Fic: Turn Up the Fakes and Lies
Title: Turn Up the Fakes and Lies
Author: iron_fist123 and vinvy
Pairing: eventual Frank/Gerard
Rating: R (for language)
Word Count: 3137
Summary: Yes, hitting Poison felt very good. It almost made him feel better about the general fucked-up-ness of his current life situation. He should make a point to do it again. Ha, wait- he could do it again.
Warnings: Violence, profanity, bunny food, Frank Sinatra, home invasion, etc.
Disclaimer: Warning: May contain nuts. Also, we don't own any of it.
Act 1
(Scene 1)
(Scene 2)
Act 2
(Scene 1)
“I should be looking forward to coming home to this place from a long day at work,” Frank griped, mounting yet another flight of stairs, “not sneaking in.”
The brick monolith his mother lived in- being only thirty floors high or so- lacked many of the modern conveniences, such as elevators and surveillance cameras. So convenient and so wrong all at the same time. After all, who needed a surveillance camera when there was no crime? Who needed an elevator when the only people that left the apartments were the drones that headed to work everyday, only to sit down in an office or work on an assembly line? The stairs were there for exercise, the only tiny bit that citizens of Battery City ever got.
The apartment was impeccably clean, the sterilized white walls had not a picture out of place. (The only pictures being “tasteful” black and white geometric patterns.) The floor was tiled black, shined spotless. He could almost see his reflection in it. This was home. Home sweet home, free of flasher-toting thieves and neon haired men who liked to confuse him.
Frank let out a loud sigh and made his way down the hallway to the bathroom. I need to piss. Kind of bad.
The bathroom was just as spotless and sterilized as the rest of the apartment, so white that it was almost blinding. His mom was to thank for that. She hated when her bathroom was even the slightest bit dirty. She was the reason he valued cleanliness so much.
I need to shower, too. He’d caught his reflection in the mirror- two days’ worth of sweat and a few hours of relentless desert sand made him a horrible smudge on the polished glass.
~~
Twenty minutes later his borrowed clothing was tumbling away in the washing machine and Frank rummaged through the kitchen cupboards for something to eat. With bare feet on cool tile, his own jeans, and wet hair dripping down his tattooed back it felt like he’d never left to begin with. It’d be really easy to forget being involved with espionage and a bunch of smelly thieves. … Though he wouldn’t complain if a jar of that magic salve Party Poison had rubbed on his shoulder suddenly appeared. The flasher burn was still fresh and soap had made it sting enough to bring tears to his eyes.
When he opened the refrigerator his heart did a funny little dip. Sitting on the middle shelf were fresh tomatoes and zucchini along with tofu that went into his mother’s famous vegan lasagna. It had been the main dish for the yearly Solstice celebration and years before that the holiday they used to call Christmas. He pushed those veggies aside and grabbed the glass dish of hummus sitting behind them. From the looks of it, it was freshly made. Mom had been expecting him home last night. (There again was the twisting feeling of guilt stuck in his chest.) There was a bag of carrots in the bottom drawer, unopened.
“Always feeding me right, ma.” He ripped open the plastic bag with his teeth and hoisted himself onto the counter, crunching away at the carrots and hummus contentedly. This beat fried lizard eggs by dunes. It made him queasy to think he’d actually stomached that down just a few hours earlier.
The buzzer on the washing machine sounded, followed by the final gurgle of water draining. Frank trotted down the hall to throw the clothes in the dryer. A large part of him sincerely hoped that they shrunk to the point of being unwearable when he gave them back to Party Poison. If he ever gave them back. At the moment being a stowaway in his mom’s apartment forever seemed like a great plan.
You do know that she can’t afford this place on her salary alone, right?
He sighed and dug through the black trash-bags that housed his belongings. She’d been counting on him paying part of the rent. Most of the rent, actually. Her money went towards food and medication. I can always get a new identity, he reasoned, moving to open a box held together by duct tape and luck alone. Then I’d cut my hair and maybe get some surgery done to change my face. Its not that hard to find crooked surgeons if you know where to go... I could get a new job. He sliced the tape open with his pocket knife. From inside a well-worn Needle 2015 Tape Deck smiled up at him. A small collection of records stood beside it.
A new identity can wait.
