[Bandslash, Multi-band] As Good as It Gets (3/3)
Part One
Part Two
The drive to the police station is filled with strained silence and Gerard ignores the looks Mikey keeps giving him.
Mikey knows something's up between Gerard and Frank, but he doesn't know what, exactly, and Gerard would really like to keep it that way as long as possible. He can still hear Frank's words in his head and Jesus, maybe he's right. Mikey deserves better than getting dragged along on whatever job Brian sticks him with, or watching Gerard fuck around with his art and never doing anything about it.
Christ.
He looks at Frank in the rearview mirror, but Frank's staring out his window, locked down tight with no chinks in his armor. Gerard stifles a sigh as he turns his attention back to the road.
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Gabe meets them when they get to the police station and takes them down a hallway and points to the door to an interrogation room. “The driver was a minor, and Ryland is dealing with that right now, but your shooter's in there,” he says, and makes a circling motion next to his temple. “Total crazy, but Victoria thought you'd want to get a look at him.”
Gerard looks at Frank, still angry and god knows what else, and Frank nods.
Gabe smiles, a real one, and lets them into the room beside the interrogation room. Gerard looks at the kid handcuffed to the table, Victoria's sitting across from him and feels a little sick.
The shooter's just a kid, twenty at the oldest and is dressed like every scene kid Gerard's ever laid eyes on. He's quiet and subdued, but when Victoria asks him about the shooting a manic light fills his eyes. He tries to gesture, a confused look coming over his face when the cuffs keeping him chained to the table prevent him from expounding on the shit he's spewing.
Gerard's not really listening to what the kid's saying, but he catches enough to know Gabe was right. The kid's nuts, blaming Frank for things Gerard's sure he had nothing to do with. Things that happened long before Frank was even born right on through things like global warming.
“Conspiracy theorist in the making,” Gabe says, leaning back against the wall. “My favorite.”
Gerard watches the kid, and happens to see Frank's reflection in the glass.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Gabe shakes his head. “He turned down a lawyer and confessed to being behind the hit and run and the shooting at the hotel,” Gabe says. “He's not just crazy, stupid too.”
“How'd you find him?”
The hit and run at Frank's home had been half-assed at best, an amateur job. The shooting at the hotel definitely wasn't the work of some scene kid yelling about global warming.
Something isn't adding up, and Gerard thinks Iero knows something he isn't saying.
“Alex and Nate worked their CSI magic, how else?” Gabe shrugs, eyebrows going up. “Alex was going on about bullets, striations, and serial numbers, you know how it goes.”
The thing about Gabe is that he's easy to underestimate, and sometimes goes out of his way to make sure people do just that.
“Really?” Gerard asks, because as much as Gabe loves it when people underestimate him, he's really damn good at his job.
“Okay, so maybe someone got a look at the license plate,” Gabe amends, watching Victoria talking to the kid. “Phone calls, computer records, blah, blah, blah. Boring shit.”
Mikey gives Gabe a look, and Gabe, the jackass, just smiles.
“What now?” Frank asks, still staring at the guy in the interrogation room.
There's a pause, and then Gabe's ushering them out of the room back towards the bullpen. “The best part of anyone's job,” he says, throwing his arms up in the air like he really is looking forward to whatever is about to come out of his mouth. “Paperwork!”
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Gerard doesn't know how many hours later it is when Gabe sets them loose, just that the desks around them are empty and the lights are turned down. Victoria's working on a report at her desk, computer screen casting a soft glow on her face. Gabe's cracking his knuckles preparing to tackle the small mountain of papers sitting on his desk.
Technically Gerard and Mikey are still on the clock until Nestor says otherwise or Brian calls them off, but with the guy safely behind bars there's no real need for their presence any longer.
“My stuff - “ Frank starts, because they left everything back at the apartment, and now that the job is all but over someone's going to have to go back and collect all of it.
“I'm going to stick around,” Mikey says, resting his feet at the edge of Gabe's desk and not trying for subtlety at all when he looks at Frank and Gerard. “You two go on ahead.”
Gerard rolls his eyes when Gabe grins at his computer screen because Gabe's an asshole, and glances over to see Frank glowering at him as if he has any real control over Mikey when he has something up his sleeve.
Gerard shrugs. “It's me or wait for one of them to notice you,” he says, not bothering to point out the fact that he's pretty much lying. Frank's free to do whatever the hell he wants.
“Yeah, okay,” Frank mutters.
Better than Gerard expected, at least.
They walk to the car in silence, Gerard checking the parking garage and car out of habit while Frank twitches and tries to act like he's not nervous, or whatever the hell he is about being stuck alone with Gerard for however long it takes them to get things taken care of.
Frank goes for the radio the moment they pull out of the garage, and Gerard lets him fiddle with the tuner for a few minutes.
“Why didn't you tell anyone you knew the guy?”
Frank's hand jerks, and the volume blares for a few seconds before he turns it back down.
“Frank?”
Frank stares hard at the radio and scans through a few stations. “I don't - “
“You do,” Gerard interrupts, because even if Frank didn't say anything himself, the look on his face for that split-second certainly had.
Frank leaves the radio on a station running ads for teen helplines for a few seconds, and sighs, turning the radio off.
Gerard watches the road and pretends he doesn't see Frank rubbing his hands over his face.
“I don't even know his name,” Frank says, wrapping his fingers around his shoulder strap of his seatbelt. “He's just this kid I saw around the label office when we had business to take care of. I'm not even really sure what he did, but he seemed okay. Quiet, polite.” Frank laughs, hand tightening around the seatbelt strap. “Harmless.”
Gerard's heard the same things said of sociopaths and serial killers.
“And then with everything happening lately, a lot of jobs got cut. I guess his was one of them.”
While Gerard can certainly understand being pissed about losing a job, he really doubts that's all there is to it. Either Frank's magically turned into an amazingly shitty liar or he's more rattled by the whole mess than he's willing to admit. “What do you mean - “
“Contract disputes with the label,” Frank says, short and sharp, with just enough edge in his voice to make it clear he's not going to go into detail about it.
Another handful of miles goes past in silence, Frank tight-lipped and scowling, Gerard trying very hard not to do something stupid. Like punch Frank until he talks, maybe.
“And your book?” That doesn't stop Gerard from wanting to know what the hell is so important about Frank's book that he'd been willing to risk his life for a chance to talk about it. Gerard might not know Frank very well, but he knows the type. He's not a glory seeker.
The answer's a while in coming, and they're pulling into the apartment building complex parking lot by the time Frank gets around to it.
He laughs, more of a soft exhalation of air and shakes his head, staring at the dashboard. “Sex, drugs, and rock and roll, what else is there in this business?” he asks, untangling his hand from his seatbelt.
Gerard finds a parking spot and looks over at Frank, still staring at the dashboard, or maybe something Gerard's not seeing.
“Right,” he says, “what else is there.”
Frank looks at him, eyes narrowed, and Gerard smiles, undoing his seatbelt and getting out of the car. He still isn't sure things are over, even if Gabe and the others seem to think so. Until he hands the little shit over to his people or Frank tells him to fuck off, Gerard's not going to let his guard down.
Frank climbs out of the car and scowls at him, but doesn't offer a word of protest when Gerard takes the lead.
The apartment's quiet, lights still on in the living room the way they left it. Frank goes around picking up magazines and other crap he left out there, too busy trying to look busy to bitch about getting into the bedrooms for his guitar and clothes right away.
Gerard feels tired, drained, the way jobs like this one always leaves him, but he starts a sweep of the apartment, fueled by habit or just plain paranoia, it doesn't matter. He grimaces when he sees his and Mikey's stuff scattered all over the bedroom they used, not looking forward to packing, when his phone rings.
Closing the door to the bedroom, he steps into the hallway to answer it. Ray's on the other end, voice high and agitated as he opens the door to Frank's bedroom and notices the window is open. Gerard frowns and takes a few steps inside, turning his head to see someone at the corner of his eye.
“Gerard?”
His name come from two voices, one in his ear, the other at his back, and Gerard moves without stopping to think about it when the guy raises his arm, light catching on the barrel of the gun in his hand.
“Run!” Gerard pushes at Frank's shoulder, throwing him out of the room. Gerard's hard on his heels as he kicks the door shut behind them, bullets tearing through the wood. Something hits his arm, and he staggers, barely managing to stay on his feet.
