A (partial) list of things to write before I die
I was looking through my WiP folder this morning and have snippets from the fics I plan, one day, to finish. These are all in various stages of completion, and there are even more files scattered around the laptop with vague notes for fic ideas I would also love to write, if there were more hours in the day. (Also, perhaps I shouldn't have signed up for a fic challenge in addition to finishing all of these. :D?)
I started this one way back in November and it's gone through several revisions since then, and while I love it to pieces it's a pain to write and I'm not sure when it will be finished. Basically Patrick doesn't meet Joe in Borders and FOB doesn't form. Patrick tries to make it in the music scene but never finds the right band, and later goes to college where he meets Joe, who introduces him to Pete and Andy. Patrick doesn't find out until a few months afterwards that Pete and the others are Paranornal Investigators. Cue Scooby Doo-esque shenanigans. (Yeah, I don't know either.)
Fun fact: I gave Patrick a little cameo in 'Pictures of You' with the intent of using it as back story for the sequel to this fic. (The sequel is supposed to be a little lighter than this one and involves Gerard and Frank buying a (possibly haunted!) house when Gerard decides that he and Ray need to get bigger studio space.)
Joe swings by the record store when Patrick gets off shift and when they get to Joe's place his roommates are sprawled on the couch deep in conversation.
Patrick doesn't catch much of it, but what he does hear makes him think they're really big X-Files fans, or at least he hopes they are. There really aren't a lot of reasons for two people to be talking about manifestations, ectoplasmic goo, and stiletto heels in one conversation as intensely as they seem to be that he can think of.
“Hey, guys,” Joe says, dropping a hand on Patrick's shoulder like he's trying to keep him from turning right around and walking out the door. “This is Patrick. He's thinking of moving in here, so try not to scare him off, okay? We need him. “
Patrick looks back at Joe, eyebrow raised.
“The one with the stupid hair is Pete, and Andy's the one with the awesome tattoos,” Joe says, pointing at Pete and Andy in turn. “They're sorry for being crazy last night.”
They actually don't look all that sorry, but it's not like Patrick has room to talk so he doesn't hold that against them.
“Oh, hey. You got a call from your mom earlier,” Andy says. “She wants you to call her back right away.”
Joe squeezes Patrick's shoulder in what he probably thinks is a reassuring manner and heads down the hallway towards his room, yelling at Andy and Pete to make nice with Patrick while he's on the phone.
Patrick watches the door to Joe's room close, and slowly turns to face Pete and Andy.
“Uh. Hi.” Patrick doesn't scuff his feet in the carpeting because he isn't actually a five year-old meeting new kids on the playground. “I'm Patrick.”
Pete and Andy share a look that Patrick can't figure out, but then Andy's getting up and crossing the room to shake his hand and smiling.
“Sorry about last night.” Andy's smile shifts into a smirk when he looks over his shoulder at Pete. “He's kind of a freak, but he's our freak.”
Patrick smiles a little uncertainly as he takes Andy's hand. “Yeah, no. Joe told me the same thing.”
Andy puts a hand on Patrick's shoulder and nudges him over towards the couch he and Pete are sitting on. “Have a seat, Patrick. You look like you've had a long day.”
Which. Yeah, he has. He likes working at the record store, loves being able to put on his favorite bands while he works, but the customers? He could definitely do without them.
And, okay. Pete's still staring at him.
“Hi?” Patrick tries, glancing at Andy, who doesn't seem to notice.
“So. What were you guys talking about?” Patrick looks at Andy, trying to ignore the fact that Pete's still staring.
Andy coughs and practically leaps to his feet, offering to get Patrick something to drink, and Patrick has the feeling he's somehow managed to ask exactly the wrong question.
“Water's fine?”
Andy nods and nearly runs into the kitchen in his haste to get the hell out of the room. Patrick's thinking that it would be a good idea to make an excuse to leave. He can always apologize to Joe later, tell him that he'd forgotten he had an errand to run, or that he'd hear his mom calling. Christ, just something because Pete is seriously beginning freak him out with all the staring.
“You know anything about ghosts?” Pete asks, and it's Patrick's turn to stare.
“What?”
Pete rolls his eyes and leans back into the couch cushions. “Ghosts. You know, apparitions, specters, spirits? You know anything about them?”
Patrick starts when there's a loud clatter in the kitchen, followed by Andy calling out that he's fine, he's okay, he just dropped something.
“I'm not crazy,” Pete says with a shrug like he could care less about what Patrick thinks of him. “It's just a question.”
Patrick blinks and takes a moment to actually think about it. It's not that he doesn't believe in ghosts, that he refuses to, he just needs proof. Actual, solid proof that they do exist, and so far he hasn't been given any.
“I. Not that much? Mostly what I've seen in movies and on television, I guess,” Patrick finds himself saying, feeling a little apologetic, which is just strange. “I'm not really that big on stuff like that.”
Pete nods, but he also has a thoughtful look on his face, and he's staring at Patrick again.
“I don't. Is that like a prerequisite to moving in here?” Patrick jokes, laughing a little. “Because yeah, I just don't really buy into that, really.”
Pete smiles, but doesn't say anything, and then Andy's coming back out of the kitchen with Patrick's water at the same time Joe comes out of his room.
Pete stops staring.
Joe gets Pete and Andy started on what the apartment's like. Their neighbors and other things Patrick needs to know before he makes his decision, and Patrick finally starts to relax.
Weirdness aside, Pete seems nice enough, and Andy's great. He's not entirely sure it's the smartest decision he's ever made, but by the time he leaves Patrick's more certain than ever he's going to tell Joe that yeah, sure, he'll move in with them.
He tries to pretend he can't feel things clicking into place one by one, piece by piece, like he was always meant to be where he is now. Patrick's learned that that's usually when things go wrong in the worst possible way.
====
====
I'm actually working on this one at the moment in between the other fics. It's somewhere around 13,000 words at the moment and looks like it could easily go twice that with all the scenes I want to write for it. Ahahaha. You have no idea how much I want to get to some of these scenes. I don't think there will be an actual sequel for this, but there might be little ficlets now and then because there is so much I want to do that can't be done in the main story.