He pulled the Deck out of its box and brought it into the sitting room, the records balanced on top. He set it gingerly on the glass coffee table and plugged it into the nearest outlet. That was a benefit of living in such an old building- it still had electrical outlets. He lifted the stylus gently and set the first record from the pile- Sinatra’s Sinatra (1963)- under it. After a moment of static in which the needle found its footing, the first soft strains of music found their way into the air. In just a few moments, the apartment was filled with Frank Sinatra’s smooth tenor.
“I’ve got you under my skin...” Frank hummed along to the big-band era jazz. “I’ve got you deep in the heart of me...”
It was hard not to crank the volume up, but he couldn’t risk the neighbors hearing. It’d be a tragedy to lose this fine machine to the BLI incinerators.
“I’ve tried so not to give in...”
He stepped back into the kitchen, moving in time to the music, to finish his carrots and hummus. Ma would be irritated if he finished the carrots, but how could he be to blame? Stress made him hungry!
He swung an imaginary dance partner around in the kitchen while nibbling a carrot, blissfully oblivious. The trombone feature halfway through the song masked the sound of breaking glass. The girl in his arms spun gracefully and he kept her steady. In his head she was faceless and petite. It was nice to dance with someone who was his height for once.
“Wow! Not just a bunny but a dancing bunny! Somebody call the fuckin’ circus!”
The make-believe dancer dropped to the floor mid-dip. In his head she glared up at him, scandalized. He didn’t have time to apologize, though. The gang who had, apparently just broken into his home, had his full attention. Kobra Kid stared down at him, looking smug.
“Yeah, because the guy who wears women’s clothing has room to talk.”
“You know, I told you you had an hour. What about that didn’t you understand?” Poison was leaning on the kitchen counter (tracking dust no less). He plucked up one of the carrots, and took a bite out of it, licking his lips obscenely. “You really need to learn to take direction. I mean, I know being a mindless drone blows- and you’re welcome to question my authority or whatever- but things like this are non-negotiable. Do you understand?” He punctuated the last phrase by swiping the carrot through hummus and snapping a bit off with his teeth.
The disgusted grimace that followed was too funny not to laugh at. Thankfully, he swallowed, sparing Frank from cleaning up the mess.
“What the hell is this? God, and you eat it?” Any seriousness in his tone had dissolved completely.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to stick things in your mouth if you didn’t know what they were?” Frank shook his head. He kept a wary eye on Kobra Kid, had moved into the sitting room and was staring intently at the Tape Deck. Jet Star vanished into the back of the apartment and the sound of running water soon followed.
Dear God, please don’t tell me he’s using my shower. That’s just weird, you don’t use another dude’s shower like that, without asking, after breaking into his home. It’s just wrong.
The music stopped. Kobra had taken the record off and put it back into its sleeve. He held the Tape Deck in his lap, turning it here and there to get a better view of how it worked from the outside.
“Hey, you’d better not take that thing apart- Frank seems pretty attached to it,” Poison said over his shoulder. Frank glance back, noting with unease that Poison had moved closer. The man grinned at him.
“Than can we take it with us?”
“Sure thing.”
“Who says I’m going with you?”
Poison laughed, “I says, Frank, I says. This is one of those non-negotiable things I mentioned earlier.”
“Don’t fucking condescend to me-”
“Hey, thanks for letting me use your shower,” Jet Star had emerged from the bathroom, back in his dirty clothes, his hair hanging around his face. “Poison, do you know how much clothing this guy has? He’s got a department store in his bedroom. We could get loads from the zone runners for some of this stuff.”
“Seriously?” Poison raised his eyebrows and cocked a thumb at Jet. “Is he serious, Frank? ‘Cause clothes are better than credits out there. Especially if they aren’t BLI issued. Classic clothes are fucking shiny.”
“You are not selling my clothes.”
“Not selling, trading, Frank, trading. Besides, you won’t need a whole wardrobe- it’d get in the way. Pick out a few favorite items that you can’t bear to part with and we’ll use the rest for bartering. That’s how it works.”
Frank gawped at Poison as he sauntered out of the kitchen and into the back of the apartment, likely to look through the clothes.
“Quit looking so offended- at least you have a chance to get some of your old clothes back,” Jet Star was now helping himself to some of the hummus. “This is really good, by the way- who made it?”
“He’s right,” Poison shouted back to them, “I could be forcing you to run with us in your birthday suit.”
Frank ignored Poison’s commentary, “My ma made it.”
“Ah, there is nothing like food from home. It’s good for the soul, ya know?”
“Yeah, whatever... so is this normal for you people? This insane invasion of everything personal?”