Stupid fucking Frank twists around to stare at him, and Ray's yelling something because somehow Gerard managed to keep a hold on his phone even though his arm is really starting to fucking hurt.
Gerard raises his phone to his mouth and tells Ray back-up would be fucking great and flips his phone shut, shoving it into a pocket.
Gritting his teeth he grabs Frank's arm and pulls him along, ducking when the guy follows them, firing like a fucking maniac. Gerard sees the sliding door go when they reach the living room, more bullets hitting the wall.
“What the hell don't you understand about run?” Gerard drags Frank down with him behind the couch when the guy cuts them off from the door with a few well-placed shots.
Frank stares at him, wide-eyed, and thank god, bullet free for the time being, although Gerard's not really sure how long he's going to stay that way.
The guy's taking his sweet time getting to them now that he has them pinned down, and goddamn, he's fucking whistling.
“Is that - “
Gerard's eyes narrow. “Now is not the fucking time, Frank.”
“No, seriously,” Frank obviously doesn't know when the hell to shut up. “That's fucked up.”
Ordinarily, Gerard would agree, but seeing as the guy whistling the dwarf song from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs is also the one with the gun trying to kill them, he's not going to nitpick.
They have two ways out. Well, technically three, but only two that will leave them breathing at the end of it, if not completely whole.
“Why don't you shoot back?”
“Great idea,” Gerard mutters, flexing his fingers to see how much mobility he has and ignoring the burn in his arm. “Let me go apply for a license right now. I'm sure Happy over there won't mind waiting for the approval to go through.”
“You don't have a gun? What the hell kind of bodyguard are you?” Frank yells, and Gerard has to remind himself that while punching Frank for being a fucking moron would offer momentary satisfaction, it won't help in the long-term. However short that might be.
“On three, I want you to go for the front door,” Gerard says, not looking at Frank. Their trigger happy friend knows he's not armed now, and it won't be long before he takes advantage of that fact.
Frank glares at him, jaw set, and now is really not the time to be a stubborn jackass. Gerard wraps his hand around Frank's arm, and turns him so he's looking at the patio where the sliding door used to be. “On three,” Gerard repeats, hand tightening, “go for the front door.”
Frank looks like he wants to say something to that. Knowing him, he's probably going to pick Gerard's not-so-brilliant plan to shreds, but a bullet rips through the couch between them, so close to their faces Gerard can feel the heat of its passage.
“On three?” Frank asks.
Gerard smirks and peels out of his jacket, balling it up as tightly as he can while Frank watches. “On three.”
“Your arm - “
Gerard shakes his head. They don't have time or luxury to deal with it, and as long as he can still move his fingers, he's not worried. Too worried. The rest can take care of itself later, assuming there is a later.
Frank looks worried, not all that surprising, and looks back at Gerard. “Do you - “
The guy fires off another shot, through the couch, a few inches lower than the last one. Playing with them, or trying to flush them out, either way they're dead if they stay put.
“One,” Gerard says, moving into a crouch. Frank does the same.
Gerard smiles at Frank and squeezes his arm. Frank looks back at him, and Gerard shakes his head. “Two.”
Gerard pushes Frank forward to get him moving as the word leaves his mouth, flinging his jacket as hard as he can towards the front door, splitting the guy's attention between two moving targets.
Luck is on their side when the guy picks the balled up jacket, and Frank and Gerard make it out from cover and through the broken glass of the sliding door. There's too much open space between them and the nearest building, and too much risk that someone else might get caught in the guy's line of fire for them to chance it.
“Where?” Frank asks, looking back at him.
Gerard doesn't answer as he pushes Frank towards the looming shadow of the apartment building, plastic tarps flapping against the exposed wood in the wind.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Frank yells, tripping over discarded lumber and almost falling. Gerard hauls him up by the back of his shirt as another bullet hits the ground at their feet.
“Yes I am!” Gerard yells back, because there's only so much shit he can take when he's running for his fucking life. “April fucking Fool's, motherfucker!”
Frank, and Jesus, Gerard has no idea how he's managed to stay alive this long, looks back at him again. Gerard snarls, jamming his shoulder into Frank's back to get him through the hole and back into the building they just left.
Frank stumbles, but Gerard's hand on his arm keeps him upright and moving as they head deeper inside. Gerard leads the way when they gain a little distance between themselves and the guy trying to kill them, ducking and moving around the beams and debris lying everywhere.
“What's your plan?” Frank hisses when they find themselves staring down a mostly intact hallway with apartments on either side in various stages of renovation.
It's a small mercy that Frank finally seems to have caught onto the fact that not using his inside voice wasn't really helping them out.
“What, staying alive isn't good enough for you now?” Gerard asks, trying one of the doors. It's locked, but there's a chance, no matter how slim, that one might not be. Not that he's betting on it, but -
“Are you fucking serious?”
Gerard turns to look at him. He's never seen Frank that pissed off, and it's actually kind of scary.
“I thought we covered that, already,” Gerard says, and tries another door, and then another one after that. He looks back the way they came, considering their choices.
“Move,” Frank orders, and takes something out of his jacket, pushing Gerard aside when he doesn't move fast enough.
Gerard watches, not really believing what he's seeing at first. “Since when do rock stars know how to pick locks?”
Frank snorts, frowning in concentration. “I grew up in Jersey,” he says, “you tend to pick things up here and there.”
Gerard's fairly certain most kids growing up in Jersey don't take up lock picking as an extracurricular, but lets it slide since in this case it might very well help save them from death.
“You have it?” he asks, going a few doors down.
Frank doesn't answer for a moment, and when Gerard looks up, Frank turns the doorknob and opens the door, grinning at him. “Got it.”
Gerard smiles grimly and moves back until his shoulders are against the wall. “Great. Now get inside, shut the door, and stay there.”
Frank frowns, and Gerard raises his leg and kicks the door he's standing in front of open, or tries to. It shudders and he feels something give, but it's a lot more solid than he was counting on. Swearing, he gives it another good, solid kick and it tears away from the frame this time, slamming into the wall behind it.
“Get inside!” Gerard yells, watching to make sure Frank does what he says.
They can't keep running, and they sure as hell can't let the guy get away, or at least Gerard can't. Not when he'd just go after Frank again. Gerard doesn't think he has it in him to deal with this shit again.
It's just as horrible an idea as his first plan, but they don't have a lot of choices, and waiting for the police to show up like the calvary isn't one of them.
He runs through the apartment door he just broke down and knocks things over, trying to make it look as much as he can like the two of them are too desperate to bother hiding their trail. He goes into one of the bedrooms and tosses a heavy lamp through the window, yanking the curtain rod down off the wall to knock the remaining glass away, and throws it through the window.
Gerard's tired, his arm fucking hurts, and some guy's still trying to kill them. He channels all of his anger and frustration into breaking the leg off an end table, swinging it a few times to get a feel for it.
It's a stupid fucking plan, almost certain to get him killed, and Jesus fucking Christ, he's definitely not getting paid enough for this kind of shit.
Gerard picks a likely looking spot just to the side of the front door, dark enough that he won't be seen right off and close enough to the door for him to be able to make a break for it if things go to hell, which they almost immediately do.
He waits for the guy to enter, wary and cautious and thank god no longer whistling, but he's a professional, and Gerard's first swing with his makeshift club barely clips his shoulder. It sends the guy stumbling back out into the hallway though, Gerard still on him, struggling for control of the gun.
The guy gets in a lucky hit and Gerard's world whites out, nothing but pain and the knowledge that the guy still has his gun. Gerard rolls away and tries to get his feet under him, telling his body to fucking move, but it's not listening to him.
The guy twists around, gun still in his hand aimed right at Gerard, and Jesus, of all the ways he thought he'd die, this wasn't one of them.
“Hey!”
The guy half-turns when Frank yells, and Gerard honestly thinks his heart stops for a moment before he dives for the table leg and comes up swinging, knocking the gun from the guy's hand. He's still not down even though Gerard's pretty much fucking done, taking a step back when the guy growls and goes for him, teeth fucking bared like he's going to rip Gerard's throat out.
Gerard throws his arm up to block him, but the guy knocks it aside and grabs his shoulder, slamming Gerard back against the wall.
“Gerard!”
Gerard tries to break free, but the guy's stronger than him and a hell of a lot angrier, and, oh, yeah, not fucking bleeding. Gerard rears back and headbutts the bastard, which buys him a little breathing room when the guy shrieks and pulls back.
