Rita stared at him as he told her to go home. She didn't understand why he wouldn't let her in, unless there was something he didn't want her to know. Maybe Al was alive for now, but Frank wasn't sure if he'd make it. If that was the case, Rita wanted to be there, she needed to. She hadn't gotten to say goodbye to her father and--
Or maybe she was giving Frank too much credit, since he was standing there and sighing and seeming entirely unmoved by the situation, all the while Rita felt like she was coming apart at the seams. Maybe Frank wasn't at all the nice guy she'd always gotten along with fairly well, the gentleman to Pepper's rake, the conscience to their stupid trio. Maybe he really did just want to keep her out for some stupid, inane reason like he didn't approve of her. She didn't care if he didn't, she didn't care what his reason was. She just had to get in, to see Al with her own eyes, for better or worse.
"I love him," she said then, voice sounding dangerously wavy, when what she'd really meant to say was something far ruder, perhaps another swear or a hex or something, anything to keep that awful feeling of tears at bay and to convince Frank to open the wards. "We were fighting, but he would want me there. You know he would. Let me in."
As she tried so hard to be rational, tried to detach the emotions that were bubbling up inside her, Rita couldn't help but notice how terrible Frank looked. And there was blood on his shirt. Rita felt her throat constrict and she curled one hand around the front of her neck as though that would help her continue breathing normally. She couldn't, however, stop the catch in her breathing, nor the shaking of her wand hand before she clenched her fist tighter--tight enough to shoot a few sparks out the end of her wand.
"Frank, you have to let me see him. I'll never forgive you if you don't."