Take the Pieces and Build Them Skywards - part 3

[quarterturn]

back to part 2

Bob and Ray give him a wide berth for a few days, although whether that’s because they’re pissed at him or because they don’t know what to say, Gerard doesn’t know. He doesn’t really mind the time alone, though; he would have no idea what to say even if they did try to talk to him. Sorry I caused the deaths of a bunch of innocent people! Sorry I went behind your back and broke the rules even though you’ve been nothing but nice to me and tried to help me out! Sorry Brian’s been crankier than usual lately mostly because of me!

Brian treats him like he’s always treated him, and his influx of crankiness seems to be directed at not just his reapers, but every person who comes within a five-foot-radius of him. The waitresses at the waffle house started avoiding their table, so now Ray has to get Brian’s order beforehand and pass the message along so they don’t have to interact with Brian.

After three days of it, Gerard finally breaks the weird silence between him and Ray and asks, “What’s up with Brian?” At Ray’s look, he amends, “Besides the whole…me being a dumbass thing. I mean, there is something else, right?”

Ray sighs. “Yeah, there’s something else. I dunno, has anyone told you much about the reapers before you?” Gerard shakes his head. “Well, there were a few before you in our unit. Bob replaced Matt, and you replaced Elisa, but every handler’s supposed to have at least four reapers. We’ve been short for a while.”

“How come?”

“Red tape? Someone in the head office has it out for Brian?” He shrugs. “I honestly don’t know. But being short makes things tougher, and this recent thing with you really brought the shit down on Brian’s head. He’s just stressed.”

Gerard feels like a douche for being the major source of Brian’s stress, but he can’t help the guilty relief at knowing he’s not the only source.

He’s been trying to make it up, to Brian, to the head office, to all of them. He hasn’t missed a soul in a week, and it feels weirdly like counting his days sober. He finally gets it, the job they do, the balance they keep. He still hates it, hates that he has to be the one to finalize someone’s death, but he gets why he has to do it. And maybe he’s not dreading sticking around for however long it is he has to be a reaper as much as he was. He tries, and fails, to convince himself it’s not mostly based on the hot waiter at the diner.

The hot waiter who has been spending a lot more time talking to Gerard than he has been serving coffee. Not that Gerard's complaining, especially when it means he gets both a hot waiter at his table discussing his sketches and the entire pot of coffee within reaching distance, but it makes his whole attempt at admiring from afar sort of hard. He enjoys admiring from up close, but it just kind of reminds him that that's probably all the closer he's going to get.

"I like this one," Frank says, reaching over to grab a loose sketch half hanging out of Gerard's sketchbook. He smooths it out on the table and studies it, nodding. "Yeah, this is definitely one of my favorites."

Gerard goes pink to the tips of his ears. He'd shown Frank the drawing of the vampire ballerina troupe and their diminutive slayer on a whim, but it had been one out of a stack, so he hadn't thought Frank would pay much attention. Nobody ever really paid much attention to his artwork besides Mikey, and Gerard's having a hard time remembering that Frank seems genuinely interested.

"I especially like this little slayer dude," Frank says, pointing. He's grinning, but Gerard can't tell if it's because he really likes the drawing or if he recognizes himself.

"Yeah, that's uh." Gerard clears his throat. "That's sort of an older one."

"Oh yeah? How old?"

"Um, like three or four months, maybe."

Frank's grin widens. "Huh. That's about when you started hanging around in here."

Gerard's not sure whether he should be panicking because Frank may have just the slightest idea of who exactly is in that drawing or pleased that Frank apparently knows exactly how long Gerard's been coming to the diner.

"Oh yeah, uh, probably. That's probably about right."

Frank smooths his thumb over the drawing and then hands it back. "We've got a gig tonight."

It takes a second for Gerard to follow the jump in topic, but he gets it quick enough. "Oh hey, awesome!"

Frank grins and bobs his head like he knows exactly how awesome it is. "It's tonight." He glances at Gerard from the corner of his eye.

It's already after four and Gerard knows Frank's been on since seven. He is suddenly very, very glad that he took Bob and Ray's advice and doesn't actually have to hold down two jobs. "Oh man, that sucks. You're gonna be exhausted tomorrow."

Frank nods. "Yeah, but it's worth it. You're probably going to be really tired, too, huh? Like...you probably have to do some repo work tonight or something?"

Gerard does actually have a couple of appointments later. "Yeah, the life of a repo man, constant excitement." He rolls his eyes and grins, but Frank just kind of shrugs and nods.

"Oh, okay. I think we're playing this weekend, too, if you have like, nothing better to do, you could come. With your friends or...whoever you'd want to bring."

Gerard has to remind himself that Frank's definitely not asking him out. He's being friendly to the dorky guy that spends too much time alone in a diner, and the friendly thing to do in return would be to go to the show, even though it's definitely not a date. But after the week he's had, Gerard can't commit to anything except getting to his reaps on time and doing his job so perfectly no one would be able to find fault. He doesn't want to tempt fate any more than he already has, and he especially doesn't want to tempt Brian.

"I can try, but I don't know what my plans are this weekend." It comes out more dick-ish than he'd meant it to, and Frank's smile is tight when he stands up. "No, I just mean I don't know what my work schedule is and-"

Frank waves him off. "It's okay. No big deal." He pulls a folded flier out of his pocket and slides it across the table. "That's the address and stuff. In case you can come."