Gerard tries to worm free of his hold, but the guy's hands are like iron, digging ins his arms and the guy is seriously pissed now, blood streaming down his face.
The guy grins, bloody and sharp, and Gerard has a second to realize he's screwed when he leans in, forearm pressing against Gerard's throat, cutting off his air.
Gerard grabs his wrists, fingernails cutting into the guy's skin, trying to break his hold, but the guy's not giving in, like he can't feel pain anymore. Gerard tries to kick him, but he moves faster than Gerard can and traps Gerard's legs against the wall with his own so Gerard can't strike out that way. Gerard can't fucking breathe, he can't breathe, the guy's fucking bloody face is front of him and he can't breathe.
Gerard catches movement behind the guy, and then Frank's there, yelling as he brings the table leg down on the back of the guy's head, dropping him. Gerard stares at Frank and slides down after the guy, coughing and wheezing for air.
“Come on, man, don't do this. It's a really shitty way to pay back the guy who just saved your ass.”
Frank's voice in his ear, Frank's hand on his back, trying to get him to sit up, and Frank shouldn't be there.
“Seriously, come on, man, you're freaking me out here,” Frank says, shaking him. Gerard pries an eye open to see Frank staring at him, blood on his face.
“Where - “
“The guy's taken care of,” Frank says, and throws the table leg aside. “Trust me, we're okay.”
Gerard looks around and sees the guy laid out on the ground in a boneless heap.
“Where's his gun?” Gerard's voice is fucked up, but he's more worried about the gun.
“Right here,” Frank says, holding it up. “And for the record? That was a totally shitty plan.”
It really was, but since they're alive Gerard doesn't see why Frank's bitching about it. He starts to say as much, but breathing takes priority. Besides, he thinks he can hear police sirens. That, or his ears are ringing. Maybe both.
“Hey,” Frank says, laughing a little, “it's the fucking calvary.”
Gerard sighs and looks at Frank, bleeding from a cut over his eye, surprised they're both still alive.
“Better late than never, right?”
Frank laughs again and helps Gerard to his feet, helping him outside to wait for the police despite Gerard's protests that he can walk on his own perfectly fine.
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Everything is a blur after that, Gabe and Mikey showing up with a flood of faces Gerard doesn't recognize. Frank gets taken off to a waiting ambulance by a uniformed police officer taking Frank off to be looked at while Mikey does the same with him.
Gabe comes over and to talk to him, but Gerard gets distracted when they bring the guy out, and Gabe decides the rest can wait until later.
“Much later,” Mikey insists, crossing his arms and Gabe backs off readily enough because they both know how vindictive Mikey can get if someone crosses him.
“Frank - “
“Victoria and Ryland are taking care of him,” Gabe reassures him, and wanders off to oversee things.
Mikey sticks close to him on the ride to the hospital, and doesn't allow them to be separated, even when they're taking car of his arm. A clean through-and-through, according to the doctor, and as long as Gerard follows instructions he'll have full mobility once it heals.
He's lucky in that Frank took the bastard down when he did, but as it is he has a bruised throat. Gerard nods when they tell him what he's going to need to do to make sure his throat heals properly, but he's not really listening anymore. He's fucking tired, and he knows Mikey's paying closer attention than he ever would and will know what to do. He always does.
They want to keep him overnight as a standard precaution. Brian and Ray show up when they take him to a room. Gerard does his best to answer questions, but he's tired and hurting, and eventually everyone but Mikey gets shooed off by the nursing staff.
Mikey doesn't really hover, he's not the hovering type, but Gerard knows him.
“Hey,” Gerard whispers, nudging Mikey after the others have gone home for the night. “I'm okay.”
Mikey turns his glare on Gerard, and maybe it would have cowed someone who didn't know him quite so well. “Really, Mikey. I'm okay.”
Mikey's glare goes down a notch or two, and while it's not a total victory, Gerard's learned to take what he can.
He scoots over to make room and pats the bed next to him, making a pathetic face he's well aware has more effect with the way he looks at the moment than any real effort on his part.
Mikey sighs the sigh of the eternally put upon and climbs in with him, and Gerard sleeps easier knowing Mikey's there.
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Ray and Brian come back the next day and Gerard finally gets to hear the news Ray dug up for him.
“Are you serious?” Gerard's heard the music business is fucking insane, but this. This sort of takes the fucking cake.
Ray shakes his head and Brian stands by the window looking for all the world like a tiny, tattooed storm cloud.
“I kind of wish I was,” Ray says, and he actually sounds like he does. “Frank's manager confirmed it though, and Gabe says the baby conspiracy theorist is blabbing.”
Gerard eyes Ray because he's not really known for using words like 'blabbing', but Ray's oblivious and keeps talking.
“The band was trying to find a way out of their contract with the label, and the label wasn't happy about it. They were even less happy when they found out the band was going to use their established fan base to build Skeleton Crew up, bringing some of their label mates along.” Ray shrugs. “There was something about contract disputes and allegations of criminal practices or something.”
Coming from Ray, the 'or something' is probably a story in itself.
“And you want to work in this business?” Gerard asks him, because if he's learned one thing about the whole fucking mess it's that he doesn't want to have anything to do with the music industry for the rest of his life.
It's bad enough someone talked Gabe's baby conspiracy theorist and his buddy into trying to run Iero down as a distraction, and that they were willing to take the fall for the shooting, but hiring a professional to make sure the job got done was going a little overboard.
Ray shrugs and pokes at the covered lunch tray on the table by Gerard's bed. “It's not completely full of crazy people.”
“Ray,” Gerard says slowly, “they hired a hitman to kill Iero.”
Ray shrugs again, like it has nothing to do with him, which, technically is true. Gerard and Frank were the ones who had to deal with the professional hitman.
“Wow,” Gerard says, staring at Ray. “Just. Wow.”
Ray makes a face and lifts the lid of the tray. “What the hell is that?”
Gerard has no fucking idea. “I have no fucking idea.”
“It looks like pudding,” Mikey offers, but doesn't make a move to see if it is.
Ray looks over at Brian because Ray has no fear of Brian, a fact that Brian bitterly resents at times. “Brian - “
“I'm not paying for your funeral,” Brian cuts in, glaring at them. “So I would appreciate it if you'd stop trying so damn hard to make me.”
Gerard stares at him.
“Don't start with me, asshole.”
“I'll do better next time?” Gerard really hopes there's not going to be a next time.
“There'd better not be a next time, you fucker.”
If he wanted to, Gerard's sure that Brian would let him get away with pointing out that the only reason Gerrard's even in the hospital is all down to Brian and his stupid favor, but Brian looks. Well, not worried so much as pissed, but they're kind of one and the same on him.
“Okay.”
Brian gives him a suspicious look. Gerard's not really known for giving in easily, but the pinched look on Brian's face eases into a scowl. “Good.”
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Mikey says he can't keep an eye on Gerard every single waking moment, which leads Gerard to suspect he's been hanging around Brian way too fucking much. Especially when Brian suggests Mikey enlist the help of the others to make sure there's someone with Gerard as often as possible.
Gerard's taken to hiding from the Alexes at Ray and Patrick's studio, usually in the practice room where he can steal a quick nap or pick out, or try to, at any rate since he's a crap guitar player, a song on one of Ray's guitars.
While his throat's back to normal, his arm gets stiff, sore, when he overdoes it, but he's doing everything they tell him to do, and they keep telling him he's on track. It's been almost a month since he was released from the hospital, and even though Mikey and the others are driving him a little crazy with the smothering thing they have going, he hasn't said anything about it. He knows he'd be doing the same thing, possibly worse, in their places, and doesn't blame them for it.
Gerard's been good, always making sure to let one of them know where he's going or calling when he's going to be late even though he knows someone is always following him, so they're starting to ease off.
Brian's been suspiciously quiet, and Ray is his usual cheerfully oblivious self, happy things are as they should be in his world with Bob and Patrick back in town, even though Patrick seems to have a new stalker.
When Gerard asked Bob about it he just shrugged and said it was a long story.
Patrick goes around with four little shadows now, Pete shoving in ahead of the Alexes because he's older and has first claim on Patrick or some bullshit. Bob shakes his head and does his best to ignore them, and Patrick. Patrick sighs a lot and occasionally punches Pete.
The Alexes are smart enough to maintain a safe distance, so they come out of things unscathed most of the time. They also seem to have joined forces with Colligan and Crawford, in what Brian refers to as being an unholy alliance and are making an attempt to get Patrick to listen to their demo.