“Pretty much. Like he said, it’s how things work with us. When you’re the only ones standing against a global superpower you need total trust and that comes from having almost no privacy for a little while. You’ll get to have your life to yourself again, eventually.”
Eventually, Frank thought miserably.
“Hey, get your asses back here and help me! I’m not dragging all this shit out by myself.”
Kobra tucked the tape deck under his arm and left the room.
Jet Star gave Frank a sympathetic look. “Thanks for the fuel. We’ll be leavin’ pretty soon, in case you haven’t guessed. You should probably go pack up some stuff before Poison decides to trade everything away.”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll be back there in a bit.” Just let me say goodbye.
He threw the now-empty carrot bag into the garbage chute. Just for good measure he dropped the remains of the hummus down it too. Ma had never really liked to leave leftovers sitting out.
The front door to the apartment swung open on creaking hinges. His mother stepped in and made it to the fridge before noticing him. “Frankie?”
She looked tired. More so than he’d ever seen her. She must have been on a downswing in the cancer cycle because the circles under her eyes were black and her skin was a sickly shade of yellow.
“Uh...” His mouth was dry. He took a couple of steps towards the front door. His mom never got home this early in the day. “Hi, Ma.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’ve been so worried about you,” she hugged him.
He hugged her back out of reflex. He could almost lace his fingers through the notches in her spine.
“You know, people from your work came to talk to me last night, Frankie, since you haven’t shown up for a couple of days. They said they really need to talk to you. They say that you might be involved with some of those dissenters or zone runners. You aren’t, are you? This must be some misunderstanding.”
“Yeah, ma, just a misunderstanding.” He pulled away from her, looking her straight in the face. She was so lovely, even with the sickness radiating from her skin. “Listen, I really have to go now. I’m sorry but there is really no time to talk.” Please let those assholes stay in the back where they belong. Please, please...
“Oh, but you can’t leave yet, sweetie. Solstice is coming up! You’re always home on Solstice. I’ve got all sorts of food that you can actually eat.”
Yes, expensive vegan food that you hate for a son who’s never coming back. Great, Ma, just great. “Ma, I, I, uh...” he stuttered, looking for an excuse to quit the room. Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard sirens, the kind that typically preceded a S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W raid.
“Lady, you move one muscle and I will blow your brains out.” Party Poison stood behind Frank’s mother, a striped scarf and neon yellow mask hiding his face. His flasher was pressed against the base of her skull. This was not the excuse Frank wanted.
She mistook the rage in Frank’s face for fear and her eyes welled up. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“Your son, of course.”
On cue Kobra Kid came up to Frank and latched onto his arm. He had identity protection by was of a crash helmet that read “Good Luck”. Was that bullshit supposed to be ironic?
“Y-you can’t do this! He’s my baby!” The tears fell free.
“No, ma-”
Poison scoffed. “You wouldn’t want to bet on what we can and can’t do, lady. Now, really, shut up. Oh, by the way, we’re also robbing you. It’s just your son’s stuff- you won’t miss it.”
Jet Star emerged loaded down with Frank’s trash bags. He nodded to Kobra and squeezed out the door. Kobra Kid pushed Frank out of the apartment next and dragged him down the stairwell. His face was unreadable as a consequence of the helmet, but Frank had a suspicion that he was smiling.
“Look, you should feel lucky, Lady. It isn’t every day that good citizens like yourself survive encounters with the Fabulous Killjoys.”
Frank’s mother screamed. He could hear her lunge to the door but something stopped her from leaving it. He was going to kill Poison for touching her.
“No! You bring him back right now! You bastards!” It was the most emotion he’d heard in her voice in five years.
The high whine of a flasher shot was followed by silence.
No. “You did not just shoot my mother!” He kicked his feet against the wall and pushed back, tripping Kobra up long enough to break free from his arms. He ran up the stairs to where Poison was calmly following them. As if he hadn’t just shot Frank’s only surviving family member. “You fucking bastard!” He grabbed the lapels of Poison’s jacket and threw him against the wall. The crack that resounded when his head hit to concrete was nice. Frank wanted to make that sound again, and again, and again.
The completely placid expression on the man’s face was infuriating. He had just slammed Poison against the wall, cracked his head against it and there was no reaction, nothing.
“Calm down, Frank.”
