Jekyll Chapter Four

[notlosingmyself]

Title: Jekyll
Author: notlosingmyself
Betas: shoved2agree  and partyghoul
Pairing: Frank/Gerard and side ships such as Ryan/Brendon and so on.
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Language, sexual content
Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own them, and none of this is real.
Summary: Frankie had been diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder (Multiple Personality Disorder) but both he and Gerard think it's something much more.
Chapter Word Count: 4,500+

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has commented, sent me a message, or tweeted me so far! It really does mean so much to me.

Chapter One // Chapter Two // Chapter Three

Identity Is Theft Of The Self

Frank's eyes shoot open. He's alive, and he's in control.

He gets out of bed and manages to get dressed in record time. He looks back at the bed he just came from and scoffs, "Oh how pathetic they both are."

Frank hates the way the clothes feel on him; too tight and the pants are slightly too short. He quickly changes out of them and into a set of clothes that Gerard has laying around. This is the only time he's actually been comfortable in such restricting clothes.

He strolls out of the building, an arrogant smile plastered on his face, his stride is unique and exact, almost like a prowl. He looks around at all of the pitiful humans surrounding him and bites back a laugh; he doesn't understand them. They're so emotional, so attached to people and material objects. Always trying to impress one another. So revolting. Completely human.

He wishes that people would see life and live it like he does. But then again, no one really could live the life he has. He knows he's one of a kind, and the small amount of time that he is Awake, he loves to spend it luxuriously and sometimes even dangerously.

He can do pretty much anything and everything he pleases. His charm and wit can help him obtain his desires, but his enormous ego tends to get him into a bit of trouble. Not like it matters though; his agility, strength, and intelligence far surpasses that of any human being. Although he is brilliant in his own mind, he isn't quite sure what he is exactly, or how he came to be, he's just always been there, lying dormant in the mind of someone who is so weak in comparison until he finally broke free and catapulted himself into reality.

Since then it's been a wonderful life for him; he has no drive to get a job and live a normal life, all he wants is to indulge himself in every way possible.

He pulls out Frankie's wallet that he snatched from his jeans and checks to see how much cash he has on him; not too much, but that only means he'll have to go by other means to obtain money.

He's not too far from New York City and only after a few visits, he knows that this is his favourite place to go. Besides, he has places to be, people to meet.

Frank hails a taxi and takes the half hour ride up to the Big Apple.

It's still pretty early in the day, not too much fun to be had at three p.m. in Frank's mind.

He walks through the constantly crowded sidewalks until he gets to the heart of the city where he knows the big money will be.

Frank quickly surveys the the area, trying to find the perfect victim. He spots a man walking quickly, head up, cockiness apparent in an expensive tailored suit, hair perfectly in place, the picture perfect CEO of one of many businesses to be found.

Frank walks towards the man, already knowing exactly what he has to do. Frank halfway slams into the front of the man, his hand slipping into the jacket and quickly sliding out with his winnings. The man pushes him away and makes a crude remark about the tattooed freaks polluting the city.

Frank knows by the man's reaction that he is completely unaware that he's been robbed. Frank opens the rich, black-leather billfold and checks to see how much is there; only a few hundred dollars, much less than he expected. Usually men like that would carry plenty of money on them to be showy whenever buying something around anyone. It doesn't matter though, he can always pocket another wallet later if needed.

He folds the money, slides it into his front pant pocket, and tosses the expensive wallet into the road drain next to him.

Something catches his ear, he looks down the alley where he thinks the sound came from. As he beings to step down the alley, the sound becomes louder, eventually forming into the unmistakeable cry of a woman.

Two moderately large men are at the end of the alley, hovering over the crying woman, threatening her. They clearly don't fit into this area of town, but Frank lets that pass.

Frank doesn't like to help people, except for himself. And surely he isn't a hero, but he does love to pick fights. This gives him the perfect opportunity for one.

"Picking on someone so weak? That's quite pathetic," Frank says, drawing the attention of the two men.

They both turn to him. The taller one has a blade in hand, he speaks first. "Fuck off little man. You don't want to get ya'self hurt," he says with a thick Bronx accent.

"Don't worry about me, I'll be just fine." He says as he plots the next few moments.

In a blink of an eye, Frank runs towards the smaller of the two and simply pushes him. He flies about ten feet back, not even expecting it. The bone crushing crash echos through the disgusting alley.

The man holding the knife gapes in disbelief, he holds the knife up, swinging it at Frank. "Stay the fuck away from me!" he yells.