So far they haven't made any real progress, but that has more to do with Pete offering them suggestions like late-night serenades and other ideas he ripped off from 80s romantic comedies than any lack of talent on their end of things.
Gerard's waiting to see how long it's going to take them to realize Pete's using them to woo Patrick.
Brian hadn't been amused when Gerard said something to the effect of him quitting the bodyguard business and managing them, going so far as to accuse Gerard of trying to send Brian to an early grave.
Gerard winces when he hits the wrong note, again, and sighs, glancing at the clock on the wall. Mikey's supposed to be there to spring him soon, and then he can go home and not feel so goddamned exposed with so many people watching him all the time.
“Dude,” someone says, “you really kind of suck.”
Gerard twitches, flattening his hand on the strings and looks over his shoulder to see Frank standing in the open doorway, shuffling his feet nervously. He looks wildly out of place in a cardigan, slacks, penny loafers, and holy shit, Gerard realizes staring at him, this is apparently Frank's idea of going incognito.
He looks like someone's grandfather.
“Fuck you,” Gerard fires back, ducking his head to stare at the guitar strings like his life depends on finally learning how to play a Skynyrd song.
He hasn't seen Frank since the night they both almost died, although Mikey told him Frank came by once or twice. At night. When Gerard was sleeping, the fucker.
“So, uh. Hey.”
Frank sounds strangely uncertain, and that's enough for Gerard to look up at him.
“I wanted to stop by and say thanks, for, you know.” Frank waves his hands around in what he probably thinks is an enlightening manner, but really just looks like he's having a muscle spasm. “Everything.”
Gerard stares at him. He's tried calling Frank to thank him for saving his life, but he always gets stuck with Frank's voicemail. The one time he went to the Skeleton Crew offices with Mikey, he wound up talking to Frank's ex-fiancée. And while she'd been nice enough, thanking Gerard and Mikey for what they'd done, it just. It wasn't.
Gerard nods, gaze flicking towards the clock again, and it should be impossible, but he swears it's moving backwards. “You're welcome.”
Frank. He keeps staring at Gerard. And fidgeting. Gerard's just trying really hard not to do or say anything stupid.
“Thanks,” Gerard says, when it gets to be too much and Frank's fidgeting is starting to get to him. “For saving my life.”
Frank nods, still twitchy, and Gerard sighs. He's not doing much better, but at least he has one of Ray's guitars to hide behind.
“You might as well get in here.”
If Frank has something else he wants to say, it would probably be better to do it with a door between them and the others.
Pete and the Alexes are at the end of the hall, trying to look like they're not eavesdropping and failing miserably. Colligan isn't even trying, leaning against the wall a few feet behind Frank with Ian next to him doing his best to be one with the wall.
It's probably a good thing they're trying to get into the music business since they're fucking terrible at just about everything else.
Frank steps inside and shuts the door, then looks around, but there's not much to see. A couple of guitar cases, a small table shoved into a corner and a handful of chairs. Someone put up a few band posters on the walls, and there's a window on one side of the room facing the street, but it's been painted over.
“Sorry,” Frank says, not really looking at him. “I mean, you know. Sorry that my old label tried to kill you.”
“It happens,” Gerard says, because obviously it does.
That gets Frank to look at him at least.
“Yeah.”
“I read your book.” Gerard watched the interview Frank had done. He'd had to re-schedule after all, since he was in the hospital when the show had started taping that morning.
Gerard had bought the book as soon as he'd been released form the hospital once Mikey and Brian made it crystal clear he wasn't going to be allowed to do anything until his arm healed.
It wasn't quite what Frank had claimed it was, and not even what Ray said it was. It was more a mix of the two, and obviously important to Frank. Something he felt deeply about that he wanted to make sure people understood. Something he was willing to risk his stupid life for and was probably at least partially the reason it had been in danger in the first fucking place because Frank's a fucking idiot.
“You did?”
Frank looks a little confused, as if he hadn't expected Gerard to bring that up, and Gerard really isn't sure why he'd felt like he needed to. But. The book was something Frank felt was important enough to risk his stupid life for, and Gerard just wants Frank to know that while he still thinks Frank's a moron, at least he understands why he was willing to take that chance.
Gerard nods, feeling like a giant idiot himself.
“Oh. Thanks.”
And while Gerard would love to sit there and have an awkwardly stilted conversation with Frank, he -
“So the band's going to do a tour around the area. Maybe five, six little places,” Frank throws out in a rush, as if he knows how ridiculous the two of them are being. “Worm's going to be in a cast for a few more weeks, and our manager won't let us go out without security.”
Gerard nods, something twisting in his gut when Frank looks back up at him, a little smile on his lips. “You know anyone who might be able to help us out?”
Gerard would, he really fucking would like to make it that simple, that easy, but he still remembers the things Frank said that night, way before things went to shit.
He remembers laying in the hospital bed watching Mikey sleep and wondering what the hell he would have done if it had been Mikey out there with Frank running from a fucking professional killer. What he would have done if it had been Mikey and things hadn't gone the way they had.
“You should call Brian,” Gerard says, “I'm not in that line of work anymore.”
He can feel Frank watching him, staring at him, and tries to focus on the guitar strings.
“You're not.”
Gerard shakes his head and tries to remember if it's -
“What do you do then?” Frank asks, and Gerard jerks back when he realizes how fucking close Frank is, how close he'd gotten when Gerard wasn't paying attention.
“I'm working on my art.” Gerard's doing a lot more than that, and if things work out, he might actually get to see his name gracing the cover of a comic book one day.
Frank smiles, and Gerard. He can't really blame himself for staring because he knows for a fact that Frank has a few thousand fans who do the same all the damn time, and they usually don't have the real thing staring them in the face.
“Fucking kiss him already!” Pete yells, slapping a hand on the glass window set in the door. “It's not that hard!”
Frank starts laughing, giggling, and Gerard looks for something to throw at Pete that won't have Ray giving him a sad look. Ray loves his guitars.
“I'm going to fucking kill you, Pete!” Gerard yells back, hopping off his stool to set Ray's guitar down in order to kill Pete without worrying about making Ray sad. “Patrick's going to thank me for it!”
Patrick won't, but only because he's been claiming dibs on that honor ever since he got back into town with Pete clinging to him like a burr.
Frank reaches out and grabs his arm when he storms past, pulling him around to face him. “I'm pretty sure you'd end up in prison for that,” Frank says, still laughing.
“It would be worth it.” Gerard glares at Pete while the stupid bastard pulls faces at him through the window because apparently Pete's five fucking years old.
“Yeah, it probably would be,” Frank says. “But.”
Gerard looks at Frank, at Frank's hand on his arm, and then back at Frank again.
Frank, who's watching him with this weirdly unreadable look on his face.
“What?”
Frank shakes his head, hand tightening around Gerard's arm. “I don't think I made a great first impression,” he says, which is a staggering understatement, “and I know I didn't exactly make things easy on you guys.”
Gerard's not sure what Frank's working up to, but he's not doing a great job of selling it to Gerard.
“So, uh,” Frank frowns, like he lost his train of thought, and Gerard has an unobstructed view of Pete making ridiculous kissy faces at them.
For the first time since they met, Pete has an idea that doesn't seem doomed to horrific failure or injury of some sort.
Unless Frank punches him.
“Frank?”
Frank looks up at him, still frowning, and while Gerard knows it's not the smartest thing he could do, he's a little past that.
“There's a little coffee place not too far from here,” Gerard says, suddenly struck by the horrible feeling of being back in high school again. “How would you feel about getting coffee? With me.”
The last part was probably unnecessary, but the high school memories are painfully fresh in his mind.
“Yeah, okay,” Frank says, and darts in to press a quick kiss to Gerard's cheek before he can do anything. “That sounds okay.”
Frank's smiling at him when he pulls back, although it looks like more of a smirk.
It isn't exactly like high school, but with Pete and the others cheering them on the from the other side of the door, Gerard doesn't think anyone would be able to tell the difference at the moment.
“You know weird people,” Frank says, looking over his shoulder at them.
Pete has his face pressed against the window, Colligan right next to him giving them an enthusiastic thumbs up.
“You have no idea,” Gerard says, because Frank really, really doesn't.
“Coffee, right?” Frank says, laughing again, the little shit. “Come on, you can tell me all about it then.”
Gerard sighs and looks at Frank grinning at him like an idiot, and Jesus Christ, his fucking life.