Frank drew his fist back and slammed it in Poison’s jaw, the resounding crunch sending a shiver down his spine. Yes, hitting Poison felt very good. It almost made him feel better about the general fucked-up-ness of his current life situation. He should make a point to do it again. Ha, wait- he could do it again.
Frank prepared to hit him but something interfered with his new favorite pastime. That something went by the name of Kobra Kid and had him in a nasty arm lock, purposely digging his fingers into the burn there. “Don’t touch my brother, asshole.”
Before he knew what to say he was yanked back and put into the beginning of a sleeper hold. The right amount of pressure on the back of his head would knock him out. Struggling was a very bad idea at this point. The raid sirens sounded louder now. There was no questioning it.
Poison straightened up and wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. “Now that you’re willing to listen like a sane human being,” he began, ignoring the pathetic kick Frank aimed at him, “I can tell you what just happened.”
“Yo, make it quick- we’re gonna be in some serious deep shit if we wait any longer,” Jet Star shouted from a few flights below.
“I did shoot your mother, Frank,” Poison spoke slowly in a low voice and inclined his head so they were eye to eye, “but I did not kill her. Flashers have a stun setting, too. She’s on the couch right now and will wake up in about an hour, no worse for wear than she already is. Alright?”
“Alright,” Frank bit out after a few uncomfortable seconds, more so because he wanted to get the hell out of dodge before the static showed up than because he wanted to reconcile.
“Good. Glad know we’re on the same page. Let him go, Kobra. Dracs will be here soon and we don’t want to stick around to see that.”
Kobra released him carelessly with a final shove and headed down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Using his standard method of pain-management, Frank rubbed the back of his neck furiously. In theory, hurting it worse for a little bit would make it hurt less in the long run. He made to follow Kobra down the stairs when a hand stopped him.
“Oh, and Frank?” Poison gave him a wide grin.
“What?” He spit out.
The boot that kicked the thin skin of his shin sent him to the ground, hissing and spitting curses out at the red head.
“Touch my face again and I will do worse to you than a kick in the shin. Got it?”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m glad we had this little chat. Now hurry or we really will leave you this time.” Poison left him there, sashaying as he went.
As much as it killed him to do it, Frank stood and followed, jumping down three stairs at a time or more to catch up. The raid sirens were louder still, and he did not want to be the last one out of the building.
Author: iron_fist123 and vinvy
Pairing: eventual Frank/Gerard
Rating: R (for language)
Word Count: 3137
Summary: Yes, hitting Poison felt very good. It almost made him feel better about the general fucked-up-ness of his current life situation. He should make a point to do it again. Ha, wait- he could do it again.
Warnings: Violence, profanity, bunny food, Frank Sinatra, home invasion, etc.
Disclaimer: Warning: May contain nuts. Also, we don't own any of it.
Act 1
(Scene 1)
(Scene 2)
Act 2
(Scene 1)
“I should be looking forward to coming home to this place from a long day at work,” Frank griped, mounting yet another flight of stairs, “not sneaking in.”
The brick monolith his mother lived in- being only thirty floors high or so- lacked many of the modern conveniences, such as elevators and surveillance cameras. So convenient and so wrong all at the same time. After all, who needed a surveillance camera when there was no crime? Who needed an elevator when the only people that left the apartments were the drones that headed to work everyday, only to sit down in an office or work on an assembly line? The stairs were there for exercise, the only tiny bit that citizens of Battery City ever got.
The apartment was impeccably clean, the sterilized white walls had not a picture out of place. (The only pictures being “tasteful” black and white geometric patterns.) The floor was tiled black, shined spotless. He could almost see his reflection in it. This was home. Home sweet home, free of flasher-toting thieves and neon haired men who liked to confuse him.
Frank let out a loud sigh and made his way down the hallway to the bathroom. I need to piss. Kind of bad.
The bathroom was just as spotless and sterilized as the rest of the apartment, so white that it was almost blinding. His mom was to thank for that. She hated when her bathroom was even the slightest bit dirty. She was the reason he valued cleanliness so much.
I need to shower, too. He’d caught his reflection in the mirror- two days’ worth of sweat and a few hours of relentless desert sand made him a horrible smudge on the polished glass.
~~
Twenty minutes later his borrowed clothing was tumbling away in the washing machine and Frank rummaged through the kitchen cupboards for something to eat. With bare feet on cool tile, his own jeans, and wet hair dripping down his tattooed back it felt like he’d never left to begin with. It’d be really easy to forget being involved with espionage and a bunch of smelly thieves. … Though he wouldn’t complain if a jar of that magic salve Party Poison had rubbed on his shoulder suddenly appeared. The flasher burn was still fresh and soap had made it sting enough to bring tears to his eyes.