Before he can even take a step back, Frank is there, snapping the man's hand back, breaking his wrist, sending the knife crashing to the ground.

The man's scream rings in Frank's ears as he kicks him to the ground. He hovers over the man, ready to beat him bloody when he suddenly hears someone calling his name.

"I thought you said it was pathetic to pick on the weak, Frank." A man behind him says.

Frank turns around, already knowing who is behind him. He walks forward cautiously. "I already told you two no."

A man in the red tie walks forward. "See, you didn't even give us time to tell you what we have to offer." Frank hears the two thugs behind him rush away, both fleeing for their lives.

"I don't want or need what you have to offer. I already can get everything I want." He says as he straightens out his clothes.

"But, see, the problem is, the people we work for don't take no for an answer," Mr. Red Tie confesses.

"Well that's intimidating," Frank says sarcastically. "What are you going to do? Have Bubba over there drag me off?" Frank gestures to the large man behind the Mr. Red Tie. "You must have missed what I did to those two back there. And that was just me playing around. I assure you that you don't want to see me actually angry and fighting."

"We're well aware of what you can do, Mr. Iero. We'll give you more time to think about it, but, if you do not comply soon, we will take action."

"Oooh spooky. Good luck with that," Frank says as he turns his back and walks away.

"You sure you don't want to know how you can life your own life?" The man calls to Frank.

"It can't be done," Frank calls over his shoulder as he continues to walk. He knows those jokes of intimidation can't do anything to help him live a separate life. It's all just somthing to lure him in.

* * *

Gerard rolls over and pats the space next to him. His eyes fly open, Frankie isn't there.

He sits up and glances around the room. He spots Frankie's jeans and t-shirt so he calls out his name. He must be around here somewhere.

Gerard climbs out of bed and trots around the apartment, looking for Frankie.

Gerard is left dumbfounded; Frankie's clothes are still there but he's nowhere to be found.

He picks up his phone and calls Frankie's cell. Gerard hears the sound of vibrations almost instantly. He picks up Frankie's pants and fishes out the phone, then tosses it onto the bed.

He checks for Frankie's car keys, oddly enough, they're still in his pocket, but his wallet isn't.

Gerard doesn't know what to think of this. He decides that he needs to go off and find Frankie. He tries to find his favourite pair of jeans. He goes through the cluttered mess on the floor, but they're no where to be found.

and finds it empty, but notices. Note on the door. He opens it up and all it says is i know your secret.

Gerard just stares at the note. He doesn't know what to make of it. He has no secret, that he can think of, that's worth any form of intimidation.

Then it hits him. Frank.

"He must be fucking with me." Gerard says under his breath.

He thinks about it and it's the only logical explanation; that's why the jeans, wallet and Frankie are all gone.

Gerard quickly gets dressed and heads to Frankie's apartment in hopes of finding him there.

* * *

Frankie wakes up on a cold tile floor. His vision is blurred and he can feel the alcohol pumping through his veins. He already feels the effects of a hangover coming. He head throbs and his vision and hearing is hypersensitive.

He sits up and realizes that he's in a bathroom. This has happened more times than Frankie is willing to admit. He looks around. At least this one is actually very clean and elegant compared to the other bathrooms he's woken up in.

He rubs the back of his head and stumbles out of the bathroom. He has to grab his pants as they sag, making him realize that they aren't even his.

He walks out into the restaurant and looks around, confused.

A waitress approaches him. "She left. She said it was an emergency," The waitress whose name tag reads "ANDREA" says.

"Wait, who?" Frankie asks, completely confused.

"The woman you were with." She says, almost rudely.

"Where was she sitting?" Frankie asks, still confused.

Andrea points to the corner with an empty table in it.

Frankie looks at the table, hoping for some clue as to who he was with.

All that's on the table is a glass that was obviously Frank's and a long, skinny cigarette with a purple band around it still burning in the ashtray.

Frankie calls over Andrea and asks for the bill but she says, "She covered it," and walks away again.

Frankie just lets it go. Who knows? Maybe Frank had a friend or girlfriend of some sort.

The thought does disturb him though. Frankie doesn't want to think about Frank actually having a life. It makes him seem too weird, too normal.

He tries to shake his head clear of those thoughts. Frankie quickly pats down his pockets for his phone, but all he has is his wallet. He curses to himself and walks out of the restaurant.

It doesn't take a lot of walking before he comes up to a row of three pay phones. He pulls out a few coins, inserts them into the machine, and dials Ryan's number.

