all american pie (frank/jamia)
i wrote a wee frank/jamia fic. it's inspired by sweeney todd.
all american pie
frank/jamia, wherein frank is the worst barber in the world and jamia makes pies.
~1700 words, pg13 (for, er, slightly disturbing imagery), beta & title by the lovely turnyourankle ♥
Jamia likes to call them roadkills, shrugging it off as she wipes dishes or kneads dough. Frank thinks it's as good a way to put it as any, and honestly, no one told these poor bastards to cross the busiest road in town, or, you know, get shaved in his shop.
The barbershop is just above Jamia's diner. A wide staircase in the middle leads to it, and Jamia can’t even remember who held practice there back in the day. The diner’s a family business though, dating back to her Gamma. The barbershop had been empty for years until Frank came along.
Jamia wouldn’t necessarily call it love at first sight. She had been too busy trying to figure out the boxful of recipes her Gamma had left to her, anxiously adding various ingredients; not really knowing what she was doing but not wanting to show that she didn't. Frank sat by the counter, eating quietly, stealing looks while trying to look like he wasn't. The vegetable pie hadn’t been that bad if the strange clumps in the crust were ignored.
Jamia loves to tell that story. She says, "I had no idea what I was doing. When Gamma died and left me everything... I don't think she realized what an awful cook I was. Frankie ate his plate empty though, and he didn't ask about the eggshells or the clumps, which made me happy." She wraps her arm around Frank's shoulders and flashes a toothy smile.
If Frank's honest with himself, he knows he probably should have quit after the first accident. The thing is though that he believes this is his calling; it's what he wants to do with his life. His father was a barber and so was his grandfather, and he thinks there's a good chance his great grandfather was one as well, even if he doesn't know for sure. It runs in the family. He likes hair, and he’s sure he can really be something once he gets the hang of it.
Besides, the accidents have helped Jamia's business, so really, what can he do?
*
It's a blessing they live in Jersey. People disappear all the time; no one's been asking questions so far and Frank would like to keep it that way.
He had a scare some time ago when a guy walked into his shop just as he was disposing of his latest accident. The stranger wore sunglasses that covered half of his face -- like a fly, Frank had thought while internally freaking out -- and a crooked smile that disappeared upon seeing the mess.
"You um," the guy said, pushing his glasses up the crown of his head. "I think you need some turpentine." He was looking at the blood stream seeping into the wooden floor, and Frank thought shit shit shit while holding on to the collar of the dead body's jacket.
"Here, lemme help you out with that," the guy said quietly, kneeling down. "I uh -- let's just get this out of sight, okay?"
"What -- wh," Frank spluttered, his heart hammering in his chest.
"It's okay, I'm not gonna tell anyone. Jamia said you might need some help." The guy smiled a gentle, reassuring smile, cramming his hands under the dead man's back. "I'm Gerard by the way."
*
Jamia's sweeping the counter clean when Gerard and Mikey walk into the diner. "Hey guys!" She smiles her big, face splitting smile that manages to make Frank weak in the knees even after five years.
"Hey, beautiful! Busy day?" Gerard asks as he takes a seat by the counter, Mikey following behind.
"We’re doing alright," she says happily, nodding at the booths full of people. Little Jimmy walks by carrying a pile of plates, his apron hanging loose around his hips, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He's a strange one, but Jamia likes him and he doesn't ask questions.
Jamia's meat pies are a big hit. The secret ingredient -- the little something to spice up the flavor -- really turned her business around. She has Frank to thank for that. If he wasn’t so terrible at his job, if he could handle a shaving knife without slicing throats open every now and then, her business would be in serious trouble. She just wants to make Gamma proud, even if she's already in Heaven or equivalent.
"You guys want anything?" Jamia asks, wiping her hands on her apron. It has a skeleton design, and Frank had thought it the perfect gift for her. "The Gardener's Pie is especially delicious today." She winks at Mikey who blinks at her, making a face.
"Ha!" Gerard exclaims, slamming his palm on the counter. "See, Mikey? This is how you do comedy. Just like that, cool as a fucking cucumber." He glances at the stairs when Frank walks down, the steps creaking like an old rocking chair. "Hey Frank, did you know you married a goddamned Jenny Slate?"