Gerard tucks the flier into his pocket and prays. He's never been the praying sort, but he figures after the stunt he pulled, some pretty hardcore praying is going to be the only chance he has of getting a schedule this weekend that allows him time to go to the show.

--

There are two pile-ups, a private plane crash, and a rash of drownings over the weekend. Gerard takes a break after the first pile-up and scowls at the sky. "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and believe that these were planned way in advance. But I reserve the right to be very suspicious."

--

When he’s not mooching off Bob and Ray or pining away over Frank, Gerard follows Mikey around.

Not having a car makes it a little more difficult to be an efficient stalker, but luckily Gerard’s pretty well-versed in Mikey’s life, and if he can’t actually follow Mikey from one place to another, he’s at least pretty sure where Mikey will be at most times.

He walks past the record shop at least once a week, peering in from the side of the display window to catch a glimpse of Mikey organizing records, or ringing up a customer, or just flipping through a magazine. Occasionally, he’ll watch long enough to see Mikey pause. It’s never a very long pause, never long enough for anyone else to notice, but Gerard notices. He’ll just stop whatever it is he’s doing, freezing in place for a second, staring at whatever’s in front of him. Mikey’s never been the most expressive of kids, but the look he gets on his face is one Gerard can read like a fucking book, and it makes his heart stutter in his chest every time he sees it.

Mikey’s grieving. He doesn’t break down and cry, and he doesn’t talk to many people that Gerard can see, but when he pauses, he looks so overwhelmingly sad that it takes everything Gerard’s got not to just call him, leave him a note, something to give him some kind of hope, reaper rules be damned.

“He’ll be better off not knowing,” Ray tells him. “Believe me. If he thinks you’re still out there, he’ll drive himself crazy trying to figure out how, trying to figure out why you’re not coming back to him if you’re still alive.” Ray sounds resigned, and a little bitter, and Gerard doesn’t ask how he knows.

Despite that, Gerard has had to talk himself out of just going in and laying it all out for Mikey more times than he can count. Every time he sees his brother, he gets this ache in his chest that he doesn’t realize has been there the whole time until it flares up. It’s similar to the itch of needing a drink, needing to hug Mikey, needing to talk to him as something other than a stranger, except a hundred times stronger.

Ray catches him one day, lurking outside the record shop, peering in like some weirdo. “You look like a weirdo,” Ray says. “Do you have an appointment here?”

Gerard shuffles his feet. “Uh. No.”

Ray frowns. “What are you doing here?”

“My brother works here.”

Ray’s head whips around and he peers in through the window, too, and Gerard wants to be mean and say now who’s the weirdo? but Ray grabs his arm and hauls him toward the alley. “Gerard, what are you thinking? You haven’t talked to him, have you?”

Gerard yanks himself away from Ray. “No. I’m not stupid.”

Ray looks like he seriously doubts the validity of that statement. “Have you been hanging around here a lot?”

Gerard pauses. “Define ‘a lot’.”

“Jesus,” Ray sighs. “Gerard, look, I know you’re…having a rough time.” It sounds like Ray’s softening the blow, and Gerard’s suddenly angry. He appreciates everything Ray’s done for him, taking care of him like he has, but he’s not actually his father, and this sounds suspiciously like the warm-up to a lecture.

“Go ahead,” Gerard mutters, kicking at a crumpled can. “You know I’m having a rough time staying on the wagon, I’m having a rough time settling into reaping, I’m having a rough time doing anything but fucking up.”

Ray looks taken aback. “What, no. Gerard, that’s not what I meant. I know you’re having a rough time letting go of your family.”

Just as fast as it had come on, the anger drains out of Gerard, and he slumps against the wall. “I shouldn’t have to,” he mumbles petulantly. “I don’t want to.”

Ray leans against the wall next to him. “I know.” He’s quiet for a minute, and then he asks, “Is he doing okay? Your brother?”

Gerard shrugs. “I think so. I don’t know. I’m a surprisingly bad stalker.”

Ray laughs and wraps his arm around Gerard’s shoulder. “I find that hard to believe.”

“You’re not going to tell Brian, are you?” Gerard suddenly blurts, and Ray shakes his head.

“No. I…shit, Gerard. Sometimes I forget how hard it is, this part. Letting go. I’m not gonna tell on you. Just try to keep the obvious stalking to a minimum, okay?”

Gerard agrees and tries to be a little stealthier when he goes back to the front of the store to look through the windows.

--

Gerard’s just settled in with his first cup of coffee of the afternoon, drawing pad out and ready, when Frank slides into the booth across from him. Gerard frowns; it’s not that he minds Frank sitting down with him, but he’s never done that before. Plus, he looks really serious, and he’s never done that before either. Gerard gets a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“So,” Frank starts, lacing his fingers together on the table. “You come here a lot.”

Gerard nods slowly. “I do.”

Frank pauses, and Gerard feels like maybe he should be saying something else, but he can’t really come up with anything.

“And you, um.” Frank pauses again, and now he looks Really Serious, and sounds like he’s going to say something Really Serious. Gerard’s suddenly convinced he knows about the reaper thing. “You always order a lot of…coffee.” Frank gives him a pointed look, and Gerard starts to get really confused. He does order a lot of coffee, but that’s good, right? “But you never order any…food.” Frank's look gets even pointier, and Gerard starts to panic. There is something going on here he doesn’t quite understand, and all he can make out of it is that Frank’s pissed he’s not ordering anything solid off the menu. Waiters don’t work on commission, as far as Gerard knows. Possibly he’s been mistaken.