Part Two
The drive to the police station is filled with strained silence and Gerard ignores the looks Mikey keeps giving him.
Mikey knows something's up between Gerard and Frank, but he doesn't know what, exactly, and Gerard would really like to keep it that way as long as possible. He can still hear Frank's words in his head and Jesus, maybe he's right. Mikey deserves better than getting dragged along on whatever job Brian sticks him with, or watching Gerard fuck around with his art and never doing anything about it.
Christ.
He looks at Frank in the rearview mirror, but Frank's staring out his window, locked down tight with no chinks in his armor. Gerard stifles a sigh as he turns his attention back to the road.
====
====
Gabe meets them when they get to the police station and takes them down a hallway and points to the door to an interrogation room. “The driver was a minor, and Ryland is dealing with that right now, but your shooter's in there,” he says, and makes a circling motion next to his temple. “Total crazy, but Victoria thought you'd want to get a look at him.”
Gerard looks at Frank, still angry and god knows what else, and Frank nods.
Gabe smiles, a real one, and lets them into the room beside the interrogation room. Gerard looks at the kid handcuffed to the table, Victoria's sitting across from him and feels a little sick.
The shooter's just a kid, twenty at the oldest and is dressed like every scene kid Gerard's ever laid eyes on. He's quiet and subdued, but when Victoria asks him about the shooting a manic light fills his eyes. He tries to gesture, a confused look coming over his face when the cuffs keeping him chained to the table prevent him from expounding on the shit he's spewing.
Gerard's not really listening to what the kid's saying, but he catches enough to know Gabe was right. The kid's nuts, blaming Frank for things Gerard's sure he had nothing to do with. Things that happened long before Frank was even born right on through things like global warming.
“Conspiracy theorist in the making,” Gabe says, leaning back against the wall. “My favorite.”
Gerard watches the kid, and happens to see Frank's reflection in the glass.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Gabe shakes his head. “He turned down a lawyer and confessed to being behind the hit and run and the shooting at the hotel,” Gabe says. “He's not just crazy, stupid too.”
“How'd you find him?”
The hit and run at Frank's home had been half-assed at best, an amateur job. The shooting at the hotel definitely wasn't the work of some scene kid yelling about global warming.
Something isn't adding up, and Gerard thinks Iero knows something he isn't saying.
“Alex and Nate worked their CSI magic, how else?” Gabe shrugs, eyebrows going up. “Alex was going on about bullets, striations, and serial numbers, you know how it goes.”
The thing about Gabe is that he's easy to underestimate, and sometimes goes out of his way to make sure people do just that.
“Really?” Gerard asks, because as much as Gabe loves it when people underestimate him, he's really damn good at his job.
“Okay, so maybe someone got a look at the license plate,” Gabe amends, watching Victoria talking to the kid. “Phone calls, computer records, blah, blah, blah. Boring shit.”
Mikey gives Gabe a look, and Gabe, the jackass, just smiles.
“What now?” Frank asks, still staring at the guy in the interrogation room.
There's a pause, and then Gabe's ushering them out of the room back towards the bullpen. “The best part of anyone's job,” he says, throwing his arms up in the air like he really is looking forward to whatever is about to come out of his mouth. “Paperwork!”
====
====
Gerard doesn't know how many hours later it is when Gabe sets them loose, just that the desks around them are empty and the lights are turned down. Victoria's working on a report at her desk, computer screen casting a soft glow on her face. Gabe's cracking his knuckles preparing to tackle the small mountain of papers sitting on his desk.
Technically Gerard and Mikey are still on the clock until Nestor says otherwise or Brian calls them off, but with the guy safely behind bars there's no real need for their presence any longer.
“My stuff - “ Frank starts, because they left everything back at the apartment, and now that the job is all but over someone's going to have to go back and collect all of it.
“I'm going to stick around,” Mikey says, resting his feet at the edge of Gabe's desk and not trying for subtlety at all when he looks at Frank and Gerard. “You two go on ahead.”
Gerard rolls his eyes when Gabe grins at his computer screen because Gabe's an asshole, and glances over to see Frank glowering at him as if he has any real control over Mikey when he has something up his sleeve.
Gerard shrugs. “It's me or wait for one of them to notice you,” he says, not bothering to point out the fact that he's pretty much lying. Frank's free to do whatever the hell he wants.
“Yeah, okay,” Frank mutters.
Better than Gerard expected, at least.
They walk to the car in silence, Gerard checking the parking garage and car out of habit while Frank twitches and tries to act like he's not nervous, or whatever the hell he is about being stuck alone with Gerard for however long it takes them to get things taken care of.
Frank goes for the radio the moment they pull out of the garage, and Gerard lets him fiddle with the tuner for a few minutes.
“Why didn't you tell anyone you knew the guy?”
Frank's hand jerks, and the volume blares for a few seconds before he turns it back down.
“Frank?”
Frank stares hard at the radio and scans through a few stations. “I don't - “
“You do,” Gerard interrupts, because even if Frank didn't say anything himself, the look on his face for that split-second certainly had.
Frank leaves the radio on a station running ads for teen helplines for a few seconds, and sighs, turning the radio off.
Gerard watches the road and pretends he doesn't see Frank rubbing his hands over his face.
“I don't even know his name,” Frank says, wrapping his fingers around his shoulder strap of his seatbelt. “He's just this kid I saw around the label office when we had business to take care of. I'm not even really sure what he did, but he seemed okay. Quiet, polite.” Frank laughs, hand tightening around the seatbelt strap. “Harmless.”
Gerard's heard the same things said of sociopaths and serial killers.
“And then with everything happening lately, a lot of jobs got cut. I guess his was one of them.”
While Gerard can certainly understand being pissed about losing a job, he really doubts that's all there is to it. Either Frank's magically turned into an amazingly shitty liar or he's more rattled by the whole mess than he's willing to admit. “What do you mean - “
“Contract disputes with the label,” Frank says, short and sharp, with just enough edge in his voice to make it clear he's not going to go into detail about it.
Another handful of miles goes past in silence, Frank tight-lipped and scowling, Gerard trying very hard not to do something stupid. Like punch Frank until he talks, maybe.
“And your book?” That doesn't stop Gerard from wanting to know what the hell is so important about Frank's book that he'd been willing to risk his life for a chance to talk about it. Gerard might not know Frank very well, but he knows the type. He's not a glory seeker.
The answer's a while in coming, and they're pulling into the apartment building complex parking lot by the time Frank gets around to it.
He laughs, more of a soft exhalation of air and shakes his head, staring at the dashboard. “Sex, drugs, and rock and roll, what else is there in this business?” he asks, untangling his hand from his seatbelt.
Gerard finds a parking spot and looks over at Frank, still staring at the dashboard, or maybe something Gerard's not seeing.
“Right,” he says, “what else is there.”
Frank looks at him, eyes narrowed, and Gerard smiles, undoing his seatbelt and getting out of the car. He still isn't sure things are over, even if Gabe and the others seem to think so. Until he hands the little shit over to his people or Frank tells him to fuck off, Gerard's not going to let his guard down.
Frank climbs out of the car and scowls at him, but doesn't offer a word of protest when Gerard takes the lead.
The apartment's quiet, lights still on in the living room the way they left it. Frank goes around picking up magazines and other crap he left out there, too busy trying to look busy to bitch about getting into the bedrooms for his guitar and clothes right away.
Gerard feels tired, drained, the way jobs like this one always leaves him, but he starts a sweep of the apartment, fueled by habit or just plain paranoia, it doesn't matter. He grimaces when he sees his and Mikey's stuff scattered all over the bedroom they used, not looking forward to packing, when his phone rings.
Closing the door to the bedroom, he steps into the hallway to answer it. Ray's on the other end, voice high and agitated as he opens the door to Frank's bedroom and notices the window is open. Gerard frowns and takes a few steps inside, turning his head to see someone at the corner of his eye.
“Gerard?”
His name come from two voices, one in his ear, the other at his back, and Gerard moves without stopping to think about it when the guy raises his arm, light catching on the barrel of the gun in his hand.
“Run!” Gerard pushes at Frank's shoulder, throwing him out of the room. Gerard's hard on his heels as he kicks the door shut behind them, bullets tearing through the wood. Something hits his arm, and he staggers, barely managing to stay on his feet.
Stupid fucking Frank twists around to stare at him, and Ray's yelling something because somehow Gerard managed to keep a hold on his phone even though his arm is really starting to fucking hurt.