Frank chuckles, walking behind the counter, wrapping his arms around Jamia’s waist. "Jenny's got nothing on this lady," he grins proudly, pressing a light kiss on her cheek. “Guys treating you right?”
"Gerard was sarcastic and wouldn't eat my pie," Jamia says, making Frank tut and shake his head.
"She offers you something to eat, you take it and enjoy it." He's grinning at Gerard though, and lets out a squeal when Gerard reaches over the counter, managing to tweak Frank’s side. Frank hides behind Jamia, pressing his face into her back. "Help," he says with a small voice, hugging her tight, pulling at her red cardigan with his teeth.
Jamia rolls her eyes, sharing a look with Gerard. She untangles from Frank and starts pushing him around the counter. "Come on, you and the guys have work to do. After this morning, the shop's a real mess," she says, nudging Frank to Gerard. Gerard grins, clasping his arms around Frank's middle, and starts frog-marching him up the stairs, Mikey in tow.
*
The sight is always grim, but it's turned into a part of the routine. Gerard picks up the dead body with Mikey while Frank holds the trapdoor open. They drop the body in, its neck in a weird angle, and brush off their clothes.
"I'm just glad we don't have to run the grinder," Mikey says. Frank scratches his head, smiling sheepishly. He sometimes gets a feeling of sheer and utter panic, a pang of nausea and regret, but then Jamia pulls him to her, whispering to him that accidents happen, accidents are nobody's fault, and he's alright again.
"Hey," Gerard says, touching Frank's upper arm. Frank looks up at Gerard, eyes wide, and Gerard gives him a big, reassuring hug; he's good at them too.
Mikey gets the turpentine.
*
Up to this day Bob still doesn't quite know how he got lured into this, but when he gets the call, he pulls his gloves on and gets to work. Ray's been a big help after the initial shock.
The grinder is huge, meant for pork and cattle. The hardest part is to get the body up in the machine. There's just so much lifting to do. The head should go in first so that the legs won't tangle and cause a big jam that takes ages to get cleared up.
"I think he's actually getting worse," Bob mutters to Ray whilst hoisting up a new body. "He keeps slipping that knife, soon there'll be no customers left."
Ray shrugs. He's standing on a ladder, pulling at the armpits while Bob's hooked his arms around the body’s knees, lifting it up. "Jersey's big. He'll be alright."
Ray guides the body into the grinder, head first, wincing when bones crack and break.
*
Jamia does her baking in the basement by the meat grinder. There's an oven built in the wall, which struck her kind of strange at first. Gamma had told her to keep away from the basement when she was a kid, scaring her with stories about hungry gypsies living under the stairs. Ridiculous, she thought later in her life, laughing at her own childish credulity.
"Hey guys," she greets Bob and Ray as she descends the stairs.
"Never stop visiting us," Bob says cheekily. "You're like a breath of fresh air in this dreary old place o’ ours."
Jamia laughs, patting Bob gently on the cheek. "As long as Frank keeps making a mess, I'll be right here, cleaning it up."
She still remembers the first time it happened like it was yesterday. When Frank stumbled down the stairs with his face pale and blood on his palms, shirt and knees, Jamia had been shocked to notice how fast she had reacted, taking over the situation. She had sat Frank down in one of the booths, locked the door, and turned the 'open' sign around to 'closed' even though no one ventured in, in the first place. She had made Frank explain what had happened, and told him to help her move the body somewhere it couldn't be found.
It was then that she had remembered the meat grinder in the basement, and had an idea.
When she thinks about it now, she isn't sure they made the right decision not telling the cops. Disposing of the body in a grinder, but. She couldn't let anything happen to Frank, she wouldn't have him taken away from her.
Hiding the meat in the pies had been a strange idea, sure, but it had worked. People loved them, couldn't get enough of them.
Now it's become part of their lives, and the diner does well enough to support her and Frankie and their three fat dogs.
*
Jamia kisses the back of Frank's neck in the evening. They're settled in to bed, clean sheets and pillowcases easy to breathe in, legs and arms aching from another busy day at work.