It's Ray's turn to check in on Frank after work, and he's busy making a list of what he's going to need to get at the grocery store on his way over when Bob comes into the band room.
They stare at each other for a long moment, not saying anything. Ray doesn't actually blush, but it's close.
Bob smiles at him, and it would be a lot more awkward if -
“Hey, Mr. Toro!”
If Brendon wasn't there. Brendon's a new student, having enrolled the week before but he's already managed to find his own unique niche among the music students. As far as Ray can tell Brendon's class schedule is crammed full of just about every music class he can manage, including guitar and drum class.
He's small enough that Ray didn't see him come in behind Bob, but his personality more than makes up for his size.
Bob rolls his eyes and steps aside, and Ray smiles when Brendon grins at him and makes a beeline for the back of the room. Ray raises an eyebrow and Bob shrugs as Brendon gets himself sorted out behind the drum kit.
Bob calls out some warm-up exercises over his shoulder, and Brendon answers with a a little salute of his drumsticks.
“He wanted to work on something,” Bob says, and shrugs again, only the second time around it's more like a twitch.
Bob, Ray's surprised to realize, looks a little embarrassed. Like he didn't expect Ray to be there.
Ray doesn't know what to make of that, and just when he's about to say something - he's not even sure what - Bob beats him to it.
“How's that little freak Iero doing?” Bob sounds genuinely concerned, like he cares, so Ray doesn't take offense. “Schechter told me he's been out sick all week.”
Ray lifts a hand and makes a waggles it in a so-so motion. Frank's health is always a shaky subject, and Ray's lost more than enough sleep over it in the past. He expects to lose more in the future because among other things, Frank's an idiot who doesn't look after himself the way he should.
“He's doing better,” Ray says slowly, getting his things together. “He really shouldn't come back until the end of next week, which means he'll be back on Monday. Tuesday at the latest.”
Bob laughs, and Ray can't help but smile back.
“He's not exactly the smartest guy out there, is he?”
Ray sighs and shakes his head because Frank really isn't.
“Tell him I said not to give you any trouble.” Bob's smiling, but he looks like he has absolutely no problem beating some sense into Frank if it comes to that.
Ray's oddly reassured by that. It's always nice to know that he's not the only one Frank can move to physical violence for the sake of his own good. Brian and Matt usually sigh and make exasperated noises, but they leave the rest to Ray to deal with claiming he's best at it, that Frank actually listens to him. Sometimes.
“I don't know how much good that's going to do, but I'll be sure to tell him.” Ray knows Frank well enough to know how he's going to react to that, and isn't really looking forward to the hysterical laughter all that much.
Bob nods as though he knows exactly what Ray's thinking and gives him a sympathetic look. “Let me know if he gives you any trouble.”
Ray laughs in spite of himself. “I'll do that.”
====
====
I have this figured out for the most part, I just need to sit down to write it.
The day after the roads are cleared Allison comes in for her regular shift, and almost instantly knows something happened. She keeps giving him looks, but doesn't actually say anything and Frank can't actually leave until his regular shift is over. He could if he whined enough, but he's already getting a little overtime in for sticking the storm out, and he's worried she's going to figure out exactly what went down during the storm.
Which, really, nothing out of the ordinary happened. Technically.
Frank drags a chair out of the back office and watches Allison pokes around on the computer making sure things are running smoothly. They both know Frank can handle the computer system, but Allison's a bit of a control freak and always has to double check things when she comes in. Frank and the others know better than to take offense when she even does it with their boss, it's just part of her freakish charm.
He's spinning idly in circles and wondering if it would be too much to talk their boss into turning that empty field on the south side into a hedge maze when he realizes the frantic typing behind him has stopped. Looking over his shoulder he sees Allison staring at the computer screen, hands frozen over the keyboard.
"Allison?"
"Anything happen when the storm hit?" Allison asks, and the perfectly calm, level tone of voice sets of warning alarms in his head. She only uses that tone when she's trying to lull someone into a false sense of security.
"A bus came in a little after the storm first hit," Frank says, hoping that she'll let it go at that. "I guess the driver thought they'd have a better chance of getting through to a major city if they cut through the mountains instead of staying with the highway."
There's a beat of silence, and Frank almost thinks that's going to be the end of it when Allison starts typing something.
"So here's the thing," Allison says a moment later, still in that calm tone of voice. "Marvin over at the gas station was telling me about a bus stopping at his place when I was getting gas this morning." Allison laughs, but there's nothing like amusement in her voice, which is how Frank knows he's screwed. "And the thing is, he kept babbling about rock stars, can you believe it? A bus of rock stars."
"Huh." Frank gets up out of the chair, backing away from Allison. "Imagine that."
"Yeah." Allison turns to face him. "Imagine that."
They end up staring at each other for a long moment, it takes another few seconds before Frank realizes they're having a staring contest. Allison wins, of course, by virtue of her being a mother of two tiny monsters masquerading as little boys.
"You know it's creepy as hell when you do that, right?"
Allison crosses her arms and waits.
"Okay, okay. Christ. So these rock stars came in when the storm hit, they got a couple of rooms, the end. Nothing happened, okay? Nothing was set on fire that wasn't supposed to, and none of the rooms got trashed."
Allison squints at him but Frank crosses his arms right back at her and scowls.
"They didn't give you any trouble?" Allison sounds concerned now, and Frank drops his arms down to his sides.
They usually don't get much in the way of trouble this far out from town, but it's not unheard of. Part of the reason Frank always tries to send Allison or one of the other girls home when a storm hits. He doesn't want any of them stuck on their own with a bunch of strangers, and to hell with whatever they want to say about him being a sexist pig or whatever else they want to call him, he's not going to take the chance if he doesn't have to.
"No."
Allison watches him a moment longer and rolls her eyes as she turns back to the computer. Frank waits until the typing starts up again before he takes advantage of her distraction to beat a hasty retreat.
"Wait."
Frank stops with his hand on the back of his chair, and doesn't turn around.
"Did you recognize them?"