The phone rings six times before Ryan's annoying automated answering machine picks up.

Frankie could easily get a cab, this is New York after all, but he absolutely hates them and the fare would be astronomical.

As he digs in his pockets for more change, Frankie decides that if Ryan doesn't pick up this time, he'll have to try calling Gerard. He really doesn't want to be bothersome; but he knows that he's probably worried about him disappearing on him again, and of course he's probably missing the clothes that are sagging on Frankie now.

This time the call goes straight to voicemail. Frankie slams the phone onto the receiver. It's so strange, Ryan never misses a call, especially from Frankie. You can never catch Ryan without his phone on him.

Frankie takes a deep breath and feeds the machine his last few quarters.

The phone rings five times and Frankie is ready to just give up before he suddenly hears someone pick up.

"Hello?" The unfamiliar voice asks.

Frankie kicks the pole holding up the phone.

"God damn it. I have the wrong number. Fuck. Sorry man." Frankie goes to hang up the phone.

"Wait!" he hears the guy on the other line call out. "Is this Frankie?"

"Uhh yeah. How do you know me?" Frankie's confusion only continues.

He hears the man call out to someone with him.

"Frankie?" He hears Gerard ask, half out of breath.

"Fuck, I'm sorry, Gerard. Frank-" Frankie begins.

Gerard just cuts him off, "No, it's okay, I know. Where are you?"

Frankie looks around for road signs. "I'm in New York, off Fifty-Second and Main."

"I'll be there as soon as I can. Just stay where you're at." Gerard asks. To Frankie it sounds like he's already on the move.

Frankie let's out a sigh of relief and says, "I'll be at the little bakery on the corner. Would you mind bringing my car and all my stuff with you? I have to fucking work in the morning."

"Of course, no problem. I'll see you soon," Gerard says before hanging up.

Frankie thanks every existent and non-existent god out there as he walks into the small bakery. Not only is Gerard willing to come get him, but for once, it isn't in the middle of the fucking night when he wakes up somewhere he's unfamiliar with.

Compared to some of the places he's woken up in, this one is quite nice; not trashy, grimy, or filthy.

As Frankie sits there nibbling on a banana muffin and sipping his coffee. He thinks about who Frank could possibly be having breakfast with. It just didn't seem like Frank would be one to sit down and eat with someone. But, then again, how well did Frankie know his alternative self?

The bakery was quite cozy actually, the few people shuffling through seem very happy and definitely from the upper half of the economic scale.

Frankie almost feels like he doesn't blend in well here, and he's right. His tattoos, piercings, and baggy clothes stick out in the room of suits and soccer moms. It doesn't bother him though, there was always something different about him. He never was one to fit in, and he's just learned to embrace it.

After finishing his muffin and two cups of coffee, Frankie rests his head on the table. The cold, hard surface does help his burning forehead cool off a bit. He feels as if he's been struck with a minor cold after every Change, but he keeps moving on. Being sick is nothing new to him after all.

He hears the bells on the door chime as someone walks in, he looks up hopefully to see Gerard. And for the first time that night, something goes in his favour.

He stands up and hugs Gerard tightly. "Jesus Christ. I'm glad you're safe." Gerard breathes out.

Frankie pulls away, "How long have I been gone?"

"Since late last night. I didn't know where you were. I was really worried."

Frankie looks down, sad and apologetically, "I'm sorry. I didn't know he could take over for so long."

"It's okay, it's not your fault." Gerard turns a ushers Frankie out to his car.

After the short trip, they finally arrive back at Frankie's. The ride really didn't consist of too much talking, Frankie is worn out and just wants to sleep.

All Frankie wants to do is crawl into bed and sleep forever, but he doesn't want to just leave Gerard. It still is early in the morning.

"I'm going to go change out of your clothes, I'll be right back." Frankie quickly changes and returns to the livingroom to see Gerard half asleep on the couch.

Frankie shakes him and asks, "You didn't sleep at all last night, did you?"

"No, I was really worried about you." Gerard confesses.

Frankie feels really bad about that but he feels a warmth inside because he knows that at least someone worries for him.

"Come on, let's go to bed." Frankie says and pulls Gerard up.

* * *

Frankie wakes up to the warmth of someone else. Their chest softly rising and falling under his head after each breath taken.

Frankie's eyes fight to stay open, he's tired, and he would much rather fall back asleep, but he knows he can't. Besides, sleeping on the couch is completely uncomfortable. He and Gerard fell asleep there the night before while watching some terrible movie on late night television.