“I usually eat before I come here,” he says, because he does, he eats at the waffle house with Brian every morning. Maybe Frank’s just concerned Gerard’s not getting enough to eat or something. He hopes this will clear it up.

Frank looks disappointed by this news. “Oh, so you have somewhere else to get your food, and you just come here for the coffee.”

Gerard is seriously, distressingly confused, and he starts looking around to make sure the clocks aren’t melting or people aren’t unzipping their skins or something because it’s starting to feel like one of those dreams. “I guess so.”

Frank stands up with a lot more force than necessary, making the table wobble. Gerard’s coffee splashes out over the side of the cup, splattering his sketchpad with dark blots.

“I see. Enjoy your coffee.” Frank storms away, and Gerard is left to stare at his ruined paper and wonder what the fuck just happened.

--

He’s sitting on a bench outside the waffle house, kicking idly at the ground, when Bob and Ray pull up. He doesn’t look up, but Bob’s car does this putt putt poof noise whenever Bob turns the engine off, so he can tell it’s them.

Ray heads inside, but Bob sits down next to him. “You look like you got hit by a bus.”

Gerard musters up a passable glare. “You are a master of comedy.”

“It was reaper or stand-up comedian.”

“Good thing you chose reaper; at least you have an excuse when people drop dead around you.”

Bob puts a hand over his heart. “I’m wounded. Seriously, what’s the problem?”

Gerard sighs and shrugs. “Frank’s acting weird.”

Bob looks wary. “Did you tell him about the reaper thing?”

“What? No! No.”

“Then what happened?”

“Nothing, that’s the problem. Absolutely nothing happened, but all of a sudden he’s talking about food and coffee like they’re some big important deal and getting mad at me and I have no idea why.”

Bob scratches at his beard and says, “Tell me exactly what he said.”

“He said something about how I always order a lot of coffee but not any food, and I was like, yeah, and he was like, ‘So I guess you have somewhere else to get your food?’ and I said ‘I guess so.’ I mean, that’s weird, right? Should I be ordering more food? I always tip him really well, I don’t know what the problem is.”

By this point, Bob’s shaking in silent laughter, and Gerard kicks at him ineffectively.

“What? What?” There is absolutely nothing funny about the situation; Gerard doesn’t want Frank to be mad at him for anything, especially something he doesn’t even understand, and Bob is being a dick.

Bob waves him off and gets himself under control. “I think Frank wants more than a tip from you, Geeway.”

Gerard thinks it over for a second, and Bob gives him a pointed look. Suddenly it clicks into place, and Gerard goes bright red. “Oh.” He’s mortified. He is the thickest person on the planet. He is ecstatic. “Really? You think-“

Bob shoves him off the bench - way harder than necessary - and says, “Get the fuck out of here. If I have to see that dopey lovesick look on your face anymore, I’m going to kill myself.”

Gerard pauses. “…is that even possible?”

Bob points. “Go.” He doesn’t sound like he’s kidding, so Gerard goes.

It’s a short walk to the diner, but it feels like the longest fucking trip Gerard has ever taken. By the time he gets to the last block, he’s practically tripping over himself to get there. Frank likes him. Frank, the totally hot, awesome waiter, likes Gerard, the terminally shy, vampire-drawing recluse who is apparently too dense to understand metaphors.

He bursts into the diner, a little out of breath, and glances around wildly. Wherever Frank’s at, whatever’s he’s doing, Gerard doesn’t even care. He’s gonna walk right up and tell Frank that he is so, so interested in getting food.

But Frank’s not around. Gerard goes to the counter and flags down one of the other waiters, his stomach already starting to clench in worry. What if Frank’s so pissed at him now he doesn’t want to see him? What if he changed his mind? “Hey, is Frank around?”

The waiter shakes his head and gives Gerard an apologetic look. “No, sorry, man. He took off early, he wasn’t feeling good.”

Gerard slumps down onto a stool. “Oh. Um, I don’t suppose you have his home address?” He looks up hopefully.

The waiter gives him a funny look and takes a step back. “We don’t…really give that kind of information out.”

Right, of course not. And probably with good reason, since Gerard was going to use it to stalk Frank so he could explain himself. He guesses he’s at least a little grateful that even if he can’t get Frank’s address, no one else can either.

He shuffles over to his regular booth and sits down, tracing the cracks in the worn tabletop. He’d left his sketchbook on the bench outside the waffle house, and he’s not about to leave to go get it, just in case Frank comes back. He’ll wait for as long as he needs to. He doesn’t even have any evening appointments, so his schedule is clear to be as stubborn and creepy as he wants to be.

--

The diner closes at eight, and the waiter Gerard talked to about Frank is less than sympathetic about throwing him out.

Gerard sets himself up on the curb, pulls out his pack of cigarettes, and waits. Around two, Bob’s car pulls up and Ray looks out at him from the passenger window.

He sounds resigned when he asks, “Gerard, what are you doing?”

“Waiting.”

Ray looks over at Bob and Bob shrugs.

“Get in the car. You can come back tomorrow.”

Gerard shakes his head stubbornly. “I’m just gonna wait.”

Ray looks like he wants to punch something. Gerard sincerely hopes it’s not his face. Eventually, Ray murmurs something to Bob, and Bob pulls ahead a little bit, parking near the curb and turning the engine off. They both get out, and Gerard tenses, pretty sure they’re going to try and drag him into the car. There’s no way he could take them, of course, but he’s not going to let them treat him like a little kid.