When he opened the refrigerator his heart did a funny little dip. Sitting on the middle shelf were fresh tomatoes and zucchini along with tofu that went into his mother’s famous vegan lasagna. It had been the main dish for the yearly Solstice celebration and years before that the holiday they used to call Christmas. He pushed those veggies aside and grabbed the glass dish of hummus sitting behind them. From the looks of it, it was freshly made. Mom had been expecting him home last night. (There again was the twisting feeling of guilt stuck in his chest.) There was a bag of carrots in the bottom drawer, unopened.
“Always feeding me right, ma.” He ripped open the plastic bag with his teeth and hoisted himself onto the counter, crunching away at the carrots and hummus contentedly. This beat fried lizard eggs by dunes. It made him queasy to think he’d actually stomached that down just a few hours earlier.
The buzzer on the washing machine sounded, followed by the final gurgle of water draining. Frank trotted down the hall to throw the clothes in the dryer. A large part of him sincerely hoped that they shrunk to the point of being unwearable when he gave them back to Party Poison. If he ever gave them back. At the moment being a stowaway in his mom’s apartment forever seemed like a great plan.
You do know that she can’t afford this place on her salary alone, right?
He sighed and dug through the black trash-bags that housed his belongings. She’d been counting on him paying part of the rent. Most of the rent, actually. Her money went towards food and medication. I can always get a new identity, he reasoned, moving to open a box held together by duct tape and luck alone. Then I’d cut my hair and maybe get some surgery done to change my face. Its not that hard to find crooked surgeons if you know where to go... I could get a new job. He sliced the tape open with his pocket knife. From inside a well-worn Needle 2015 Tape Deck smiled up at him. A small collection of records stood beside it.
A new identity can wait.
He pulled the Deck out of its box and brought it into the sitting room, the records balanced on top. He set it gingerly on the glass coffee table and plugged it into the nearest outlet. That was a benefit of living in such an old building- it still had electrical outlets. He lifted the stylus gently and set the first record from the pile- Sinatra’s Sinatra (1963)- under it. After a moment of static in which the needle found its footing, the first soft strains of music found their way into the air. In just a few moments, the apartment was filled with Frank Sinatra’s smooth tenor.
“I’ve got you under my skin...” Frank hummed along to the big-band era jazz. “I’ve got you deep in the heart of me...”
It was hard not to crank the volume up, but he couldn’t risk the neighbors hearing. It’d be a tragedy to lose this fine machine to the BLI incinerators.
“I’ve tried so not to give in...”
He stepped back into the kitchen, moving in time to the music, to finish his carrots and hummus. Ma would be irritated if he finished the carrots, but how could he be to blame? Stress made him hungry!
He swung an imaginary dance partner around in the kitchen while nibbling a carrot, blissfully oblivious. The trombone feature halfway through the song masked the sound of breaking glass. The girl in his arms spun gracefully and he kept her steady. In his head she was faceless and petite. It was nice to dance with someone who was his height for once.
“Wow! Not just a bunny but a dancing bunny! Somebody call the fuckin’ circus!”
The make-believe dancer dropped to the floor mid-dip. In his head she glared up at him, scandalized. He didn’t have time to apologize, though. The gang who had, apparently just broken into his home, had his full attention. Kobra Kid stared down at him, looking smug.
“Yeah, because the guy who wears women’s clothing has room to talk.”
“You know, I told you you had an hour. What about that didn’t you understand?” Poison was leaning on the kitchen counter (tracking dust no less). He plucked up one of the carrots, and took a bite out of it, licking his lips obscenely. “You really need to learn to take direction. I mean, I know being a mindless drone blows- and you’re welcome to question my authority or whatever- but things like this are non-negotiable. Do you understand?” He punctuated the last phrase by swiping the carrot through hummus and snapping a bit off with his teeth.
The disgusted grimace that followed was too funny not to laugh at. Thankfully, he swallowed, sparing Frank from cleaning up the mess.
“What the hell is this? God, and you eat it?” Any seriousness in his tone had dissolved completely.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to stick things in your mouth if you didn’t know what they were?” Frank shook his head. He kept a wary eye on Kobra Kid, had moved into the sitting room and was staring intently at the Tape Deck. Jet Star vanished into the back of the apartment and the sound of running water soon followed.