Gerard raises his phone to his mouth and tells Ray back-up would be fucking great and flips his phone shut, shoving it into a pocket.
Gritting his teeth he grabs Frank's arm and pulls him along, ducking when the guy follows them, firing like a fucking maniac. Gerard sees the sliding door go when they reach the living room, more bullets hitting the wall.
“What the hell don't you understand about run?” Gerard drags Frank down with him behind the couch when the guy cuts them off from the door with a few well-placed shots.
Frank stares at him, wide-eyed, and thank god, bullet free for the time being, although Gerard's not really sure how long he's going to stay that way.
The guy's taking his sweet time getting to them now that he has them pinned down, and goddamn, he's fucking whistling.
“Is that - “
Gerard's eyes narrow. “Now is not the fucking time, Frank.”
“No, seriously,” Frank obviously doesn't know when the hell to shut up. “That's fucked up.”
Ordinarily, Gerard would agree, but seeing as the guy whistling the dwarf song from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs is also the one with the gun trying to kill them, he's not going to nitpick.
They have two ways out. Well, technically three, but only two that will leave them breathing at the end of it, if not completely whole.
“Why don't you shoot back?”
“Great idea,” Gerard mutters, flexing his fingers to see how much mobility he has and ignoring the burn in his arm. “Let me go apply for a license right now. I'm sure Happy over there won't mind waiting for the approval to go through.”
“You don't have a gun? What the hell kind of bodyguard are you?” Frank yells, and Gerard has to remind himself that while punching Frank for being a fucking moron would offer momentary satisfaction, it won't help in the long-term. However short that might be.
“On three, I want you to go for the front door,” Gerard says, not looking at Frank. Their trigger happy friend knows he's not armed now, and it won't be long before he takes advantage of that fact.
Frank glares at him, jaw set, and now is really not the time to be a stubborn jackass. Gerard wraps his hand around Frank's arm, and turns him so he's looking at the patio where the sliding door used to be. “On three,” Gerard repeats, hand tightening, “go for the front door.”
Frank looks like he wants to say something to that. Knowing him, he's probably going to pick Gerard's not-so-brilliant plan to shreds, but a bullet rips through the couch between them, so close to their faces Gerard can feel the heat of its passage.
“On three?” Frank asks.
Gerard smirks and peels out of his jacket, balling it up as tightly as he can while Frank watches. “On three.”
“Your arm - “
Gerard shakes his head. They don't have time or luxury to deal with it, and as long as he can still move his fingers, he's not worried. Too worried. The rest can take care of itself later, assuming there is a later.
Frank looks worried, not all that surprising, and looks back at Gerard. “Do you - “
The guy fires off another shot, through the couch, a few inches lower than the last one. Playing with them, or trying to flush them out, either way they're dead if they stay put.
“One,” Gerard says, moving into a crouch. Frank does the same.
Gerard smiles at Frank and squeezes his arm. Frank looks back at him, and Gerard shakes his head. “Two.”
Gerard pushes Frank forward to get him moving as the word leaves his mouth, flinging his jacket as hard as he can towards the front door, splitting the guy's attention between two moving targets.
Luck is on their side when the guy picks the balled up jacket, and Frank and Gerard make it out from cover and through the broken glass of the sliding door. There's too much open space between them and the nearest building, and too much risk that someone else might get caught in the guy's line of fire for them to chance it.
“Where?” Frank asks, looking back at him.
Gerard doesn't answer as he pushes Frank towards the looming shadow of the apartment building, plastic tarps flapping against the exposed wood in the wind.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Frank yells, tripping over discarded lumber and almost falling. Gerard hauls him up by the back of his shirt as another bullet hits the ground at their feet.
“Yes I am!” Gerard yells back, because there's only so much shit he can take when he's running for his fucking life. “April fucking Fool's, motherfucker!”
Frank, and Jesus, Gerard has no idea how he's managed to stay alive this long, looks back at him again. Gerard snarls, jamming his shoulder into Frank's back to get him through the hole and back into the building they just left.
Frank stumbles, but Gerard's hand on his arm keeps him upright and moving as they head deeper inside. Gerard leads the way when they gain a little distance between themselves and the guy trying to kill them, ducking and moving around the beams and debris lying everywhere.
“What's your plan?” Frank hisses when they find themselves staring down a mostly intact hallway with apartments on either side in various stages of renovation.
It's a small mercy that Frank finally seems to have caught onto the fact that not using his inside voice wasn't really helping them out.
“What, staying alive isn't good enough for you now?” Gerard asks, trying one of the doors. It's locked, but there's a chance, no matter how slim, that one might not be. Not that he's betting on it, but -
“Are you fucking serious?”
Gerard turns to look at him. He's never seen Frank that pissed off, and it's actually kind of scary.
“I thought we covered that, already,” Gerard says, and tries another door, and then another one after that. He looks back the way they came, considering their choices.
“Move,” Frank orders, and takes something out of his jacket, pushing Gerard aside when he doesn't move fast enough.
Gerard watches, not really believing what he's seeing at first. “Since when do rock stars know how to pick locks?”
Frank snorts, frowning in concentration. “I grew up in Jersey,” he says, “you tend to pick things up here and there.”
Gerard's fairly certain most kids growing up in Jersey don't take up lock picking as an extracurricular, but lets it slide since in this case it might very well help save them from death.
“You have it?” he asks, going a few doors down.
Frank doesn't answer for a moment, and when Gerard looks up, Frank turns the doorknob and opens the door, grinning at him. “Got it.”
Gerard smiles grimly and moves back until his shoulders are against the wall. “Great. Now get inside, shut the door, and stay there.”
Frank frowns, and Gerard raises his leg and kicks the door he's standing in front of open, or tries to. It shudders and he feels something give, but it's a lot more solid than he was counting on. Swearing, he gives it another good, solid kick and it tears away from the frame this time, slamming into the wall behind it.
“Get inside!” Gerard yells, watching to make sure Frank does what he says.
They can't keep running, and they sure as hell can't let the guy get away, or at least Gerard can't. Not when he'd just go after Frank again. Gerard doesn't think he has it in him to deal with this shit again.
It's just as horrible an idea as his first plan, but they don't have a lot of choices, and waiting for the police to show up like the calvary isn't one of them.
He runs through the apartment door he just broke down and knocks things over, trying to make it look as much as he can like the two of them are too desperate to bother hiding their trail. He goes into one of the bedrooms and tosses a heavy lamp through the window, yanking the curtain rod down off the wall to knock the remaining glass away, and throws it through the window.
Gerard's tired, his arm fucking hurts, and some guy's still trying to kill them. He channels all of his anger and frustration into breaking the leg off an end table, swinging it a few times to get a feel for it.
It's a stupid fucking plan, almost certain to get him killed, and Jesus fucking Christ, he's definitely not getting paid enough for this kind of shit.
Gerard picks a likely looking spot just to the side of the front door, dark enough that he won't be seen right off and close enough to the door for him to be able to make a break for it if things go to hell, which they almost immediately do.
He waits for the guy to enter, wary and cautious and thank god no longer whistling, but he's a professional, and Gerard's first swing with his makeshift club barely clips his shoulder. It sends the guy stumbling back out into the hallway though, Gerard still on him, struggling for control of the gun.
The guy gets in a lucky hit and Gerard's world whites out, nothing but pain and the knowledge that the guy still has his gun. Gerard rolls away and tries to get his feet under him, telling his body to fucking move, but it's not listening to him.
The guy twists around, gun still in his hand aimed right at Gerard, and Jesus, of all the ways he thought he'd die, this wasn't one of them.
“Hey!”
The guy half-turns when Frank yells, and Gerard honestly thinks his heart stops for a moment before he dives for the table leg and comes up swinging, knocking the gun from the guy's hand. He's still not down even though Gerard's pretty much fucking done, taking a step back when the guy growls and goes for him, teeth fucking bared like he's going to rip Gerard's throat out.
Gerard throws his arm up to block him, but the guy knocks it aside and grabs his shoulder, slamming Gerard back against the wall.
“Gerard!”
Gerard tries to break free, but the guy's stronger than him and a hell of a lot angrier, and, oh, yeah, not fucking bleeding. Gerard rears back and headbutts the bastard, which buys him a little breathing room when the guy shrieks and pulls back.
Gerard tries to worm free of his hold, but the guy's hands are like iron, digging ins his arms and the guy is seriously pissed now, blood streaming down his face.