And really, no. Not even when Gerard mentioned Eyeball.
"No. Did Marvin?"
Allison snorts and Frank smiles. As near as anyone can tell Marvin is somewhere in his seventies, possibly older, and was around when the town was built. Odds are good he'll be there when everything crumbles into dust. Frank's pretty damn sure he wouldn't even recognize the Beatles, let alone Gerard and the others.
"Funny, Iero."
"Okay, well. I've got stuff to do before my shift's over," Frank says, half turning to look at Allison. "So unless - "
"Frank."
Frank freezes.
"Frank. What the hell happened when they were here?"
And hey, wow. Look at that. Time to go.
Allison grabs his shirt collar and tugs him back, not roughly, just enough to make sure she has his attention.
"Frank, talk to me."
He looks back at her, and she's.
She looks concerned, worried. Frank hates that look on her, hates it even more when he's the reason for it because she has a lot to worry about as it is, mortgages and shit. She doesn't need to deal with his problems on top of it. Especially when his problems are the basically the same ones teenage girls are faced with on a regular basis.
"It's nothing," he says, twisting out of her hold, not meeting her eyes. "Just. Stuff."
"Stuff."
Frank nods and tries out a smile. "Nothing serious, I swear."
Allison isn't buying it, he can see that much, but she lets it go for the moment. "The Wilkersons are coming up for an early weekend, and since you're not doing anything right now you can make sure their regular room is ready."
Frank stares at her.
"Unless you wanted to tell me something?" Allison smiles sweetly at him.
Frank just shakes his head because he's smart enough to know when he's beaten.
Allison gives him another of those sweet smiles and turns back to the computer. Frank sits in the spare computer chair and scoots his way back to the office while he still has the chance.
====
====
This is the one of the ones I'm dying to get to because I loved the Indiana Jones movies as a kid, and my brother introduced me to Clive Cussler's Dirk Pitt series when I was in high school. (Oh, man. I spent an entire summer devouring that series, and it was sheer bliss. A mix of James bond and Indiana Jones? Awesome.) This fic, though, is nothing like either of those series becasue seriously, Gerard and Frank and the rest of MCR looking for pirate treasure. With appearances from Pete and his guys, and possible other bandom people. So, you know. *hands*
A couple of days later Frank's finished with his finals and has plans, sweet, glorious plans, that involve his bed, his pillows, and uninterrupted sleep. He's sprawled on the couch with his stuff scattered all over the apartment when Mikey walks through the door and throws something at his head.
Mikey, Frank's learned, isn't jock material.
Whatever he threw hits the floor several feet away from Frank with a loud thud while Mikey toes off his shoes and wanders towards his bedroom, stepping over Frank's backpack on the way.
“No, really,” Frank calls after him, eyeing the package resting on the floor. “The postal service would love you!”
Mikey doesn't answer, and the package just sits on the floor.
It continues to sit there for another few minutes, until Frank has to concede defeat and gets off his ass to pick it up. There's no return address and when he puts it up to his ear there's no suspicious ticking, which means it probably isn't from one of his exes.
Frowning, he sits on the couch and shakes it, like maybe that will help him figure out what it is, and then feels like an idiot. He looks over his shoulder to make sure Mikey's not lurking somewhere watching him, and then turns around to stare at the package before opening it.
There's. It's a book. An old, really, seriously old, hardback, leather-bound book, and when he opens it he realizes it's someone's diary. Journal, maybe, because when he leafs through it the entries aren't about teenage misery and heartbreak.
There are maps, for one thing. Surprisingly detailed maps with notes in the margins, pages of what look like passages out of reference books, riddles with question marks beside them, sketches, and stories he knows he's heard before.
He looks in the packaging and fishes out an envelope with his name on the front in handwriting that he doesn't recognize right away. When he opens it and reads the letter inside he feels a little like he's been punched, or maybe kicked, or something because the name at the bottom is painfully familiar. An old friend of the family's from way, way back, when he was just a kid. When Frank was maybe six or seven, and sometimes he'd show up with one of Frank's uncles and tell stupid stories that Frank ate up because they were full of Adventure and places Frank had never been to.
Mikey shuffles out of his room and climbs over the back of the couch instead of walking around it like a normal human being, dropping down next to Frank on the couch. “So what is it?”
Frank stares at him, and Mikey stares back.
Frank knows this is one contest he's never going to win, so he sighs and hands the book over. “You're a freak. You know that, right?” Frank asks, just to be sure.
Mikey's busy looking through the journal, though, and completely ignores him. Frank rolls his eyes and goes back to reading the letter, feeling that ache in his chest again, and realizes there's a fair amount of guilt packed in there too.
"This is really cool. My grandmother used to do stuff like this when I was a kid."
Frank looks up at that, smiling a little at the look on Mikey's face. "Yeah?"
Mikey nods, turning another page in the journal. "There wasn't really a lot to do when we were growing up, so sometimes she'd make these treasure maps and make up stories for my brother and me." Mikey shoots a look at Frank, like he thinks Frank might laugh at him. "They were completely over the top, like pirate treasure and leprechaun gold and little kid shit like that, but she was always totally serious about it."
Frank's known Mikey long enough to hear the things he isn't saying, and Frank knows exactly why there wasn't a lot to do growing up. He lived in the same kind of neighborhood as Mikey and his family, and he remembers the look on his mom's face when she told him he had to stay inside even when the weather was good.
"We'd spend all day following the clues and it was," Mikey shrugs. "It was cool," Mikey says, and Frank has to bite his lip to keep from laughing because it really does sound kind of cool.
“This is interesting stuff,” Mikey says, and looks at him. “Who sent it to you?”
Frank shakes his head and waves the letter at Mikey. “A family friend.”
It's been a long time since Frank's even thought about him, and Frank feels even worse about it because he really had been like one of the family.
“He died,” Frank adds. “Last year.”
Mikey hands it over and doesn't say anything, and Frank really kind of loves that Mikey isn't one of those people who always feel like they have to say something in these kind of situations.
“It's. I mean.” Frank, though. “He was a great guy.”