"I think we should think about expanding," she jokes, and Frank huffs a laugh, turning around and pulling her close. He hugs her head and plays with her hair, and Jamia thinks they'll be just fine for as long as they have this.
all american pie
frank/jamia, wherein frank is the worst barber in the world and jamia makes pies.
~1700 words, pg13 (for, er, slightly disturbing imagery), beta & title by the lovely turnyourankle ♥
Jamia likes to call them roadkills, shrugging it off as she wipes dishes or kneads dough. Frank thinks it's as good a way to put it as any, and honestly, no one told these poor bastards to cross the busiest road in town, or, you know, get shaved in his shop.
The barbershop is just above Jamia's diner. A wide staircase in the middle leads to it, and Jamia can’t even remember who held practice there back in the day. The diner’s a family business though, dating back to her Gamma. The barbershop had been empty for years until Frank came along.
Jamia wouldn’t necessarily call it love at first sight. She had been too busy trying to figure out the boxful of recipes her Gamma had left to her, anxiously adding various ingredients; not really knowing what she was doing but not wanting to show that she didn't. Frank sat by the counter, eating quietly, stealing looks while trying to look like he wasn't. The vegetable pie hadn’t been that bad if the strange clumps in the crust were ignored.
Jamia loves to tell that story. She says, "I had no idea what I was doing. When Gamma died and left me everything... I don't think she realized what an awful cook I was. Frankie ate his plate empty though, and he didn't ask about the eggshells or the clumps, which made me happy." She wraps her arm around Frank's shoulders and flashes a toothy smile.
If Frank's honest with himself, he knows he probably should have quit after the first accident. The thing is though that he believes this is his calling; it's what he wants to do with his life. His father was a barber and so was his grandfather, and he thinks there's a good chance his great grandfather was one as well, even if he doesn't know for sure. It runs in the family. He likes hair, and he’s sure he can really be something once he gets the hang of it.
Besides, the accidents have helped Jamia's business, so really, what can he do?
*
It's a blessing they live in Jersey. People disappear all the time; no one's been asking questions so far and Frank would like to keep it that way.
He had a scare some time ago when a guy walked into his shop just as he was disposing of his latest accident. The stranger wore sunglasses that covered half of his face -- like a fly, Frank had thought while internally freaking out -- and a crooked smile that disappeared upon seeing the mess.
"You um," the guy said, pushing his glasses up the crown of his head. "I think you need some turpentine." He was looking at the blood stream seeping into the wooden floor, and Frank thought shit shit shit while holding on to the collar of the dead body's jacket.
"Here, lemme help you out with that," the guy said quietly, kneeling down. "I uh -- let's just get this out of sight, okay?"
"What -- wh," Frank spluttered, his heart hammering in his chest.
"It's okay, I'm not gonna tell anyone. Jamia said you might need some help." The guy smiled a gentle, reassuring smile, cramming his hands under the dead man's back. "I'm Gerard by the way."
*
Jamia's sweeping the counter clean when Gerard and Mikey walk into the diner. "Hey guys!" She smiles her big, face splitting smile that manages to make Frank weak in the knees even after five years.
"Hey, beautiful! Busy day?" Gerard asks as he takes a seat by the counter, Mikey following behind.
"We’re doing alright," she says happily, nodding at the booths full of people. Little Jimmy walks by carrying a pile of plates, his apron hanging loose around his hips, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He's a strange one, but Jamia likes him and he doesn't ask questions.
Jamia's meat pies are a big hit. The secret ingredient -- the little something to spice up the flavor -- really turned her business around. She has Frank to thank for that. If he wasn’t so terrible at his job, if he could handle a shaving knife without slicing throats open every now and then, her business would be in serious trouble. She just wants to make Gamma proud, even if she's already in Heaven or equivalent.
"You guys want anything?" Jamia asks, wiping her hands on her apron. It has a skeleton design, and Frank had thought it the perfect gift for her. "The Gardener's Pie is especially delicious today." She winks at Mikey who blinks at her, making a face.
"Ha!" Gerard exclaims, slamming his palm on the counter. "See, Mikey? This is how you do comedy. Just like that, cool as a fucking cucumber." He glances at the stairs when Frank walks down, the steps creaking like an old rocking chair. "Hey Frank, did you know you married a goddamned Jenny Slate?"
