Frank watched the cup fill with coffee, blacker than black, and a little of the edge wore off. He marked the kids when he came in, but otherwise didn't look at them again. He was all eyes for the mug of coffee, and he'd just wrapped his hands around it when the man behind the counter asked somebody for it not to be him.
He wasn't immediately sure he was being spoken to. Sure, the voice behind the counter sounded a little familiar, sounded a little like home, but he was so focused on his coffee cup and replaying the events of the night before in his head that he didn't process it nearly as fast as he should have.
He looked up, met the eye of the guy with the pot of coffee, and straightened his head.
He had a split-second decision to make. It would be in Nick's best interest if Frank were to tell him he had him pinned as somebody else and make for the door. But hell, it wasn't like it was a secret back home that he'd taken off for the Capital, and it would be twice as suspicious to walk off now.
And you know what, weak as it fuckin was, dangerous as it was - seeing a friendly face meant something. It was like a message from a different, better world in the strangest place at the worst moment, a reminder of a place where things had still seemed, if not optimistic, then survivable.
"Nick Morgan," he said. He picked up the coffee mug with one hand, shook his head, offered the other to shake when he put down the coffee pot. "Jesus, brother. The hell you doing all the way out here?"