Dear God, please don’t tell me he’s using my shower. That’s just weird, you don’t use another dude’s shower like that, without asking, after breaking into his home. It’s just wrong.
The music stopped. Kobra had taken the record off and put it back into its sleeve. He held the Tape Deck in his lap, turning it here and there to get a better view of how it worked from the outside.
“Hey, you’d better not take that thing apart- Frank seems pretty attached to it,” Poison said over his shoulder. Frank glance back, noting with unease that Poison had moved closer. The man grinned at him.
“Than can we take it with us?”
“Sure thing.”
“Who says I’m going with you?”
Poison laughed, “I says, Frank, I says. This is one of those non-negotiable things I mentioned earlier.”
“Don’t fucking condescend to me-”
“Hey, thanks for letting me use your shower,” Jet Star had emerged from the bathroom, back in his dirty clothes, his hair hanging around his face. “Poison, do you know how much clothing this guy has? He’s got a department store in his bedroom. We could get loads from the zone runners for some of this stuff.”
“Seriously?” Poison raised his eyebrows and cocked a thumb at Jet. “Is he serious, Frank? ‘Cause clothes are better than credits out there. Especially if they aren’t BLI issued. Classic clothes are fucking shiny.”
“You are not selling my clothes.”
“Not selling, trading, Frank, trading. Besides, you won’t need a whole wardrobe- it’d get in the way. Pick out a few favorite items that you can’t bear to part with and we’ll use the rest for bartering. That’s how it works.”
Frank gawped at Poison as he sauntered out of the kitchen and into the back of the apartment, likely to look through the clothes.
“Quit looking so offended- at least you have a chance to get some of your old clothes back,” Jet Star was now helping himself to some of the hummus. “This is really good, by the way- who made it?”
“He’s right,” Poison shouted back to them, “I could be forcing you to run with us in your birthday suit.”
Frank ignored Poison’s commentary, “My ma made it.”
“Ah, there is nothing like food from home. It’s good for the soul, ya know?”
“Yeah, whatever... so is this normal for you people? This insane invasion of everything personal?”
“Pretty much. Like he said, it’s how things work with us. When you’re the only ones standing against a global superpower you need total trust and that comes from having almost no privacy for a little while. You’ll get to have your life to yourself again, eventually.”
Eventually, Frank thought miserably.
“Hey, get your asses back here and help me! I’m not dragging all this shit out by myself.”
Kobra tucked the tape deck under his arm and left the room.
Jet Star gave Frank a sympathetic look. “Thanks for the fuel. We’ll be leavin’ pretty soon, in case you haven’t guessed. You should probably go pack up some stuff before Poison decides to trade everything away.”
“Yeah, sure, I’ll be back there in a bit.” Just let me say goodbye.
He threw the now-empty carrot bag into the garbage chute. Just for good measure he dropped the remains of the hummus down it too. Ma had never really liked to leave leftovers sitting out.
The front door to the apartment swung open on creaking hinges. His mother stepped in and made it to the fridge before noticing him. “Frankie?”
She looked tired. More so than he’d ever seen her. She must have been on a downswing in the cancer cycle because the circles under her eyes were black and her skin was a sickly shade of yellow.
“Uh...” His mouth was dry. He took a couple of steps towards the front door. His mom never got home this early in the day. “Hi, Ma.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’ve been so worried about you,” she hugged him.
He hugged her back out of reflex. He could almost lace his fingers through the notches in her spine.
“You know, people from your work came to talk to me last night, Frankie, since you haven’t shown up for a couple of days. They said they really need to talk to you. They say that you might be involved with some of those dissenters or zone runners. You aren’t, are you? This must be some misunderstanding.”
“Yeah, ma, just a misunderstanding.” He pulled away from her, looking her straight in the face. She was so lovely, even with the sickness radiating from her skin. “Listen, I really have to go now. I’m sorry but there is really no time to talk.” Please let those assholes stay in the back where they belong. Please, please...
“Oh, but you can’t leave yet, sweetie. Solstice is coming up! You’re always home on Solstice. I’ve got all sorts of food that you can actually eat.”
Yes, expensive vegan food that you hate for a son who’s never coming back. Great, Ma, just great. “Ma, I, I, uh...” he stuttered, looking for an excuse to quit the room. Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard sirens, the kind that typically preceded a S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W raid.