Frank chuckles, walking behind the counter, wrapping his arms around Jamia’s waist. "Jenny's got nothing on this lady," he grins proudly, pressing a light kiss on her cheek. “Guys treating you right?”
"Gerard was sarcastic and wouldn't eat my pie," Jamia says, making Frank tut and shake his head.
"She offers you something to eat, you take it and enjoy it." He's grinning at Gerard though, and lets out a squeal when Gerard reaches over the counter, managing to tweak Frank’s side. Frank hides behind Jamia, pressing his face into her back. "Help," he says with a small voice, hugging her tight, pulling at her red cardigan with his teeth.
Jamia rolls her eyes, sharing a look with Gerard. She untangles from Frank and starts pushing him around the counter. "Come on, you and the guys have work to do. After this morning, the shop's a real mess," she says, nudging Frank to Gerard. Gerard grins, clasping his arms around Frank's middle, and starts frog-marching him up the stairs, Mikey in tow.
*
The sight is always grim, but it's turned into a part of the routine. Gerard picks up the dead body with Mikey while Frank holds the trapdoor open. They drop the body in, its neck in a weird angle, and brush off their clothes.
"I'm just glad we don't have to run the grinder," Mikey says. Frank scratches his head, smiling sheepishly. He sometimes gets a feeling of sheer and utter panic, a pang of nausea and regret, but then Jamia pulls him to her, whispering to him that accidents happen, accidents are nobody's fault, and he's alright again.
"Hey," Gerard says, touching Frank's upper arm. Frank looks up at Gerard, eyes wide, and Gerard gives him a big, reassuring hug; he's good at them too.
Mikey gets the turpentine.
*
Up to this day Bob still doesn't quite know how he got lured into this, but when he gets the call, he pulls his gloves on and gets to work. Ray's been a big help after the initial shock.
The grinder is huge, meant for pork and cattle. The hardest part is to get the body up in the machine. There's just so much lifting to do. The head should go in first so that the legs won't tangle and cause a big jam that takes ages to get cleared up.
"I think he's actually getting worse," Bob mutters to Ray whilst hoisting up a new body. "He keeps slipping that knife, soon there'll be no customers left."
Ray shrugs. He's standing on a ladder, pulling at the armpits while Bob's hooked his arms around the body’s knees, lifting it up. "Jersey's big. He'll be alright."
Ray guides the body into the grinder, head first, wincing when bones crack and break.
*
Jamia does her baking in the basement by the meat grinder. There's an oven built in the wall, which struck her kind of strange at first. Gamma had told her to keep away from the basement when she was a kid, scaring her with stories about hungry gypsies living under the stairs. Ridiculous, she thought later in her life, laughing at her own childish credulity.
"Hey guys," she greets Bob and Ray as she descends the stairs.
"Never stop visiting us," Bob says cheekily. "You're like a breath of fresh air in this dreary old place o’ ours."
Jamia laughs, patting Bob gently on the cheek. "As long as Frank keeps making a mess, I'll be right here, cleaning it up."
She still remembers the first time it happened like it was yesterday. When Frank stumbled down the stairs with his face pale and blood on his palms, shirt and knees, Jamia had been shocked to notice how fast she had reacted, taking over the situation. She had sat Frank down in one of the booths, locked the door, and turned the 'open' sign around to 'closed' even though no one ventured in, in the first place. She had made Frank explain what had happened, and told him to help her move the body somewhere it couldn't be found.
It was then that she had remembered the meat grinder in the basement, and had an idea.
When she thinks about it now, she isn't sure they made the right decision not telling the cops. Disposing of the body in a grinder, but. She couldn't let anything happen to Frank, she wouldn't have him taken away from her.
Hiding the meat in the pies had been a strange idea, sure, but it had worked. People loved them, couldn't get enough of them.
Now it's become part of their lives, and the diner does well enough to support her and Frankie and their three fat dogs.
*
Jamia kisses the back of Frank's neck in the evening. They're settled in to bed, clean sheets and pillowcases easy to breathe in, legs and arms aching from another busy day at work.
"I think we should think about expanding," she jokes, and Frank huffs a laugh, turning around and pulling her close. He hugs her head and plays with her hair, and Jamia thinks they'll be just fine for as long as they have this.