sights and sore eyes
Gerard/Bert
Standalone
PG
written March 2008
For bert_and_gerard Remix Challenge. Inspired by Christmas Eve by cheapglue.
Bert ran.
As soon as he read the message, he leapt off the sofa and ran -- ran to the bedroom to throw a change of clothes into a backpack, ran back to the living room to grab his phone so he could call a cab, ran over to the kitchen to scribble a note for his mother, ran outside to the taxi. He sat in the cab for nearly an hour, gritting his teeth and fidgeting as the minutes ticked by. He hated Utah; hated the snow, hated the motherfucking slow-ass drivers. He had somewhere to be, dammit.
When they finally arrived, he threw a handful of cash at the cab driver and sprinted from the car to the airport, throwing his credit card across the nearest check-in counter in his haste to pay for a ticket and nearly hitting the cashier in the face. He barely had time to catch his breath before he was running for the terminal, backpack slung over one shoulder and hair in his face, to make the plane.
He stood in the security line, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, checking his watch again and again, kicking off his shoes and tossing them with disgust into the grey plastic container on the conveyer belt. Of course the guards thought he was suspicious, and drew him into another line to swipe him with metal-detecting scanners before they let him go. He grabbed his shoes, shoved them into his backpack, and ran to the plane in his socks.
He got there just in time, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead as he handed his ticket to the stewardess with a heavy sigh. All he could hear was his heart pounding -- that and the old 60s song he couldn't seem to get out of his head.
Get me a ticket for an aeroplane
Ain't got time to take a fast train
Lonely days have gone, I'm-a comin' home
My baby he wrote me a letter
The stewardess smiled and pressed the ticket back into his hand. "Enjoy your flight, sir."
***
"But then my daughter said she wasn't going to breastfeed! You should've seen the look on the woman's face -- "
Bert sighed and drummed his fingers on the armrest. There was nothing worse than being stuck on a plane next to someone who didn't know when to shut the fuck up. It was bad enough when you knew the person, but a complete stranger? On a full plane with no spare seats to move to and no tiny liquor bottles to be seen? Hell. Pure and simple. Bert wasn't sure whether God existed, but he sure as hell knew Satan did. In fact, Satan might well have taken the form of the plump, smiling middle-aged woman sitting beside him, patting him on the arm every few minutes and saying how much he looked like her nephew ...
"So Brad -- "
"Bert."
She chuckled. "Sorry. I'm terrible with names."
"'S'okay. So am I."
"Where are you heading?"
"Queens," he said, picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of his hoodie.
"Couldnt get an earlier flight?"
Bert shrugged. "Nah. It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing. I got a friend who lives out there."
"So you're going to spend Christmas together? She must be pretty special."
"Who?"
"Your friend."
"Yeah." Bert closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of his seat. "He is."
She was silent for a moment. "He?" she said eventually, unsure whether she'd misheard. "You mean you're -- "
"Sometimes."
"I don't understand."
"I don't either." He opened his eyes and sat up slightly. "Him and me ... we have this thing, you know? He's the only guy I've ever -- " Bert scraped a strand of hair behind his ear and smiled ruefully. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."
"People tell me things all the time. I get paid for it," she said with a chuckle, placing her hand on his arm again.
***
When he got to the apartment, it was nearly dark. He knew Gerard would be home; he always spent Christmas Eve alone and drove to his mother's place the next day. And he was right. He could see light coming from the third-storey window and he tried the intercom, but there was no reply. He knew where the spare key was kept, but he needed to be buzzed in to the building first.
Dammit. Bert frowned and dug his cellphone out of his pocket. Gerard's phone had been switched off; it went straight to voicemail. He pressed the end button without leaving a message and dialled another number. This one was answered immediately.
"Bert?"
He could almost picture Mikey raising his eyebrows as he read the caller ID. "Yeah, it's me. I need your help."
"You're in New York?"
"He sent me a message," Bert said simply. He figured Mikey would understand.
"Where are you?"
"Outside his building. Tried buzzing him, tried calling -- "
"I'll be there in ten minutes."
***
Mikey buzzed Gerard's neighbour and, after a brief discussion, he pressed the button to let them in. "Contingency plan," he murmured to Bert as they headed towards the elevator. "We worked it out ages ago. My neighbour knows him too, so, you know, if something happens ... "
Bert swallowed and kept his eyes fixed on the floor. What if the message had been a final goodbye? What if he were --
"What'd the message say?"