Ray sits down on one side of him and Bob on the other, close enough that Gerard can feel the body heat radiating off of them. It’s comfortable, soothing, like curling up in someone else’s spot after they’ve gotten out of bed. Gerard relaxes into it, dropping his head onto Ray’s shoulder. Ray pats at him awkwardly.

“I might’ve really fucked up,” Gerard whispers.

Ray sighs. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Won’t be the last,” Bob says, offering Gerard a cigarette.

By morning, Gerard’s eyelids are drooping. Bob’s already nodded off, and Ray’s gone quiet. Gerard’s ready to curl up on the sidewalk and hope for the best, but on a whim, he glances down the street and sees a short figure rapidly approaching. Gerard stands up and squints, and his heart simultaneously leaps into his throat and sinks into his stomach. It’s Frank, and by default Gerard’s happy to see him. But it’s Frank, who might’ve changed his mind and who might think Gerard is the failiest human to ever fail, so.

Gerard wipes his palms on his pants and nudges at Bob. “Guys. Guys. He’s coming.”

Bob grumpily pushes Gerard away and stands up, stretching and then leaning down to help Ray up. “C’mon, Toro. Let’s go order breakfast.” He glances at Gerard. “We’ll be at the waffle house. I’ll order you some eggs to cry into.”

“Shut up, go, go, go.” Gerard flaps at them and doesn’t notice that Frank’s almost on top of him until he whirls around and gets a face full of smoke.

Frank doesn’t look angry, just confused, and he waves the smoke away with a muttered, “Sorry,” before he drops his cigarette and twists his shoe over the top of it.

“What’re you doing here?” He sounds resigned but trying to keep the peace - the same tone Gerard used every year at Christmas when his aunt handed him a present. He knew it was going to be an ugly-ass sweater that wouldn’t fit right, but he had to pretend to be grateful to avoid getting smacked in the head by his mom.

Gerard shuffles awkwardly and suddenly realizes he should have spent the night figuring out what to say instead of listening to Ray debate the merits of Iron Maiden with Bob. “I, uh. About yesterday-“

Frank turns away, and Gerard feels his whole body freeze with the humiliation of rejection. But Frank’s just unlocking the diner doors, holding one open for Gerard. “Let’s talk inside, I’m freezing my balls off out here.”

Inside, the diner’s dark, and Frank only bothers to switch on one light before he’s facing Gerard again, arms crossed over his chest. “So what about yesterday?”

Gerard tries to figure out the best way to say, ”Hey, I really like you, too, in the sense that I’d really like to make out with you, and sorry I’m such a dumbass about getting hit on.” He settles on, “I don’t just come here for the coffee.”

Frank’s face twitches slightly, but he doesn’t uncross his arms. “Okay?”

Gerard frowns. He’s not sure how much clearer he can be. “I’d really like to try some food.”

Frank reaches behind the counter and grabs an order pad. “What can I get you?”

Gerard frowns harder. It should not be this difficult to confirm mutual attraction. He takes souls for a living. Saying I like you should be a piece of cake.

“A date with the hot waiter?” Gerard stares at the checkered floor and waits for the laughter, or the Haha, no.

There’s a pause, and then Frank’s Converse-clad foot comes into Gerard’s eyeline, nudging Gerard’s own foot until he looks up.

Frank’s smiling, toothy and wide. He scrawls something down on his pad and then tears the top page off and hands it over to Gerard. It’s got a phone number written on it. “Go get some sleep. I get off at five.”

Gerard grins back, and they spend a few seconds just standing there, grinning at each other like total lunatics. Finally Gerard starts backing out, paper clutched in his hand like it might try to get away. “Okay. Okay, have a good day, Frank.”

Frank nods and leans back against the counter. “You too, Gerard.”

Gerard grins all the way to the waffle house. Once he’s inside, settled into the booth next to Ray, he tries to take the grin down a notch, but it’s like it’s permanently etched on his face. He just can’t stop smiling.

“No one should be that cheerful this early in the morning,” Bob says, pouring himself another cup of coffee from the carafe on the table. "Especially when they're directly responsible for other people's lack of sleep."

Gerard's smile dims a little. "About that...um. Thanks. You know. For hanging out with me last night."

Ray smiles graciously, but Bob arches an eyebrow. "You owe me."

Gerard shifts. "...okay? How can I make it up to you?"

Bob rubs at his beard and stares at the ceiling for far too short a time to not have been thinking about this. "Let me watch you and the hot waiter."

Gerard's mouth drops open, and he stutters for a good fifteen seconds before Bob bursts out laughing. "Dude, you are too easy. I'm kidding." He reaches across Ray and squeezes Gerard's shoulder. "I'm glad things worked out."

Brian shuffles his papers pointedly and clears his throat. "As touching as this is, and it's really not, can we get down to business?"

Gerard's smile reappears, and not even Brian's cynicism can wipe it away.

"Jesus, Brian," Bob says, picking up a menu. "You'd think it was life and death or something."

Gerard bites back a laugh and forces himself to nod seriously when Brian starts in on the importance of filing the right form when a soul refuses to cross over.

--

Ray lets Gerard crash on the couch for a few hours, and Gerard falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. He's up in three hours, blearily blinking up at Bob.

"You've got an appointment."

Gerard nods and struggles to sit up, smacking his lips. It tastes like something died in his mouth. Luckily, there's a half-full pot of coffee on the counter, and Bob waves him over when Gerard gives it a longing look.