Mikey makes a little noise of acknowledgment and taps the cover of the journal. “Some of this is really weird. Old. My brother could take a look at it if you want. He knows some people who might know something about it."
Frank doesn't know if that's something he wants to do. It's not that it's personal, although it is, it's just. It's a memento, albeit a really, really odd one, and he doesn't want other people - people he doesn't know - poking around in it.
Mikey shrugs and gets up. “Think about it, okay? I'm going to visit him over break, you could come too."
Frank nods and tucks the letter back in the envelope. "Okay, sure."
It's not an answer, really, and the look on Mikey's face says he knows that perfectly well, but he doesn't call Frank on it. He just shakes his head and walks away leaving Frank alone with the journal and childhood memories.
====
====
Despite the fact that the only thing I know about writing code is that my brain does not think that way, I seem to be writing this. I don't know why, either. recently it's turned into more of an office-AU, and is sitting in several files in my WiP folder because it's this huge jumbled mess. *sigh*
Most of the time Frank likes his job, and there are rare occasions when he loves it. Rare, as in once in a blue moon, or however that saying goes. The rest of the time Frank just really feels like punching things. He's not above punching people too, but only if they really, really deserve it.
Ray's munching on an apple and watching him like Frank's an exhibit at the zoo.
“Dude, what?”
Ray's eyebrows go up in surprise, like he doesn't know exactly how annoying that kind of shit is. “How'd the meeting go?”
Frank growls and hunches down in his chair, glaring at his computer screen.
“That well, huh?” Ray takes another bite of his apple and chews, still watching Frank.
Frank would punch Ray, except for the fact that Ray's actually pretty cool. That, and Ray's roommate Bob, who works building security, would probably kill Frank if he did.
“You should.”
Ray has this habit of holding conversations in his head and forgetting that people who aren't named Bob can't read his mind.
“What?”
Ray sighs, like it's Frank's fault he doesn't have superpowers, and tosses the remains of his lunch in the trashcan next to his desk. “You should go out with us tonight. We're going to watch one of Mikey's bands.”
Frank doesn't even know who Mikey is, but even if he did he has to stay late and fix someone else's fuck up.
“I can't,” Frank starts to say, and looks up when he hears a rustle from the direction of the miniature Island of the Lost and sees Gerard batting at the ivy caught in his hair.
“Goddammit. How the hell do you work back here, Toro?”
Ray likes to pretend that their section of the office is a secret lair (“An evil mastermind's lair of awesome, Frank.”) because he's an even bigger dork than Frank, and that's saying something.
“You know the government would try to stop me if they knew of my plans.”
Gerard finally untangles himself and gives Ray a thoughtful look, as though he's taking him seriously.
“Well, yeah,” Gerard says after a moment, and obviously he is taking Ray seriously. “But only because you'd make the world's worst evil overlord ever.”
Frank snorts, ducking his head when Gerard grins at him. He can't make eye contact with Gerard for prolonged periods of time, which he knows is pathetic, but he can't help it. He blurts out stupid shit when he's nervous, and so far he's lucked out by not making a complete idiot of himself in front of Gerard.
“Hey, Frank. Are you going with us tonight?”
Frank blinks, a little surprised. He's done stuff with Ray and Bob outside of work once in a while, but he hadn't thought anyone else knew him well enough to ask him. Definitely not Gerard, who Frank hasn't said more than a few words to at a time.
“Uh - “
“He's in,” Ray says, and gives Frank a meaningful look when Frank stares at him.
Ray found out all about Frank's thing for Gerard after the sweater incident. (Frank refuses to call it a crush because he's not a teenage girl.) Ray's been pushing Frank to make a move ever since, coming up with increasingly insane plans to help them get together that have Frank cracking up or looking for a wall to bang his head against.
Frank looks back at Gerard who's smiling at him, head tilted to the side, and god, he should have known he was doomed the moment he met Gerard.
“Yeah,” Frank offers up a weak smile. “I'm in.”
====
====
Right now this is just a bunch of little scenes I write whenever I get an idea for one.
They're sitting in the shade of a giant palm tree of some kind, Frank's never been good with plants and he doesn't really care what it is as long as it keeps the sun from frying them.
Gerard has his sketchpad out and he's frowning a little in concentration as he tries to get the roll and dip of the hills behind the runway down right. He's been at it for almost an hour now, not that Frank's been keeping track of time that closely, but it's not like there's all that much to be done until new orders come in.
He wants to ask Gerard what he's been up to, how long he's been here, and maybe even how the hell they ended up together again but he knows Gerard won't tell him.
“How's your family?”
Gerard tips his head to the side, watching Frank for a long moment before he offers up a tired smile. “Ma's doing good, and work's been pretty steady at the factory.”
Frank nods, and chews on the end of his toothpick, moving it to the other side of his mouth. “What about Mikey?”
Gerard grimaces, bending his head to study his drawing. “He was talking about enlisting.”
Frank winces at that. He knows it's the last thing Gerard wants, that Gerard wouldn't even be here if he wasn't too damn smart for his own good. If he hadn't seen the direction things were headed long before Pearl.
“You tell him what it's like?” Frank's seen enough for a lifetime, but he couldn't see himself working in a factory job, or maybe at some mechanic shop back in Jersey. Not when he would have gone to watch the newsreels, seeing guys like him doing his job, and wondering if that should have been him.
“He knows.”
Frank glances sideways at Gerard, at his clenched jaw and the thin line of his mouth and looks away.
====
====
Ahahaha. This one's just a vague outline and comment-fic for scenes I want to do. There is, however, this little snippet I wrote that may or may not end up in the fic when if I get around to writing it.
Brendon pulls his horse up at the edge of a gorge, and Spencer can just make out a train trestle in the distance.
" Emo-town," Brendon says, pointing down and to the left where a few curls of smoke drift upwards, the rest of the town hidden by scrub and the gentle rise of a hill.
There's a hint of a smile on Brendon's lips as he twists around in his saddle to look back at Ryan, still locked in a battle of wills with the flea-bitten mule he won in that last card game.
"Last I heard things have quieted down, but Ross would have liked it there."
"You don't say."