He looked up at Mikey, who was rubbing his hands together, the tip of his nose red from the cold. With a shrug, Bert flipped open his phone and found the message. Mikey leaned over and inhaled sharply as he read.
I love you.
Bert snapped his phone shut and slid it back into his pocket. Mikey closed his eyes and smiled, but Bert didn't see it. The elevator doors swung open and they walked wordlessly into the hall.
***
Gerard was lying in bed, sprawled in what looked like a fitful sleep. His skin and hair were shining with sweat, his lips were dry and cracked, his nose red; the bedside table was strewn with flu medication, painkillers, used tissues, empty coffee cups, a bottle of orange juice. He looked miserable, Mikey thought as they stood in the doorway. He shook his head and went back into the living room. He figured he'd give them some time alone -- it had been long enough since they'd talked, after all. Mikey wandered around the lounge, switching off the lights on Gerard's Christmas tree, then knelt down to find the gift with his name on it.
Bert dropped his backpack in the doorway and walked into the room, sitting gingerly on the edge of the mattress and reaching out to push Gerard's damp hair out of his face. Hesitantly, he pressed his cold hand against Gerard's hot forehead, letting out a shaky breath as he did so. God, he'd missed him. He hadn't realised how much until Gerard was right in front of him. The feeling rose from his stomach to his chest and stayed there, clenching around his heart like a fist. It didn't matter how sick Gerard was; he was heartbreakingly beautiful, he thought, fingertips trailing along his cheek.
He looked even better when he opened his eyes. Those eyes that had haunted Bert's thoughts for months, for years; those eyes that always made the memories, good and bad, come flooding back. Gerard blinked slowly, eyes struggling to adjust, and nuzzled his face against Bert's hand.
"You're a dream," he whispered hoarsely.
"Nope."
Gerard's eyes widened. "Bert?"
"Hey."
"You -- you got the message?"
"Yeah." Bert smiled and leaned forward to press his lips to Gerard's forehead. "I love you too, dumbass."
Standalone
PG
written March 2008
For bert_and_gerard Remix Challenge. Inspired by Christmas Eve by cheapglue.
Bert ran.
As soon as he read the message, he leapt off the sofa and ran -- ran to the bedroom to throw a change of clothes into a backpack, ran back to the living room to grab his phone so he could call a cab, ran over to the kitchen to scribble a note for his mother, ran outside to the taxi. He sat in the cab for nearly an hour, gritting his teeth and fidgeting as the minutes ticked by. He hated Utah; hated the snow, hated the motherfucking slow-ass drivers. He had somewhere to be, dammit.
When they finally arrived, he threw a handful of cash at the cab driver and sprinted from the car to the airport, throwing his credit card across the nearest check-in counter in his haste to pay for a ticket and nearly hitting the cashier in the face. He barely had time to catch his breath before he was running for the terminal, backpack slung over one shoulder and hair in his face, to make the plane.
He stood in the security line, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, checking his watch again and again, kicking off his shoes and tossing them with disgust into the grey plastic container on the conveyer belt. Of course the guards thought he was suspicious, and drew him into another line to swipe him with metal-detecting scanners before they let him go. He grabbed his shoes, shoved them into his backpack, and ran to the plane in his socks.
He got there just in time, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead as he handed his ticket to the stewardess with a heavy sigh. All he could hear was his heart pounding -- that and the old 60s song he couldn't seem to get out of his head.
Get me a ticket for an aeroplane
Ain't got time to take a fast train
Lonely days have gone, I'm-a comin' home
My baby he wrote me a letter
The stewardess smiled and pressed the ticket back into his hand. "Enjoy your flight, sir."
***
"But then my daughter said she wasn't going to breastfeed! You should've seen the look on the woman's face -- "
Bert sighed and drummed his fingers on the armrest. There was nothing worse than being stuck on a plane next to someone who didn't know when to shut the fuck up. It was bad enough when you knew the person, but a complete stranger? On a full plane with no spare seats to move to and no tiny liquor bottles to be seen? Hell. Pure and simple. Bert wasn't sure whether God existed, but he sure as hell knew Satan did. In fact, Satan might well have taken the form of the plump, smiling middle-aged woman sitting beside him, patting him on the arm every few minutes and saying how much he looked like her nephew ...