"Ray's got the car, but if you need a ride, I think the littlest reapers are in town, they'd probably give you a lift if you want."

Gerard peers over the top of his coffee and asks, "The littlest reapers?"

"You know..." Bob trails off, and then grins. "Oh, right. You haven't met them yet, have you?"

Gerard shakes his head slowly. Bob's grin is dripping schadenfreude, and suddenly Gerard's much more amenable to just walking to his appointment. Except it's already eleven, and his appointment's halfway across town, in half an hour.

Bob makes the call, and in ten minutes, there are four kids piling out of a little Honda Civic in front of the building. Gerard peers down at them from the window. "They don't look so little." He'd kind of been expecting nine-year-olds or something, although he's not sure why, because obviously nine-year-olds wouldn't be able to drive him anywhere.

"They're legal, nineteen or twenty or something, but they're pretty young." Bob rinses his mug out in the sink and leans against the counter. "You can have them drop you back off here later, if you want."

Gerard nods, but even Bob's hospitality isn't making him feel any more comfortable about the fact that Bob seems to be waiting for something bad to happen. "So, what's the deal with them?" Bob shrugs, but he's smirking, so there's obviously A Deal. Gerard crosses his arms. "No, seriously."

Bob chuckles. "They're just a little weird. They're fine, it'll be fine. See you later."

Gerard frowns at him but answers the door when someone knocks. The four guys are all standing there, one slightly in front of the other three. "Gerard?" Gerard nods. "I'm Spencer, this is Brendon, Ryan, and Jon. You ready?"

Gerard is not sure he's ready for whatever's coming, but he nods anyway and follows them out.

--

The car is a little cramped with five of them, but the two in back with Gerard don't seem to have much problem with personal space. Gerard thinks they’re the ones Spencer called Brendon and Jon, and they’re basically sitting on top of each other. Gerard wouldn’t really think so much about that, he’s not big on PDA but to each his own, except that every once in a while, one of them will reach up to run his fingers through the hair at the nape of Spencer’s neck or lean up to press a kiss against the corner of Ryan’s mouth. Gerard tries to stay on his own six inches of backseat and clears his throat nervously.

“So. You guys have been reapers for a while?”

Brendon untangles himself from Jon and grins. “Just about a year, I think. Right, Spence?”

“It feels like twenty,” Spencer says, and the tone sounds long-suffering, but Gerard can see the fond smile in the rearview mirror.

“And you guys got assigned to the same team, or…”

Brendon waggles his eyebrows. “Oh, we’ve always been playing on the same team.”

Gerard thinks that’s a sexual innuendo, but he just nods and smiles.

“We were together before we died,” Jon explains, smiling patiently and petting at Brendon’s shoulder. “We were a band.”

“Oh, so you died-“ Gerard cuts himself off. Not even Bob and Ray have told him how they died yet, and he’s known them for a lot longer than these kids. “Sorry, none of my business, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, that was really inappropriate-“

Spencer cuts him off this time. “Yeah, we died together. Bus crash. It’s not a big deal.”

Gerard thinks it is kind of a big deal, and he’s suddenly overwhelmed with sadness for these kids that died so young, doing what they loved. “Well…it’s good you got to stay together,” Gerard offers lamely.

“We had some help,” Spencer says enigmatically, and Gerard lets it drop.

They spend the rest of the ride listening to The Beatles while Jon and Brendon play some game that looks like it consists of who can pull the most ridiculous face. Gerard stares out the window, suddenly hit with the urge to ask them to drive him to Mikey’s work. He misses having someone to make ridiculous faces at, and he misses Mikey’s attempts to stay stoic in the face of Gerard’s ridiculousness, and his eventual capitulation. He misses having someone he could call with every stupid little problem, and he misses hearing about Mikey’s problems. He misses his brother. Ray and Bob are great, and Gerard thinks maybe Frank could be that kind of person eventually, but they’re not Mikey.

They drop him off at the address on his Post-It, and Gerard leans down to window-level to tell them thanks for the ride.

“No problem, we were gonna be in the area anyway,” Spencer says.

“Appointments?” Gerard asks.

Spencer nods. “We’re on natural deaths duty, and there’s four nursing homes within a two-block radius. We’re over this way pretty often.”

Gerard nods. “Well, thanks for the ride.”

“Want us to swing by and pick you up when we’re done?” Brendon pokes his head through the back passenger window, and most of his upper body follows. He twists around the divider and reaches in to kiss Ryan on the cheek before snapping back into his own seat, laughing. Ryan looks enchanted.

“Uh, no, but thanks. I’ve got some stuff to do later anyway. It was good meeting you guys.”

They wave and take off, and Gerard wonders if Bob knows something about them Gerard doesn’t know. They seem very affectionate, maybe that was what Bob meant about them being weird. Not that Bob has any room to talk - Gerard has totally seen him touching Ray like that occasionally, and Bob’s even deigned to pat Gerard’s shoulder every once in a while.

N. Rutherford is possibly the easiest reap Gerard has ever had. He’s standing around in the grocery store parking lot, trying to figure out if using the store’s intercom system to page N. Rutherford to the front of the store counts as too much or not, when a guy about his age steps in front of him. “Hi,” the guy says, holding out his hand. “I’m Nick Rutherford.”

“Really,” Gerard says, stretching out the first syllable. There’s not a Punk’d for reapers, he doesn’t think, but this would make an alright setup if there was.