“Lady, you move one muscle and I will blow your brains out.” Party Poison stood behind Frank’s mother, a striped scarf and neon yellow mask hiding his face. His flasher was pressed against the base of her skull. This was not the excuse Frank wanted.
She mistook the rage in Frank’s face for fear and her eyes welled up. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“Your son, of course.”
On cue Kobra Kid came up to Frank and latched onto his arm. He had identity protection by was of a crash helmet that read “Good Luck”. Was that bullshit supposed to be ironic?
“Y-you can’t do this! He’s my baby!” The tears fell free.
“No, ma-”
Poison scoffed. “You wouldn’t want to bet on what we can and can’t do, lady. Now, really, shut up. Oh, by the way, we’re also robbing you. It’s just your son’s stuff- you won’t miss it.”
Jet Star emerged loaded down with Frank’s trash bags. He nodded to Kobra and squeezed out the door. Kobra Kid pushed Frank out of the apartment next and dragged him down the stairwell. His face was unreadable as a consequence of the helmet, but Frank had a suspicion that he was smiling.
“Look, you should feel lucky, Lady. It isn’t every day that good citizens like yourself survive encounters with the Fabulous Killjoys.”
Frank’s mother screamed. He could hear her lunge to the door but something stopped her from leaving it. He was going to kill Poison for touching her.
“No! You bring him back right now! You bastards!” It was the most emotion he’d heard in her voice in five years.
The high whine of a flasher shot was followed by silence.
No. “You did not just shoot my mother!” He kicked his feet against the wall and pushed back, tripping Kobra up long enough to break free from his arms. He ran up the stairs to where Poison was calmly following them. As if he hadn’t just shot Frank’s only surviving family member. “You fucking bastard!” He grabbed the lapels of Poison’s jacket and threw him against the wall. The crack that resounded when his head hit to concrete was nice. Frank wanted to make that sound again, and again, and again.
The completely placid expression on the man’s face was infuriating. He had just slammed Poison against the wall, cracked his head against it and there was no reaction, nothing.
“Calm down, Frank.”
Frank drew his fist back and slammed it in Poison’s jaw, the resounding crunch sending a shiver down his spine. Yes, hitting Poison felt very good. It almost made him feel better about the general fucked-up-ness of his current life situation. He should make a point to do it again. Ha, wait- he could do it again.
Frank prepared to hit him but something interfered with his new favorite pastime. That something went by the name of Kobra Kid and had him in a nasty arm lock, purposely digging his fingers into the burn there. “Don’t touch my brother, asshole.”
Before he knew what to say he was yanked back and put into the beginning of a sleeper hold. The right amount of pressure on the back of his head would knock him out. Struggling was a very bad idea at this point. The raid sirens sounded louder now. There was no questioning it.
Poison straightened up and wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. “Now that you’re willing to listen like a sane human being,” he began, ignoring the pathetic kick Frank aimed at him, “I can tell you what just happened.”
“Yo, make it quick- we’re gonna be in some serious deep shit if we wait any longer,” Jet Star shouted from a few flights below.
“I did shoot your mother, Frank,” Poison spoke slowly in a low voice and inclined his head so they were eye to eye, “but I did not kill her. Flashers have a stun setting, too. She’s on the couch right now and will wake up in about an hour, no worse for wear than she already is. Alright?”
“Alright,” Frank bit out after a few uncomfortable seconds, more so because he wanted to get the hell out of dodge before the static showed up than because he wanted to reconcile.
“Good. Glad know we’re on the same page. Let him go, Kobra. Dracs will be here soon and we don’t want to stick around to see that.”
Kobra released him carelessly with a final shove and headed down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Using his standard method of pain-management, Frank rubbed the back of his neck furiously. In theory, hurting it worse for a little bit would make it hurt less in the long run. He made to follow Kobra down the stairs when a hand stopped him.
“Oh, and Frank?” Poison gave him a wide grin.
“What?” He spit out.
The boot that kicked the thin skin of his shin sent him to the ground, hissing and spitting curses out at the red head.
“Touch my face again and I will do worse to you than a kick in the shin. Got it?”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m glad we had this little chat. Now hurry or we really will leave you this time.” Poison left him there, sashaying as he went.
As much as it killed him to do it, Frank stood and followed, jumping down three stairs at a time or more to catch up. The raid sirens were louder still, and he did not want to be the last one out of the building.