The guy grins, bloody and sharp, and Gerard has a second to realize he's screwed when he leans in, forearm pressing against Gerard's throat, cutting off his air.
Gerard grabs his wrists, fingernails cutting into the guy's skin, trying to break his hold, but the guy's not giving in, like he can't feel pain anymore. Gerard tries to kick him, but he moves faster than Gerard can and traps Gerard's legs against the wall with his own so Gerard can't strike out that way. Gerard can't fucking breathe, he can't breathe, the guy's fucking bloody face is front of him and he can't breathe.
Gerard catches movement behind the guy, and then Frank's there, yelling as he brings the table leg down on the back of the guy's head, dropping him. Gerard stares at Frank and slides down after the guy, coughing and wheezing for air.
“Come on, man, don't do this. It's a really shitty way to pay back the guy who just saved your ass.”
Frank's voice in his ear, Frank's hand on his back, trying to get him to sit up, and Frank shouldn't be there.
“Seriously, come on, man, you're freaking me out here,” Frank says, shaking him. Gerard pries an eye open to see Frank staring at him, blood on his face.
“Where - “
“The guy's taken care of,” Frank says, and throws the table leg aside. “Trust me, we're okay.”
Gerard looks around and sees the guy laid out on the ground in a boneless heap.
“Where's his gun?” Gerard's voice is fucked up, but he's more worried about the gun.
“Right here,” Frank says, holding it up. “And for the record? That was a totally shitty plan.”
It really was, but since they're alive Gerard doesn't see why Frank's bitching about it. He starts to say as much, but breathing takes priority. Besides, he thinks he can hear police sirens. That, or his ears are ringing. Maybe both.
“Hey,” Frank says, laughing a little, “it's the fucking calvary.”
Gerard sighs and looks at Frank, bleeding from a cut over his eye, surprised they're both still alive.
“Better late than never, right?”
Frank laughs again and helps Gerard to his feet, helping him outside to wait for the police despite Gerard's protests that he can walk on his own perfectly fine.
====
====
Everything is a blur after that, Gabe and Mikey showing up with a flood of faces Gerard doesn't recognize. Frank gets taken off to a waiting ambulance by a uniformed police officer taking Frank off to be looked at while Mikey does the same with him.
Gabe comes over and to talk to him, but Gerard gets distracted when they bring the guy out, and Gabe decides the rest can wait until later.
“Much later,” Mikey insists, crossing his arms and Gabe backs off readily enough because they both know how vindictive Mikey can get if someone crosses him.
“Frank - “
“Victoria and Ryland are taking care of him,” Gabe reassures him, and wanders off to oversee things.
Mikey sticks close to him on the ride to the hospital, and doesn't allow them to be separated, even when they're taking car of his arm. A clean through-and-through, according to the doctor, and as long as Gerard follows instructions he'll have full mobility once it heals.
He's lucky in that Frank took the bastard down when he did, but as it is he has a bruised throat. Gerard nods when they tell him what he's going to need to do to make sure his throat heals properly, but he's not really listening anymore. He's fucking tired, and he knows Mikey's paying closer attention than he ever would and will know what to do. He always does.
They want to keep him overnight as a standard precaution. Brian and Ray show up when they take him to a room. Gerard does his best to answer questions, but he's tired and hurting, and eventually everyone but Mikey gets shooed off by the nursing staff.
Mikey doesn't really hover, he's not the hovering type, but Gerard knows him.
“Hey,” Gerard whispers, nudging Mikey after the others have gone home for the night. “I'm okay.”
Mikey turns his glare on Gerard, and maybe it would have cowed someone who didn't know him quite so well. “Really, Mikey. I'm okay.”
Mikey's glare goes down a notch or two, and while it's not a total victory, Gerard's learned to take what he can.
He scoots over to make room and pats the bed next to him, making a pathetic face he's well aware has more effect with the way he looks at the moment than any real effort on his part.
Mikey sighs the sigh of the eternally put upon and climbs in with him, and Gerard sleeps easier knowing Mikey's there.
====
====
Ray and Brian come back the next day and Gerard finally gets to hear the news Ray dug up for him.
“Are you serious?” Gerard's heard the music business is fucking insane, but this. This sort of takes the fucking cake.
Ray shakes his head and Brian stands by the window looking for all the world like a tiny, tattooed storm cloud.
“I kind of wish I was,” Ray says, and he actually sounds like he does. “Frank's manager confirmed it though, and Gabe says the baby conspiracy theorist is blabbing.”
Gerard eyes Ray because he's not really known for using words like 'blabbing', but Ray's oblivious and keeps talking.
“The band was trying to find a way out of their contract with the label, and the label wasn't happy about it. They were even less happy when they found out the band was going to use their established fan base to build Skeleton Crew up, bringing some of their label mates along.” Ray shrugs. “There was something about contract disputes and allegations of criminal practices or something.”
Coming from Ray, the 'or something' is probably a story in itself.
“And you want to work in this business?” Gerard asks him, because if he's learned one thing about the whole fucking mess it's that he doesn't want to have anything to do with the music industry for the rest of his life.
It's bad enough someone talked Gabe's baby conspiracy theorist and his buddy into trying to run Iero down as a distraction, and that they were willing to take the fall for the shooting, but hiring a professional to make sure the job got done was going a little overboard.
Ray shrugs and pokes at the covered lunch tray on the table by Gerard's bed. “It's not completely full of crazy people.”
“Ray,” Gerard says slowly, “they hired a hitman to kill Iero.”
Ray shrugs again, like it has nothing to do with him, which, technically is true. Gerard and Frank were the ones who had to deal with the professional hitman.
“Wow,” Gerard says, staring at Ray. “Just. Wow.”
Ray makes a face and lifts the lid of the tray. “What the hell is that?”
Gerard has no fucking idea. “I have no fucking idea.”
“It looks like pudding,” Mikey offers, but doesn't make a move to see if it is.
Ray looks over at Brian because Ray has no fear of Brian, a fact that Brian bitterly resents at times. “Brian - “
“I'm not paying for your funeral,” Brian cuts in, glaring at them. “So I would appreciate it if you'd stop trying so damn hard to make me.”
Gerard stares at him.
“Don't start with me, asshole.”
“I'll do better next time?” Gerard really hopes there's not going to be a next time.
“There'd better not be a next time, you fucker.”
If he wanted to, Gerard's sure that Brian would let him get away with pointing out that the only reason Gerrard's even in the hospital is all down to Brian and his stupid favor, but Brian looks. Well, not worried so much as pissed, but they're kind of one and the same on him.
“Okay.”
Brian gives him a suspicious look. Gerard's not really known for giving in easily, but the pinched look on Brian's face eases into a scowl. “Good.”
====
====
Mikey says he can't keep an eye on Gerard every single waking moment, which leads Gerard to suspect he's been hanging around Brian way too fucking much. Especially when Brian suggests Mikey enlist the help of the others to make sure there's someone with Gerard as often as possible.
Gerard's taken to hiding from the Alexes at Ray and Patrick's studio, usually in the practice room where he can steal a quick nap or pick out, or try to, at any rate since he's a crap guitar player, a song on one of Ray's guitars.
While his throat's back to normal, his arm gets stiff, sore, when he overdoes it, but he's doing everything they tell him to do, and they keep telling him he's on track. It's been almost a month since he was released from the hospital, and even though Mikey and the others are driving him a little crazy with the smothering thing they have going, he hasn't said anything about it. He knows he'd be doing the same thing, possibly worse, in their places, and doesn't blame them for it.
Gerard's been good, always making sure to let one of them know where he's going or calling when he's going to be late even though he knows someone is always following him, so they're starting to ease off.
Brian's been suspiciously quiet, and Ray is his usual cheerfully oblivious self, happy things are as they should be in his world with Bob and Patrick back in town, even though Patrick seems to have a new stalker.
When Gerard asked Bob about it he just shrugged and said it was a long story.
Patrick goes around with four little shadows now, Pete shoving in ahead of the Alexes because he's older and has first claim on Patrick or some bullshit. Bob shakes his head and does his best to ignore them, and Patrick. Patrick sighs a lot and occasionally punches Pete.
The Alexes are smart enough to maintain a safe distance, so they come out of things unscathed most of the time. They also seem to have joined forces with Colligan and Crawford, in what Brian refers to as being an unholy alliance and are making an attempt to get Patrick to listen to their demo.