“I’d like to tell you about some of our specials over at the Tech Bin,” Nick says, gesturing toward the building next to the grocery store.

“Oh,” Gerard says, and takes Nick’s hand. “Okay.”

Nick tells Gerard all about the new cell phones they’re offering, and the fantastic warrantee on them, and the cheap monthly calling plan he gets if he buys a phone up front. Gerard is actually considering taking him up on the offer because he really does need a phone, and maybe this place will be desperate enough to sell a phone to a guy with no ID, no credit history, and no steady source of income. He is more excited than he’s willing to admit that he has a number in his pocket to put into his phone. He has Frank’s number.

The point’s moot, though, because two minutes later a graveling shows up and kicks a rock into the path of the guy mowing the grass on the side of the road. The mower hits the rock, the rock goes flying into Nick’s head, and Nick says, “Dude, sorry about the spiel. That job sucked.”

“Nah, it’s okay. You’re actually really good at it, I was thinking about buying a phone.”

“No way, seriously, those things are crap. Check out the Radio Shack on Barker, they’ve got a kickass deal, that’s where I got mine.”

Gerard says he will, and Nick waves before he steps into the light. Gerard waves back.

He’s still stupidly gleeful about the idea of calling Frank at five, being able to just call him up and see if he wants to hang out. If he wants to hang out at the apartment that Gerard does not have. He could probably invite Frank back to Bob and Ray’s place, but that seems sort of lame for a first date.

His glee fades, and he gnaws on his bottom lip. Shit. He needs to come up with a place to live in two hours.

Nick’s body is still lying on the ground, his crisp blue button-up shirt soaked with blood. The guy mowing the lawn is crouched next to him, checking for pulse. He looks up at Gerard frantically. “I didn’t, jesus, I checked the yard for rocks before I started, it was clear, I swear to god-“

Gerard nods sympathetically. “It was an accident,” he says. “You should probably call 911, though.”

The guy looks like the thought hadn’t even occurred to him, and he jumps up and runs into the grocery store. Gerard can see him through the windows, gesticulating wildly at the cashier.

Gerard takes the opportunity to kneel down and brush his hand over Nick’s eyes, closing his wide-eyed gaze, and surreptitiously take his wallet and keys. He presses the alarm button on the keychain and it leads him over to a black Toyota Corolla. Gerard stares straight ahead as he drives out of the parking lot, trying to look like he’s the owner of this car and definitely not like he’s committing grand theft auto.

He lets himself into Nick’s apartment, listening for any sign of a girlfriend or roommate. There’s only one bedroom, and the bedroom only contains a twin bed, so Gerard figures he’s pretty safe.

Nick really had needed that shitty soliciting job. The apartment’s tiny and badly in need of a paint job and new carpet. The shag carpeting reminds Gerard of the interior of Bob’s car. But the place is clean and looks well-lived in, and most of Nick’s interests had been generic enough that Gerard can adopt them for his own without feeling too creepy. He still feels creepy, no doubt about it, he’s in a dead guy’s apartment pretending it’s his own, and there really isn’t a better definition of creepy.

Gerard stares at the clock, watching the minutes tick over until five oh one. He picks up Nick’s phone and dials Frank’s number. Frank picks up on the first ring.

“So we’re definitely doing something tonight, right?” Frank says, and Gerard can hear the grin in his voice.

“Uh, yep. If you want to, yep, definitely.”

“And it’s definitely going to be a date, right?”

Gerard bites his lip to keep his grin from splitting his face. “What constitutes a date?”

“Food’s usually a good start. Come pick me up?”

Gerard grabs Nick’s keys and is halfway out the door before he realizes he’s still carrying the cordless phone and it probably won’t double as a cell phone, much as he might like it to. He confirms Frank’s still at the diner, throws the phone back into the apartment, locks up, and goes to pick up his date.

--

“So,” Gerard says, dropping his keys on the table and closing the door, “This is it.”

By ‘it’ he knows Frank will assume ‘my place’, and Gerard’s happy to let him infer it. The date’s gone so well so far that Gerard’s kind on edge, expecting something to go bad or be awkward or something, but so far he and Frank haven’t found a lack of things to talk about (Frank’s into horror movies, too, and not just the cheesy American ones, but the foreign ones that are more like art than anything, and he thinks Batman’s the best superhero - Gerard can see this getting very serious very fast). The Indian restaurant they went to was amazing, and Frank had hinted he’d wanted to come over until Gerard had invited him. It’s the best date Gerard’s ever been on. It’s probably not that impressive considering it’s only the fourth real date he’s ever been on in his life, but still.

Frank spends a minute looking around, taking a particular interest in the posters hanging on the walls. “Oh, dude, you like The Stones? They’re so fucking awesome, I have like, every album they’ve put out.”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah! They’re really great.“ Gerard has never had much of an opinion one way or the other about The Rolling Stones, and he feels a little guilty lying, but he’s not sure how else to explain the poster.

“So.” Frank settles himself on the couch and grins up at Gerard, clearly inviting.

“So,” Gerard says, nervously playing with the zip on his jacket. It’s not that he doesn’t want to sit next to Frank, and it’s definitely not that he doesn’t want to participate in whatever might happen after sitting next to Frank, but he’s suddenly, painfully aware of how few times he’s done this. “You want something to drink?” He prays Nick kept a stocked fridge.

Frank nods, still smiling. “Sure. Whatever’s fine.”

