she screams excitedly, only for Frankie to crouch down with arms wide open and a big smile on his face.

“Mi florecita! Come here, sweetheart,” and wraps her up in his hold when she plows right into his chest. 

“Missed you,” Vivi says as she hugs his neck. 

If only she had any idea just how meaningful her words are right now.

Frankie clears his throat, but it still quakes with emotion as he shares, “I missed you, too, mija.”

After a night that involved celebrating Frankie’s return with the men he calls brothers and with a bedtime for your girls that finally involved their father like it used to, you and Frankie were properly exhausted. 

It was hard not to stare at him, a dopey smile on your face knowing that he was your Frankie again.  He undresses for bed as you do the same, your eyes constantly finding him.  Pulling his old Delta Force training t-shirt over your head, you’re already looking at him when he turns around.

“Been wanting to ask you something all night,” he starts off, “Where’s my wedding band?” he holds up his left hand that is missing the simple silver band sitting on his fourth finger, “Tell me the hospital didn’t lose it,” he worries.

A shake of your hand as you pull open the drawer of your bedside table and reach in to pull out his ring, “I didn’t give it to…the other you, because I didn’t want to risk it getting lost,” you explain as you walk over to him.  Except, instead of handing it to him, you take his left hand in yours and slip it onto his finger just like you did six years ago on your wedding day.

There’s a few seconds where you can’t help but gaze at it on his finger.  Frankie’s other hand curves to the back of your neck, his head dipping down to kiss your hair.  When you finally lift your head to look at him, you can’t help the blur of tears in your eyes.

“Don’t leave us like that again, Francisco.  Life without you is fucking awful.”

His arms slip around you with a natural intimacy, hands spread against your body as you hug his narrow waist. 

“I’m so sorry that I ever left you like I did,” the tip of his nose tenderly drags across your cheek. A delightful shiver runs through your body as his mouth brushes softly against the line of your jaw.

You reach up to grip his shoulder blades, “I was so scared,” you whisper.

Your husband’s eyes find yours, his hand at your lower back slips downward until it takes a tender grab of your ass before cupping it, “And you still kept our girls happy.  You still kept helping me.  You’re unbelievably strong, amor.   I can only hope our girls grow up to be as strong as you are.”   

Your nails graze down his bare back as your slip your hands to his torso, gliding up his chest and along his neck until his patchy facial hair tickles your palms, “God, I’ve missed the way you love me,” his sweet words settling over you like a warm blanket.

Frankie kisses your nose before he gently rests his forehead against yours, “What else did you miss from me?”

“The list feels endless. But the biggest thing was the way you looked at me. When I looked into your eyes, there wasn’t anything there towards me.  To have that back means everything to me.  It means you’re back.”

His lips slide over yours, fitting them together in a deep, heated kiss.  It’s when he looks at you again that you see it, mixed in with his devotion to you, the clear emotion in them as his lips spread into the fondest grin.

“I can imagine, Girasol. It’s probably the exact same way you always look at me. And you have no idea how much I love it, too.”