He sits in wait at the specified diner at the specified time and squirms on his side of the booth. It's uncomfortable for him: being on this side of the equation. But he owes it to the people who sacrificed so much to keep him safe. The Liebermans, Madani... Not to mention all the bodies. He drums his hand restlessly on the counter and mean-mugs every guy who walks in the joint. It never occurs to him his correspondence would have been with a woman, especially not a drop-dead gorgeous one, but she's beelining his way.

"Hey, lady, I dunno who you think I am, but try a friendlier face, huh?" The real trip is: he looks soft and doe-eyed like the most loyal dog you've ever met while he says it. Good thing he has close to zero self-awareness, especially as he coos over the older woman who brings him his coffee, burnt to a crisp, just the way he likes it. Frank takes a long sip though steam is violently pouring out of the cup, and sits way back in order to study the woman's face. There's something familiar about the features he memorizes out of habit, but he can't place them or why he finds her familiar. He convinces himself she looks like an actress or some news anchor he's seen in one of a dozen motel rooms this past week or month or year. It starts to sink into his guts that she's not moving for a reason. She knows him, somehow. They know each other? He's racking the slide, but nothing falls out. It's a sinking feeling as much as it is elevating. For some reason, he thinks he might be excited. He looks down into his coffee like the caffeine is the problem, and takes another long, hot, and grounding sip.

"Alright, alright. Start talkin'. I'm all fucking ears."