Gerard goes to the kitchen, letting out a heavy breath once he’s behind the door. What is he doing? He opens the fridge and grabs two cans of soda, leaving the door open and staring in at the food in a panic. What if this is some rule Brian forgot to mention? What if dating the living is some unbreakable rule Gerard’s breaking? What if… Gerard suddenly feels sick. What if having sex with Frank would be like necrophilia? Gerard is dead, and Frank’s not. Would it be like reverse necrophilia, a dead guy having sex with a living guy? Is not telling Frank the whole truth taking away his right to choose? What if having sex with Frank would be necrophilia rape?

Suddenly there’s a hand on his hip and warm breath against the back of his neck, and Gerard starts so hard he drops the sodas. One of them bursts upon impact, spraying everywhere, and Frank laughs against Gerard’s skin. “Jumpy.”

Gerard shuts the fridge and leans down to grab the soda, shielding his face with one hand so he won’t get an eyeful of carbonation. Belatedly, he realizes the position pushes his ass up and back against Frank, although Frank’s moved to put his other hand around Gerard’s waist, steadying him as he leans over, so obviously he doesn’t mind. Gerard straightens up too fast, hits his head on the freezer door handle, and drops the soda again.

Frank makes a sympathetic noise and presses his hand against the back of Gerard’s head, but when Gerard turns around, Frank’s still grinning. Gerard doesn’t really see the humor in the situation, but Frank’s smile is kind of overwhelming, and he’s smiling back before he realizes what he’s doing.

“I’m not actually that thirsty,” Frank says, low and suggestive, and suddenly, Gerard really is that thirsty. His mouth feels like a desert, tongue sandpaper-rough against his palette, and he’s about to break away for a glass of water when Frank kisses him.

Maybe it’s the being dead and thus appreciating every bit of life more thoroughly, or maybe it’s the bump on the head, or maybe it’s just that Frank’s a really, really good kisser, but Gerard has never had a kiss affect him as completely as this one is. His head feels a little light, kind of dizzy in the best way, and he has to wrap his arms around Frank’s waist to keep his balance. Frank nudges Gerard back with his hips until Gerard’s pressed up against the fridge, and then wedges a knee in between Gerard’s legs, keeping him there.

He bites down on Gerard’s lower lip, gently tugging on it and then letting go to soothe over it with his tongue. Gerard moans a little, because fuck, Frank’s grinning at him and kissing him and his knee’s pressed up tight between Gerard’s legs, rubbing just right, and this is the best moment in his undead life thus far.

Frank breathes out hard against Gerard’s lips. “Do that again,” he says, biting at Gerard’s lip again and rocking his knee harder.

“Do what again?” Gerard’s surprised he’s got the ability to speak.

“Make that noise.” Frank trails his mouth across Gerard’s jaw and down to the hollow beneath his ear, hands sneaking their way up under Gerard’s shirt to stroke at his sides. Gerard squirms, laughing breathlessly, and then Frank finds Gerard’s pulse point and sucks, and Gerard moans louder.

Frank shudders, sucking harder, and suddenly his fingers are at Gerard’s belt, fumbling with the clasp. Gerard puts the brakes on, pulling his head back and grabbing Frank’s hands. He’s gotten better over the years, but he’s still ridiculously afraid of anyone seeing him naked. Especially Frank.

Frank blinks at him, concern written all over his face. “What? What’s wrong?”

Gerard laughs shakily. “Can we, uh. I don’t know.” He shakes his head, feeling like a total idiot. He wants this, he wants Frank, but his stomach’s rolling with nerves, and he can’t ignore it.

“Is this too fast?” Frank backs up a step, but he drops his hands to Gerard’s hips, squeezing lightly. “Shit, I’m sorry. I don’t usually…” He laughs, and Gerard’s stomach flutters for a completely different reason. “Okay, I do usually come on this strong, but fuck.” He leans in to press his lips against Gerard’s, catching his bottom lip in between his own for a second before he rests his forehead against Gerard’s. “You are really fucking hot. You know that, right?”

Gerard doesn’t know that, but hearing it is kinda nice. He gives a half-hearted shrug and wraps a hand around the back of Frank’s neck. “Can we just make out for a while?”

Frank kisses his way down to Gerard’s mouth. “Just make out? If it’s with you, it’s not just making out, Gerard. It’s ‘making out, fuck yeah!’” Frank backs up and throws up victory arms. Gerard laughs and grabs him by the belt.

“Let’s get to the kissing then.”

By the time Frank goes home, Gerard’s lips are kiss-swollen and cherry red, and his jaw hurts a little bit when he moves it. Frank’s not much better off, his hair sticking up at crazy angles and his clothes rumpled, but he kisses Gerard at the door and looks a little dazed, but mostly happy. Gerard feels pretty satisfied with himself. He promises to call Frank tomorrow, kisses him once more, and goes to jerk off in the shower. No disrespect to Nick, but he maybe feels like he’s going to pass out from lack of blood to his brain.

--

Gerard wakes up in Nick’s bed to the sound of someone in the living room.

He creeps to the door and peers out, panic setting in when he realizes it’s the family, already sorting through their loved one’s things. Gerard shuts the door as quietly as he can, fumbles with the lock, and grabs his clothes off the floor. His shoes are in the living room where he’d toed them off last night, but he’d much rather go barefoot than explain his presence in a dead man’s apartment.

He manages to slip out the window and get down the fire escape without any major incidents, and he hobbles to a payphone, trying to avoid stepping on any glass or things that look like they might be infected with something.