Brendon grins then, sly and a little bit wicked, his horse tossing its head when Jon edges up to join them. "The sheriff retired, but I'm sure Ryan would have gotten along with him like a house on fire."
I started this one way back in November and it's gone through several revisions since then, and while I love it to pieces it's a pain to write and I'm not sure when it will be finished. Basically Patrick doesn't meet Joe in Borders and FOB doesn't form. Patrick tries to make it in the music scene but never finds the right band, and later goes to college where he meets Joe, who introduces him to Pete and Andy. Patrick doesn't find out until a few months afterwards that Pete and the others are Paranornal Investigators. Cue Scooby Doo-esque shenanigans. (Yeah, I don't know either.)
Fun fact: I gave Patrick a little cameo in 'Pictures of You' with the intent of using it as back story for the sequel to this fic. (The sequel is supposed to be a little lighter than this one and involves Gerard and Frank buying a (possibly haunted!) house when Gerard decides that he and Ray need to get bigger studio space.)
Joe swings by the record store when Patrick gets off shift and when they get to Joe's place his roommates are sprawled on the couch deep in conversation.
Patrick doesn't catch much of it, but what he does hear makes him think they're really big X-Files fans, or at least he hopes they are. There really aren't a lot of reasons for two people to be talking about manifestations, ectoplasmic goo, and stiletto heels in one conversation as intensely as they seem to be that he can think of.
“Hey, guys,” Joe says, dropping a hand on Patrick's shoulder like he's trying to keep him from turning right around and walking out the door. “This is Patrick. He's thinking of moving in here, so try not to scare him off, okay? We need him. “
Patrick looks back at Joe, eyebrow raised.
“The one with the stupid hair is Pete, and Andy's the one with the awesome tattoos,” Joe says, pointing at Pete and Andy in turn. “They're sorry for being crazy last night.”
They actually don't look all that sorry, but it's not like Patrick has room to talk so he doesn't hold that against them.
“Oh, hey. You got a call from your mom earlier,” Andy says. “She wants you to call her back right away.”
Joe squeezes Patrick's shoulder in what he probably thinks is a reassuring manner and heads down the hallway towards his room, yelling at Andy and Pete to make nice with Patrick while he's on the phone.
Patrick watches the door to Joe's room close, and slowly turns to face Pete and Andy.
“Uh. Hi.” Patrick doesn't scuff his feet in the carpeting because he isn't actually a five year-old meeting new kids on the playground. “I'm Patrick.”
Pete and Andy share a look that Patrick can't figure out, but then Andy's getting up and crossing the room to shake his hand and smiling.
“Sorry about last night.” Andy's smile shifts into a smirk when he looks over his shoulder at Pete. “He's kind of a freak, but he's our freak.”
Patrick smiles a little uncertainly as he takes Andy's hand. “Yeah, no. Joe told me the same thing.”
Andy puts a hand on Patrick's shoulder and nudges him over towards the couch he and Pete are sitting on. “Have a seat, Patrick. You look like you've had a long day.”
Which. Yeah, he has. He likes working at the record store, loves being able to put on his favorite bands while he works, but the customers? He could definitely do without them.
And, okay. Pete's still staring at him.
“Hi?” Patrick tries, glancing at Andy, who doesn't seem to notice.
“So. What were you guys talking about?” Patrick looks at Andy, trying to ignore the fact that Pete's still staring.
Andy coughs and practically leaps to his feet, offering to get Patrick something to drink, and Patrick has the feeling he's somehow managed to ask exactly the wrong question.
“Water's fine?”
Andy nods and nearly runs into the kitchen in his haste to get the hell out of the room. Patrick's thinking that it would be a good idea to make an excuse to leave. He can always apologize to Joe later, tell him that he'd forgotten he had an errand to run, or that he'd hear his mom calling. Christ, just something because Pete is seriously beginning freak him out with all the staring.
“You know anything about ghosts?” Pete asks, and it's Patrick's turn to stare.
“What?”
Pete rolls his eyes and leans back into the couch cushions. “Ghosts. You know, apparitions, specters, spirits? You know anything about them?”
Patrick starts when there's a loud clatter in the kitchen, followed by Andy calling out that he's fine, he's okay, he just dropped something.
“I'm not crazy,” Pete says with a shrug like he could care less about what Patrick thinks of him. “It's just a question.”
Patrick blinks and takes a moment to actually think about it. It's not that he doesn't believe in ghosts, that he refuses to, he just needs proof. Actual, solid proof that they do exist, and so far he hasn't been given any.
“I. Not that much? Mostly what I've seen in movies and on television, I guess,” Patrick finds himself saying, feeling a little apologetic, which is just strange. “I'm not really that big on stuff like that.”
Pete nods, but he also has a thoughtful look on his face, and he's staring at Patrick again.
“I don't. Is that like a prerequisite to moving in here?” Patrick jokes, laughing a little. “Because yeah, I just don't really buy into that, really.”
Pete smiles, but doesn't say anything, and then Andy's coming back out of the kitchen with Patrick's water at the same time Joe comes out of his room.
Pete stops staring.
Joe gets Pete and Andy started on what the apartment's like. Their neighbors and other things Patrick needs to know before he makes his decision, and Patrick finally starts to relax.
Weirdness aside, Pete seems nice enough, and Andy's great. He's not entirely sure it's the smartest decision he's ever made, but by the time he leaves Patrick's more certain than ever he's going to tell Joe that yeah, sure, he'll move in with them.
He tries to pretend he can't feel things clicking into place one by one, piece by piece, like he was always meant to be where he is now. Patrick's learned that that's usually when things go wrong in the worst possible way.
====
====
I'm actually working on this one at the moment in between the other fics. It's somewhere around 13,000 words at the moment and looks like it could easily go twice that with all the scenes I want to write for it. Ahahaha. You have no idea how much I want to get to some of these scenes. I don't think there will be an actual sequel for this, but there might be little ficlets now and then because there is so much I want to do that can't be done in the main story.
It's Ray's turn to check in on Frank after work, and he's busy making a list of what he's going to need to get at the grocery store on his way over when Bob comes into the band room.