"So Brad -- "
"Bert."
She chuckled. "Sorry. I'm terrible with names."
"'S'okay. So am I."
"Where are you heading?"
"Queens," he said, picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of his hoodie.
"Couldnt get an earlier flight?"
Bert shrugged. "Nah. It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing. I got a friend who lives out there."
"So you're going to spend Christmas together? She must be pretty special."
"Who?"
"Your friend."
"Yeah." Bert closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of his seat. "He is."
She was silent for a moment. "He?" she said eventually, unsure whether she'd misheard. "You mean you're -- "
"Sometimes."
"I don't understand."
"I don't either." He opened his eyes and sat up slightly. "Him and me ... we have this thing, you know? He's the only guy I've ever -- " Bert scraped a strand of hair behind his ear and smiled ruefully. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."
"People tell me things all the time. I get paid for it," she said with a chuckle, placing her hand on his arm again.
***
When he got to the apartment, it was nearly dark. He knew Gerard would be home; he always spent Christmas Eve alone and drove to his mother's place the next day. And he was right. He could see light coming from the third-storey window and he tried the intercom, but there was no reply. He knew where the spare key was kept, but he needed to be buzzed in to the building first.
Dammit. Bert frowned and dug his cellphone out of his pocket. Gerard's phone had been switched off; it went straight to voicemail. He pressed the end button without leaving a message and dialled another number. This one was answered immediately.
"Bert?"
He could almost picture Mikey raising his eyebrows as he read the caller ID. "Yeah, it's me. I need your help."
"You're in New York?"
"He sent me a message," Bert said simply. He figured Mikey would understand.
"Where are you?"
"Outside his building. Tried buzzing him, tried calling -- "
"I'll be there in ten minutes."
***
Mikey buzzed Gerard's neighbour and, after a brief discussion, he pressed the button to let them in. "Contingency plan," he murmured to Bert as they headed towards the elevator. "We worked it out ages ago. My neighbour knows him too, so, you know, if something happens ... "
Bert swallowed and kept his eyes fixed on the floor. What if the message had been a final goodbye? What if he were --
"What'd the message say?"
He looked up at Mikey, who was rubbing his hands together, the tip of his nose red from the cold. With a shrug, Bert flipped open his phone and found the message. Mikey leaned over and inhaled sharply as he read.
I love you.
Bert snapped his phone shut and slid it back into his pocket. Mikey closed his eyes and smiled, but Bert didn't see it. The elevator doors swung open and they walked wordlessly into the hall.
***
Gerard was lying in bed, sprawled in what looked like a fitful sleep. His skin and hair were shining with sweat, his lips were dry and cracked, his nose red; the bedside table was strewn with flu medication, painkillers, used tissues, empty coffee cups, a bottle of orange juice. He looked miserable, Mikey thought as they stood in the doorway. He shook his head and went back into the living room. He figured he'd give them some time alone -- it had been long enough since they'd talked, after all. Mikey wandered around the lounge, switching off the lights on Gerard's Christmas tree, then knelt down to find the gift with his name on it.
Bert dropped his backpack in the doorway and walked into the room, sitting gingerly on the edge of the mattress and reaching out to push Gerard's damp hair out of his face. Hesitantly, he pressed his cold hand against Gerard's hot forehead, letting out a shaky breath as he did so. God, he'd missed him. He hadn't realised how much until Gerard was right in front of him. The feeling rose from his stomach to his chest and stayed there, clenching around his heart like a fist. It didn't matter how sick Gerard was; he was heartbreakingly beautiful, he thought, fingertips trailing along his cheek.
He looked even better when he opened his eyes. Those eyes that had haunted Bert's thoughts for months, for years; those eyes that always made the memories, good and bad, come flooding back. Gerard blinked slowly, eyes struggling to adjust, and nuzzled his face against Bert's hand.
"You're a dream," he whispered hoarsely.
"Nope."
Gerard's eyes widened. "Bert?"
"Hey."
"You -- you got the message?"
"Yeah." Bert smiled and leaned forward to press his lips to Gerard's forehead. "I love you too, dumbass."