Gerard just decided to stick around, and Frankie really doesn't mind. What surprises him is not the fact that Gerard is just always around and there for him the last few weeks. But what is shocking is how familiar it is. How comfortable it is. Normally Frankie doesn't feel this comfortable with anyone but Ryan. Not even Pete or Adam; and he's known them for years.

He tries to get up without waking Gerard but Gerard's arm is wrapped tightly around his waist. Holding him in place.

"Gee, let me up. I have to get ready for work." Gerard groans a little bit and pulls Frankie in tighter. "Not all of us work on our own schedule. Please, Gerard."

Frankie pushes on Gerard's stubborn arm and when he's finally let go, he accidentally crashes to the floor.

"Fuck!" Frankie exclaims as he lays flatly on the floor.

"It's your fault," Gerard mumbles before turning around and going back to sleep.

Frankie quickly jumps into the shower and rinses off before getting dressed. He just stops and looks in the mirror; he thinks he looks a lot less stressed and much more awake. It's almost been four days since Frank's last visit into New York and Frankie feels like there is something off. Something wrong.

Frank would come around about once every two weeks in the beginning, but in the recent months, he's been showing up almost every other day. Sometimes it would only be for an hour or two but other visits would take up almost the entire day.

Frankie just counts it as a blessing and hopes Frank won't return, but he knows it's inevitable.

Frankie is lacing up his shoes as he hears a faint knocking sound on his front door.

"Fuck, Gerard did you lock yourself out, again?" Frankie calls out.

"No, stop yelling! I'm trying to sleep," Gerard whines.

Frankie walks to the door and looks through the peephole. No one is there. He opens the door to check down the hall and he steps on a large envelope.

He picks it up and looks at it. It's not marked, it's perfect with no wrinkles or creases, and it's sealed.

He takes the envelope and brings it into the kitchen to open it.

Frankie rips open the sealed flap and pulls out the contents. It's a small stack of 8X10 inch photographs. A small white paper falls to the ground as he sets the stack down. He picks it up and in simple messy handwriting it reads 'we know your secret'.

Frankie shuffled through the pictures and it's multiple pictures of him and then of Frank.

He drops the pictures-- knowing that the person who delivered them is long gone-- and wakes up Gerard.

"Gerard get up," he says as he shakes him awake.

"No. I'm sleeping." Gerard mumbles.

"Fucking get your ass up. Someone just left me a message saying they know about Frank." He shakes Gerard a bit more.

Gerard quickly wakes up and looks at him.

He shuffles through the pictures and looks at the note closely. "What the fuck? How do they know?" He asks, completely astounded.

"I have no idea, but look at all of these, there are so many of them," Frankie says, gesturing at the pile before them.

"Have you told anyone other than Ryan and I?" Gerard asks.

"No. I didn't want anyone knowing." Frankie says, trying to think.

Gerard closely examines the photographs. He flips one over and makes a conclusive sound. "They aren't home printed. They're from a photography company. I'm pretty sure I've seen it before. Downtown. They might not be the ones who actually took these, but they at least printed them. They may know who took them."

"Do you think they'll tell us?" Frankie asks, very hopeful.

"I don't know, it's worth a shot." Gerard says.

"I'll go right after work." He states, as he picks up all of the pictures and slides them into the large envelope again.

Frankie hands him the note, "This was in there too."

Gerard looks at it and instantly recognizes the handwriting. "Wait did Frank have this delivered?"

Frankie looks confused and says "I don't think so. Why?"

"The handwriting, it looks like a note that I thought he left me the other day." Gerard examines it closely.

"What did it say?"

"Pretty much the same thing. I don't know why I forgot about it."

Frankie lets out a deep breath, "I don't think Frank was taking pictures of himself, Gerard. It doesn't matter, I have to go to work right now."

"Oh, no no no, you're not just going off to work like everything is fine. They know about you. They obviously want somthing. They could hurt you." Gerard says, evidently worried.

"Gerard, they've been following me for a long while now, they've had many chances to do it. I'll be okay."

"But-" Gerard tries to contest.

"Look, I'm trying to keep just a bit of normalcy. I'm going to work and then I'll go check them out." Frankie says as he goes back to tying his shoes.

"How about you go to work and I go see them." Gerard offers.

"No, you're not going by yourself. We go together." Frankie stands up and gives in.