They stare at each other for a long moment, not saying anything. Ray doesn't actually blush, but it's close.
Bob smiles at him, and it would be a lot more awkward if -
“Hey, Mr. Toro!”
If Brendon wasn't there. Brendon's a new student, having enrolled the week before but he's already managed to find his own unique niche among the music students. As far as Ray can tell Brendon's class schedule is crammed full of just about every music class he can manage, including guitar and drum class.
He's small enough that Ray didn't see him come in behind Bob, but his personality more than makes up for his size.
Bob rolls his eyes and steps aside, and Ray smiles when Brendon grins at him and makes a beeline for the back of the room. Ray raises an eyebrow and Bob shrugs as Brendon gets himself sorted out behind the drum kit.
Bob calls out some warm-up exercises over his shoulder, and Brendon answers with a a little salute of his drumsticks.
“He wanted to work on something,” Bob says, and shrugs again, only the second time around it's more like a twitch.
Bob, Ray's surprised to realize, looks a little embarrassed. Like he didn't expect Ray to be there.
Ray doesn't know what to make of that, and just when he's about to say something - he's not even sure what - Bob beats him to it.
“How's that little freak Iero doing?” Bob sounds genuinely concerned, like he cares, so Ray doesn't take offense. “Schechter told me he's been out sick all week.”
Ray lifts a hand and makes a waggles it in a so-so motion. Frank's health is always a shaky subject, and Ray's lost more than enough sleep over it in the past. He expects to lose more in the future because among other things, Frank's an idiot who doesn't look after himself the way he should.
“He's doing better,” Ray says slowly, getting his things together. “He really shouldn't come back until the end of next week, which means he'll be back on Monday. Tuesday at the latest.”
Bob laughs, and Ray can't help but smile back.
“He's not exactly the smartest guy out there, is he?”
Ray sighs and shakes his head because Frank really isn't.
“Tell him I said not to give you any trouble.” Bob's smiling, but he looks like he has absolutely no problem beating some sense into Frank if it comes to that.
Ray's oddly reassured by that. It's always nice to know that he's not the only one Frank can move to physical violence for the sake of his own good. Brian and Matt usually sigh and make exasperated noises, but they leave the rest to Ray to deal with claiming he's best at it, that Frank actually listens to him. Sometimes.
“I don't know how much good that's going to do, but I'll be sure to tell him.” Ray knows Frank well enough to know how he's going to react to that, and isn't really looking forward to the hysterical laughter all that much.
Bob nods as though he knows exactly what Ray's thinking and gives him a sympathetic look. “Let me know if he gives you any trouble.”
Ray laughs in spite of himself. “I'll do that.”
====
====
I have this figured out for the most part, I just need to sit down to write it.
The day after the roads are cleared Allison comes in for her regular shift, and almost instantly knows something happened. She keeps giving him looks, but doesn't actually say anything and Frank can't actually leave until his regular shift is over. He could if he whined enough, but he's already getting a little overtime in for sticking the storm out, and he's worried she's going to figure out exactly what went down during the storm.
Which, really, nothing out of the ordinary happened. Technically.
Frank drags a chair out of the back office and watches Allison pokes around on the computer making sure things are running smoothly. They both know Frank can handle the computer system, but Allison's a bit of a control freak and always has to double check things when she comes in. Frank and the others know better than to take offense when she even does it with their boss, it's just part of her freakish charm.
He's spinning idly in circles and wondering if it would be too much to talk their boss into turning that empty field on the south side into a hedge maze when he realizes the frantic typing behind him has stopped. Looking over his shoulder he sees Allison staring at the computer screen, hands frozen over the keyboard.
"Allison?"
"Anything happen when the storm hit?" Allison asks, and the perfectly calm, level tone of voice sets of warning alarms in his head. She only uses that tone when she's trying to lull someone into a false sense of security.
"A bus came in a little after the storm first hit," Frank says, hoping that she'll let it go at that. "I guess the driver thought they'd have a better chance of getting through to a major city if they cut through the mountains instead of staying with the highway."
There's a beat of silence, and Frank almost thinks that's going to be the end of it when Allison starts typing something.
"So here's the thing," Allison says a moment later, still in that calm tone of voice. "Marvin over at the gas station was telling me about a bus stopping at his place when I was getting gas this morning." Allison laughs, but there's nothing like amusement in her voice, which is how Frank knows he's screwed. "And the thing is, he kept babbling about rock stars, can you believe it? A bus of rock stars."
"Huh." Frank gets up out of the chair, backing away from Allison. "Imagine that."
"Yeah." Allison turns to face him. "Imagine that."
They end up staring at each other for a long moment, it takes another few seconds before Frank realizes they're having a staring contest. Allison wins, of course, by virtue of her being a mother of two tiny monsters masquerading as little boys.
"You know it's creepy as hell when you do that, right?"
Allison crosses her arms and waits.
"Okay, okay. Christ. So these rock stars came in when the storm hit, they got a couple of rooms, the end. Nothing happened, okay? Nothing was set on fire that wasn't supposed to, and none of the rooms got trashed."
Allison squints at him but Frank crosses his arms right back at her and scowls.
"They didn't give you any trouble?" Allison sounds concerned now, and Frank drops his arms down to his sides.
They usually don't get much in the way of trouble this far out from town, but it's not unheard of. Part of the reason Frank always tries to send Allison or one of the other girls home when a storm hits. He doesn't want any of them stuck on their own with a bunch of strangers, and to hell with whatever they want to say about him being a sexist pig or whatever else they want to call him, he's not going to take the chance if he doesn't have to.
"No."
Allison watches him a moment longer and rolls her eyes as she turns back to the computer. Frank waits until the typing starts up again before he takes advantage of her distraction to beat a hasty retreat.
"Wait."
Frank stops with his hand on the back of his chair, and doesn't turn around.
"Did you recognize them?"
And really, no. Not even when Gerard mentioned Eyeball.
"No. Did Marvin?"