So far they haven't made any real progress, but that has more to do with Pete offering them suggestions like late-night serenades and other ideas he ripped off from 80s romantic comedies than any lack of talent on their end of things.
Gerard's waiting to see how long it's going to take them to realize Pete's using them to woo Patrick.
Brian hadn't been amused when Gerard said something to the effect of him quitting the bodyguard business and managing them, going so far as to accuse Gerard of trying to send Brian to an early grave.
Gerard winces when he hits the wrong note, again, and sighs, glancing at the clock on the wall. Mikey's supposed to be there to spring him soon, and then he can go home and not feel so goddamned exposed with so many people watching him all the time.
“Dude,” someone says, “you really kind of suck.”
Gerard twitches, flattening his hand on the strings and looks over his shoulder to see Frank standing in the open doorway, shuffling his feet nervously. He looks wildly out of place in a cardigan, slacks, penny loafers, and holy shit, Gerard realizes staring at him, this is apparently Frank's idea of going incognito.
He looks like someone's grandfather.
“Fuck you,” Gerard fires back, ducking his head to stare at the guitar strings like his life depends on finally learning how to play a Skynyrd song.
He hasn't seen Frank since the night they both almost died, although Mikey told him Frank came by once or twice. At night. When Gerard was sleeping, the fucker.
“So, uh. Hey.”
Frank sounds strangely uncertain, and that's enough for Gerard to look up at him.
“I wanted to stop by and say thanks, for, you know.” Frank waves his hands around in what he probably thinks is an enlightening manner, but really just looks like he's having a muscle spasm. “Everything.”
Gerard stares at him. He's tried calling Frank to thank him for saving his life, but he always gets stuck with Frank's voicemail. The one time he went to the Skeleton Crew offices with Mikey, he wound up talking to Frank's ex-fiancée. And while she'd been nice enough, thanking Gerard and Mikey for what they'd done, it just. It wasn't.
Gerard nods, gaze flicking towards the clock again, and it should be impossible, but he swears it's moving backwards. “You're welcome.”
Frank. He keeps staring at Gerard. And fidgeting. Gerard's just trying really hard not to do or say anything stupid.
“Thanks,” Gerard says, when it gets to be too much and Frank's fidgeting is starting to get to him. “For saving my life.”
Frank nods, still twitchy, and Gerard sighs. He's not doing much better, but at least he has one of Ray's guitars to hide behind.
“You might as well get in here.”
If Frank has something else he wants to say, it would probably be better to do it with a door between them and the others.
Pete and the Alexes are at the end of the hall, trying to look like they're not eavesdropping and failing miserably. Colligan isn't even trying, leaning against the wall a few feet behind Frank with Ian next to him doing his best to be one with the wall.
It's probably a good thing they're trying to get into the music business since they're fucking terrible at just about everything else.
Frank steps inside and shuts the door, then looks around, but there's not much to see. A couple of guitar cases, a small table shoved into a corner and a handful of chairs. Someone put up a few band posters on the walls, and there's a window on one side of the room facing the street, but it's been painted over.
“Sorry,” Frank says, not really looking at him. “I mean, you know. Sorry that my old label tried to kill you.”
“It happens,” Gerard says, because obviously it does.
That gets Frank to look at him at least.
“Yeah.”
“I read your book.” Gerard watched the interview Frank had done. He'd had to re-schedule after all, since he was in the hospital when the show had started taping that morning.
Gerard had bought the book as soon as he'd been released form the hospital once Mikey and Brian made it crystal clear he wasn't going to be allowed to do anything until his arm healed.
It wasn't quite what Frank had claimed it was, and not even what Ray said it was. It was more a mix of the two, and obviously important to Frank. Something he felt deeply about that he wanted to make sure people understood. Something he was willing to risk his stupid life for and was probably at least partially the reason it had been in danger in the first fucking place because Frank's a fucking idiot.
“You did?”
Frank looks a little confused, as if he hadn't expected Gerard to bring that up, and Gerard really isn't sure why he'd felt like he needed to. But. The book was something Frank felt was important enough to risk his stupid life for, and Gerard just wants Frank to know that while he still thinks Frank's a moron, at least he understands why he was willing to take that chance.
Gerard nods, feeling like a giant idiot himself.
“Oh. Thanks.”
And while Gerard would love to sit there and have an awkwardly stilted conversation with Frank, he -
“So the band's going to do a tour around the area. Maybe five, six little places,” Frank throws out in a rush, as if he knows how ridiculous the two of them are being. “Worm's going to be in a cast for a few more weeks, and our manager won't let us go out without security.”
Gerard nods, something twisting in his gut when Frank looks back up at him, a little smile on his lips. “You know anyone who might be able to help us out?”
Gerard would, he really fucking would like to make it that simple, that easy, but he still remembers the things Frank said that night, way before things went to shit.
He remembers laying in the hospital bed watching Mikey sleep and wondering what the hell he would have done if it had been Mikey out there with Frank running from a fucking professional killer. What he would have done if it had been Mikey and things hadn't gone the way they had.
“You should call Brian,” Gerard says, “I'm not in that line of work anymore.”
He can feel Frank watching him, staring at him, and tries to focus on the guitar strings.
“You're not.”
Gerard shakes his head and tries to remember if it's -
“What do you do then?” Frank asks, and Gerard jerks back when he realizes how fucking close Frank is, how close he'd gotten when Gerard wasn't paying attention.
“I'm working on my art.” Gerard's doing a lot more than that, and if things work out, he might actually get to see his name gracing the cover of a comic book one day.
Frank smiles, and Gerard. He can't really blame himself for staring because he knows for a fact that Frank has a few thousand fans who do the same all the damn time, and they usually don't have the real thing staring them in the face.
“Fucking kiss him already!” Pete yells, slapping a hand on the glass window set in the door. “It's not that hard!”
Frank starts laughing, giggling, and Gerard looks for something to throw at Pete that won't have Ray giving him a sad look. Ray loves his guitars.
“I'm going to fucking kill you, Pete!” Gerard yells back, hopping off his stool to set Ray's guitar down in order to kill Pete without worrying about making Ray sad. “Patrick's going to thank me for it!”
Patrick won't, but only because he's been claiming dibs on that honor ever since he got back into town with Pete clinging to him like a burr.
Frank reaches out and grabs his arm when he storms past, pulling him around to face him. “I'm pretty sure you'd end up in prison for that,” Frank says, still laughing.
“It would be worth it.” Gerard glares at Pete while the stupid bastard pulls faces at him through the window because apparently Pete's five fucking years old.
“Yeah, it probably would be,” Frank says. “But.”
Gerard looks at Frank, at Frank's hand on his arm, and then back at Frank again.
Frank, who's watching him with this weirdly unreadable look on his face.
“What?”
Frank shakes his head, hand tightening around Gerard's arm. “I don't think I made a great first impression,” he says, which is a staggering understatement, “and I know I didn't exactly make things easy on you guys.”
Gerard's not sure what Frank's working up to, but he's not doing a great job of selling it to Gerard.
“So, uh,” Frank frowns, like he lost his train of thought, and Gerard has an unobstructed view of Pete making ridiculous kissy faces at them.
For the first time since they met, Pete has an idea that doesn't seem doomed to horrific failure or injury of some sort.
Unless Frank punches him.
“Frank?”
Frank looks up at him, still frowning, and while Gerard knows it's not the smartest thing he could do, he's a little past that.
“There's a little coffee place not too far from here,” Gerard says, suddenly struck by the horrible feeling of being back in high school again. “How would you feel about getting coffee? With me.”
The last part was probably unnecessary, but the high school memories are painfully fresh in his mind.
“Yeah, okay,” Frank says, and darts in to press a quick kiss to Gerard's cheek before he can do anything. “That sounds okay.”
Frank's smiling at him when he pulls back, although it looks like more of a smirk.
It isn't exactly like high school, but with Pete and the others cheering them on the from the other side of the door, Gerard doesn't think anyone would be able to tell the difference at the moment.
“You know weird people,” Frank says, looking over his shoulder at them.
Pete has his face pressed against the window, Colligan right next to him giving them an enthusiastic thumbs up.
“You have no idea,” Gerard says, because Frank really, really doesn't.
“Coffee, right?” Frank says, laughing again, the little shit. “Come on, you can tell me all about it then.”
Gerard sighs and looks at Frank grinning at him like an idiot, and Jesus Christ, his fucking life.