"Fine," Gerard agrees. "I'll come to get you during your lunch break. We can go then, it's not too far from there."

* * *

Frankie tries to focus as he needles in the final designs of a tattoo onto his customers wrist.

He's been nervous all day. He didn't know what he was going to find come lunch hour.

He hears the faint sound of the door bells chime as someone comes in.

"Hey, Frankie, you've got a visitor," Haylie calls out.

Without a response, she sends his visitor to the doorway of the back.

Frankie looks up to see Gerard. "Oh, you're early, you can come back here and watch. I'm almost done."

"Uhh I think I'll just wait in the front," Gerard says nervously. He looks almost sick to Frankie. Gerard turns around, leaving the door open and sits in the front room.

"Who's that?" Pete asks from behind him. Pete hadn't had much to do that day but there was always a few walk-ins wanting something pierced so he was almost always there.

"That's Gerard." Frankie says passively.

"Oh. The Tight Jeaned Artist? That Gerard?" Pete jokes.

"Fucking hell. You and Ross will be the end of me. Yes, that Gerard. Because I just know so many Gerards." Frankie says as he tries to go back to the inking.

"I'm going to go talk to him." Before Frankie could even protest, Pete was up and leaving the room. All he hears is "You must be the Tight-" before the door separating the front and back room shuts.

He quickly finishes up the girl's tattoo and dresses it up in gauze. She smiles as she walks away, excited about her new tattoo.

Frankie walks into the front room, expecting to find Gerard in the corner rocking back and forth crying because of Pete. Instead, he finds them talking and even laughing.

Neither of them even look up so Frankie says, "Hey, Gerard, ready to go?"

"Yeah, let's go," he says before saying goodbye and walking out with Frankie.

The walk out of the shop; the air is thick with humidity and it's icy cold. The typical weather that comes right before the rain.

They climb into Gerard's nicely warm car and Frankie's goose flesh skin settles.

"Why did Pete call me-" Gerard begins to say.

"Don't even ask. You'll probably find out when you meet Ryan." Frankie says.

The thought of Ryan pops into his head. Ryan really hasn't been around lately. Frankie barely gets a text message back from him nowadays. Frankie just guesses that Ryan's just spending more time with Brendon and writes it off.

Gerard pulls up to the shop that Frankie assumes is the photography shop. His stomach turns as he thinks about what may happen now.

They both climb out into the muggy weather and Frankie walks closely next to Gerard.

The door to the shop bears the same symbol on the back of the photographs and the sign reads that they are open.

They walk in and a sensor dings to notify the workers that someone has entered.

Frankie and Gerard take in the sight before them. The photography shop is in an apocalyptical state; files, papers, and pictures are everywhere.

Gerard walks up to the hippie looking guy behind the first desk he sees. "Hey, can you help us with something?"

"No, we're closing up," he says nonchalantly as he packs up his things.

"What do you mean closing up?" Gerard asks, confused.

"Owner's great uncle died or somthing. Big inheritance or some shit," he says and then under his breath, "I wish I had a great rich dead uncle."

"Can you at least help us before you close?" Frankie asks.

"Sorry, but no. We're closed for business we're not taking on any new customers." He says as he pulls another box onto his desk.

"But we just need to know where these photos came from," Frankie pleads, and hands the man the large envelope.

He takes them and glances at the photos. "Sorry, I can't even do that. Strick business-customer confidentiality agreement."

"This is a fucking photography business! Not a doctors office. That's bullshit," Gerard yells, getting quite irritated. He wanted to stay calm and collective but this guy was giving him nothing.

"Oh, that's what you think we are? This is a private investigative service. Not some photography business. You can leave now." The man says as he shoves the envelope back into Frankie's hands.

"Look, you can sit your ass down, get on that computer of yours and tell us who sent us these," Gerard says, visibly angry.

"Is there a problem?" Asks a man with a bit of an afro.

"Yeah, there is," Gerard says. "We want some answers as to why this was sent to us, and who they are from." He hands the envelope to the man.

"Can't help you. Andy, can you show them out?" he asks.

"No! We want to know what's going on," Gerard practically yells.

Andy, the man behind the desk starts to push Gerard and Frankie out the door. He quickly slips a paper into Frankie's pocket and says quietly, "Lose your tail and you'll have all your answers soon enough." And before Gerard and Frankie know it they're out on the street with the door locked behind them.

TBC

A/N: Please leave a comment telling me what you think! Also I'm so sorry that it's taken months for an update.

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