Allison snorts and Frank smiles. As near as anyone can tell Marvin is somewhere in his seventies, possibly older, and was around when the town was built. Odds are good he'll be there when everything crumbles into dust. Frank's pretty damn sure he wouldn't even recognize the Beatles, let alone Gerard and the others.
"Funny, Iero."
"Okay, well. I've got stuff to do before my shift's over," Frank says, half turning to look at Allison. "So unless - "
"Frank."
Frank freezes.
"Frank. What the hell happened when they were here?"
And hey, wow. Look at that. Time to go.
Allison grabs his shirt collar and tugs him back, not roughly, just enough to make sure she has his attention.
"Frank, talk to me."
He looks back at her, and she's.
She looks concerned, worried. Frank hates that look on her, hates it even more when he's the reason for it because she has a lot to worry about as it is, mortgages and shit. She doesn't need to deal with his problems on top of it. Especially when his problems are the basically the same ones teenage girls are faced with on a regular basis.
"It's nothing," he says, twisting out of her hold, not meeting her eyes. "Just. Stuff."
"Stuff."
Frank nods and tries out a smile. "Nothing serious, I swear."
Allison isn't buying it, he can see that much, but she lets it go for the moment. "The Wilkersons are coming up for an early weekend, and since you're not doing anything right now you can make sure their regular room is ready."
Frank stares at her.
"Unless you wanted to tell me something?" Allison smiles sweetly at him.
Frank just shakes his head because he's smart enough to know when he's beaten.
Allison gives him another of those sweet smiles and turns back to the computer. Frank sits in the spare computer chair and scoots his way back to the office while he still has the chance.
====
====
This is the one of the ones I'm dying to get to because I loved the Indiana Jones movies as a kid, and my brother introduced me to Clive Cussler's Dirk Pitt series when I was in high school. (Oh, man. I spent an entire summer devouring that series, and it was sheer bliss. A mix of James bond and Indiana Jones? Awesome.) This fic, though, is nothing like either of those series becasue seriously, Gerard and Frank and the rest of MCR looking for pirate treasure. With appearances from Pete and his guys, and possible other bandom people. So, you know. *hands*
A couple of days later Frank's finished with his finals and has plans, sweet, glorious plans, that involve his bed, his pillows, and uninterrupted sleep. He's sprawled on the couch with his stuff scattered all over the apartment when Mikey walks through the door and throws something at his head.
Mikey, Frank's learned, isn't jock material.
Whatever he threw hits the floor several feet away from Frank with a loud thud while Mikey toes off his shoes and wanders towards his bedroom, stepping over Frank's backpack on the way.
“No, really,” Frank calls after him, eyeing the package resting on the floor. “The postal service would love you!”
Mikey doesn't answer, and the package just sits on the floor.
It continues to sit there for another few minutes, until Frank has to concede defeat and gets off his ass to pick it up. There's no return address and when he puts it up to his ear there's no suspicious ticking, which means it probably isn't from one of his exes.
Frowning, he sits on the couch and shakes it, like maybe that will help him figure out what it is, and then feels like an idiot. He looks over his shoulder to make sure Mikey's not lurking somewhere watching him, and then turns around to stare at the package before opening it.
There's. It's a book. An old, really, seriously old, hardback, leather-bound book, and when he opens it he realizes it's someone's diary. Journal, maybe, because when he leafs through it the entries aren't about teenage misery and heartbreak.
There are maps, for one thing. Surprisingly detailed maps with notes in the margins, pages of what look like passages out of reference books, riddles with question marks beside them, sketches, and stories he knows he's heard before.
He looks in the packaging and fishes out an envelope with his name on the front in handwriting that he doesn't recognize right away. When he opens it and reads the letter inside he feels a little like he's been punched, or maybe kicked, or something because the name at the bottom is painfully familiar. An old friend of the family's from way, way back, when he was just a kid. When Frank was maybe six or seven, and sometimes he'd show up with one of Frank's uncles and tell stupid stories that Frank ate up because they were full of Adventure and places Frank had never been to.
Mikey shuffles out of his room and climbs over the back of the couch instead of walking around it like a normal human being, dropping down next to Frank on the couch. “So what is it?”
Frank stares at him, and Mikey stares back.
Frank knows this is one contest he's never going to win, so he sighs and hands the book over. “You're a freak. You know that, right?” Frank asks, just to be sure.
Mikey's busy looking through the journal, though, and completely ignores him. Frank rolls his eyes and goes back to reading the letter, feeling that ache in his chest again, and realizes there's a fair amount of guilt packed in there too.
"This is really cool. My grandmother used to do stuff like this when I was a kid."
Frank looks up at that, smiling a little at the look on Mikey's face. "Yeah?"
Mikey nods, turning another page in the journal. "There wasn't really a lot to do when we were growing up, so sometimes she'd make these treasure maps and make up stories for my brother and me." Mikey shoots a look at Frank, like he thinks Frank might laugh at him. "They were completely over the top, like pirate treasure and leprechaun gold and little kid shit like that, but she was always totally serious about it."
Frank's known Mikey long enough to hear the things he isn't saying, and Frank knows exactly why there wasn't a lot to do growing up. He lived in the same kind of neighborhood as Mikey and his family, and he remembers the look on his mom's face when she told him he had to stay inside even when the weather was good.
"We'd spend all day following the clues and it was," Mikey shrugs. "It was cool," Mikey says, and Frank has to bite his lip to keep from laughing because it really does sound kind of cool.
“This is interesting stuff,” Mikey says, and looks at him. “Who sent it to you?”
Frank shakes his head and waves the letter at Mikey. “A family friend.”
It's been a long time since Frank's even thought about him, and Frank feels even worse about it because he really had been like one of the family.
“He died,” Frank adds. “Last year.”
Mikey hands it over and doesn't say anything, and Frank really kind of loves that Mikey isn't one of those people who always feel like they have to say something in these kind of situations.
“It's. I mean.” Frank, though. “He was a great guy.”
Mikey makes a little noise of acknowledgment and taps the cover of the journal. “Some of this is really weird. Old. My brother could take a look at it if you want. He knows some people who might know something about it."
Frank doesn't know if that's something he wants to do. It's not that it's personal, although it is, it's just. It's a memento, albeit a really, really odd one, and he doesn't want other people - people he doesn't know - poking around in it.
Mikey shrugs and gets up. “Think about it, okay? I'm going to visit him over break, you could come too."
Frank nods and tucks the letter back in the envelope. "Okay, sure."
It's not an answer, really, and the look on Mikey's face says he knows that perfectly well, but he doesn't call Frank on it. He just shakes his head and walks away leaving Frank alone with the journal and childhood memories.
====
====
Despite the fact that the only thing I know about writing code is that my brain does not think that way, I seem to be writing this. I don't know why, either. recently it's turned into more of an office-AU, and is sitting in several files in my WiP folder because it's this huge jumbled mess. *sigh*
Most of the time Frank likes his job, and there are rare occasions when he loves it. Rare, as in once in a blue moon, or however that saying goes. The rest of the time Frank just really feels like punching things. He's not above punching people too, but only if they really, really deserve it.
Ray's munching on an apple and watching him like Frank's an exhibit at the zoo.
“Dude, what?”
Ray's eyebrows go up in surprise, like he doesn't know exactly how annoying that kind of shit is. “How'd the meeting go?”
Frank growls and hunches down in his chair, glaring at his computer screen.
“That well, huh?” Ray takes another bite of his apple and chews, still watching Frank.
Frank would punch Ray, except for the fact that Ray's actually pretty cool. That, and Ray's roommate Bob, who works building security, would probably kill Frank if he did.
“You should.”
Ray has this habit of holding conversations in his head and forgetting that people who aren't named Bob can't read his mind.
“What?”
Ray sighs, like it's Frank's fault he doesn't have superpowers, and tosses the remains of his lunch in the trashcan next to his desk. “You should go out with us tonight. We're going to watch one of Mikey's bands.”
Frank doesn't even know who Mikey is, but even if he did he has to stay late and fix someone else's fuck up.
“I can't,” Frank starts to say, and looks up when he hears a rustle from the direction of the miniature Island of the Lost and sees Gerard batting at the ivy caught in his hair.
“Goddammit. How the hell do you work back here, Toro?”
Ray likes to pretend that their section of the office is a secret lair (“An evil mastermind's lair of awesome, Frank.”) because he's an even bigger dork than Frank, and that's saying something.
“You know the government would try to stop me if they knew of my plans.”
Gerard finally untangles himself and gives Ray a thoughtful look, as though he's taking him seriously.
“Well, yeah,” Gerard says after a moment, and obviously he is taking Ray seriously. “But only because you'd make the world's worst evil overlord ever.”
Frank snorts, ducking his head when Gerard grins at him. He can't make eye contact with Gerard for prolonged periods of time, which he knows is pathetic, but he can't help it. He blurts out stupid shit when he's nervous, and so far he's lucked out by not making a complete idiot of himself in front of Gerard.
“Hey, Frank. Are you going with us tonight?”
Frank blinks, a little surprised. He's done stuff with Ray and Bob outside of work once in a while, but he hadn't thought anyone else knew him well enough to ask him. Definitely not Gerard, who Frank hasn't said more than a few words to at a time.
“Uh - “
“He's in,” Ray says, and gives Frank a meaningful look when Frank stares at him.
Ray found out all about Frank's thing for Gerard after the sweater incident. (Frank refuses to call it a crush because he's not a teenage girl.) Ray's been pushing Frank to make a move ever since, coming up with increasingly insane plans to help them get together that have Frank cracking up or looking for a wall to bang his head against.
Frank looks back at Gerard who's smiling at him, head tilted to the side, and god, he should have known he was doomed the moment he met Gerard.
“Yeah,” Frank offers up a weak smile. “I'm in.”
====
====
Right now this is just a bunch of little scenes I write whenever I get an idea for one.
They're sitting in the shade of a giant palm tree of some kind, Frank's never been good with plants and he doesn't really care what it is as long as it keeps the sun from frying them.
Gerard has his sketchpad out and he's frowning a little in concentration as he tries to get the roll and dip of the hills behind the runway down right. He's been at it for almost an hour now, not that Frank's been keeping track of time that closely, but it's not like there's all that much to be done until new orders come in.
He wants to ask Gerard what he's been up to, how long he's been here, and maybe even how the hell they ended up together again but he knows Gerard won't tell him.
“How's your family?”
Gerard tips his head to the side, watching Frank for a long moment before he offers up a tired smile. “Ma's doing good, and work's been pretty steady at the factory.”
Frank nods, and chews on the end of his toothpick, moving it to the other side of his mouth. “What about Mikey?”
Gerard grimaces, bending his head to study his drawing. “He was talking about enlisting.”
Frank winces at that. He knows it's the last thing Gerard wants, that Gerard wouldn't even be here if he wasn't too damn smart for his own good. If he hadn't seen the direction things were headed long before Pearl.
“You tell him what it's like?” Frank's seen enough for a lifetime, but he couldn't see himself working in a factory job, or maybe at some mechanic shop back in Jersey. Not when he would have gone to watch the newsreels, seeing guys like him doing his job, and wondering if that should have been him.
“He knows.”
Frank glances sideways at Gerard, at his clenched jaw and the thin line of his mouth and looks away.
====
====
Ahahaha. This one's just a vague outline and comment-fic for scenes I want to do. There is, however, this little snippet I wrote that may or may not end up in the fic when if I get around to writing it.
Brendon pulls his horse up at the edge of a gorge, and Spencer can just make out a train trestle in the distance.
" Emo-town," Brendon says, pointing down and to the left where a few curls of smoke drift upwards, the rest of the town hidden by scrub and the gentle rise of a hill.
There's a hint of a smile on Brendon's lips as he twists around in his saddle to look back at Ryan, still locked in a battle of wills with the flea-bitten mule he won in that last card game.
"Last I heard things have quieted down, but Ross would have liked it there."
"You don't say."
Brendon grins then, sly and a little bit wicked, his horse tossing its head when Jon edges up to join them. "The sheriff retired, but I'm sure Ryan would have gotten along with him like a house on fire."