Ray picks up on the first ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Ray.”

“Are you calling from a payphone?”

“Yes.”

Ray sighs audibly. “One of these days, Gerard, you’re gonna learn to vet your reaps before you squat in their apartments.”

Gerard lets his head rest against the side of the phone booth. “Today is not that day.”

“Tell me where you’re at and I’ll be there in a minute.”

Ray’s still in his pajamas when he picks Gerard up, hair flattened on one side of his head and pillow creases in his face. Gerard slides into the car and grins. Ray scowls. “You’re not allowed to be that happy this early in the morning.”

Gerard refrains from gushing for about thirty seconds.

He’s still talking when they walk into the apartment, Ray shuffling in and throwing the keys on the table and collapsing on the couch. Bob’s already in the chair, still in his pajamas, playing Xbox.

“Make him stop,” Ray groans, grabbing a pillow to put over his head.

Gerard sits on the couch and grins at Bob. Bob narrows his eyes. Gerard’s smile dims slightly. Bob narrows his eyes so much there’s no way he should even be able to see out of them. Gerard forces the smile off his face and clears his throat. Bob goes back to his game, and the smile pops right back onto Gerard’s face.

“So Frank came over last night-“

Ray groans from under his pillow and punches himself in the face through it.

--

Gerard starts spending a lot more time at the diner. He still brings his sketchpad, but for the most part, the pages stay blank. He’s usually too busy watching Frank being sexy pouring coffee, or Frank being sexy serving food, or Frank being sexy just standing around. Occasionally Frank crooks a finger at him and leads him into the bathroom and shows him how sexy he can be in there, too.

Gerard still hasn’t quite got the hang of relaxing and enjoying it, still too self-conscious, but he’s learning. Frank’s an excellent teacher.

“Belt?” Frank asks, mouthing at Gerard’s neck. His fingers are trailing down Gerard’s sides, catching a ticklish spot and making Gerard squirm.

“O-Okay.”

Frank looks up at him in surprise, but Gerard notices he doesn’t stop moving toward his belt buckle. “Yeah?”

Gerard nods, trying to catch his breath. Frank grins and unbuckles Gerard’s belt, letting the ends hang loose and running his hands back up Gerard’s arms until he can grab the sides of Gerard’s face and pull him into another kiss.

“Pants?” Frank asks, pulling away to lick his lips and sneak a hand down to palm himself through his pants, biting back a groan.

Gerard hesitates. On one hand, it’s his pants, and there is nakedness under there. On the other hand, it’s his pants, and his dick in there, and there’s a good chance Frank will touch it. But his hesitation must be answer enough because Frank says, “Okay,” and he doesn’t sound upset about it. He just dives back into the kissing, and when his break’s over, he adjusts himself awkwardly, washes his hands, kisses Gerard again, and says, “There’s a fresh pot of coffee with your name on it out there.”

Gerard adjusts himself, too, and tries to figure out what he would have done bad enough to get assigned reaper duty but awesome enough to get Frank.

--

For a while, almost everything in Gerard’s unlife seems to be what he had always hoped for when he was alive. He’s got friends, he’s got a job that’s important, he’s got a hot boyfriend who thinks he’s hot. He still can’t quite make himself stop stalking Mikey, but even he seems to be doing better, or at least he looks less sad less often.

Besides being hot, Frank ends up being the best boyfriend Gerard could have ever imagined. He prefers staying in to going out, he doesn’t push the nakedness thing, and he likes reality TV. This ends up being a staple of their relationship.

And when the night finally comes when Frank says, “Pants?” and Gerard says, “Sure,” and Frank grins and says, “Shirt?” and Gerard goes, “Yep,” and Frank tugs on Gerard's underwear and says breathlessly, “These?” and Gerard says, “Go for it,” Gerard’s pretty sure the only thing that would make his life any better would be if he had Mikey to go out for coffee with the morning after.

--

Things are good for long enough that Gerard stops waiting for the bad stuff, and the moment he does, the bad stuff shows up with a grin and punches him in the face.

Brian cracks a yawn, covering his mouth with his fist and shuddering.

“Late night?” Bob asks, smirking.

“Yeah, a very romantic evening with a pile of paper supplies,” Brian replies.

“Kinky,” Ray laughs, and Brian doesn’t miss a beat.

“Kinko’s.”

Gerard’s antsy to get his assignments and get going. The more time he spends with Frank, the harder it is to pretend he’s going off to repossess people’s possessions instead of repossessing people’s souls. Frank seems pretty content to let Gerard skim over any pertinent details about his job; Frank’s never exactly jumping to discuss his own job, and they have better things to talk about, but it’s starting to weigh on Gerard. He has to lie to Frank about so many things - his job, his family, his past, and at first it wasn’t too bad, he could gloss over some things and twist some things just enough to make them slightly true, but the more he and Frank get to know each other, the more he knows Frank isn’t really getting to know him at all.

Brian arches an eyebrow at him. “I told you, cut it out with the caffeine before seven AM.”

Gerard forces a laugh. “I just have some…stuff to do. Can I get my assignments?”

He’s supposed to meet Frank later for lunch, and he can’t even confirm he’ll be there until he knows what his schedule for the day is.

Brian frowns but hands the Post-Its over. Gerard shuffles through his quickly, just eyeing the times, and he hits the last one and almost breathes a sigh of relief - none of the times are near the lunch hour - and then he reads the name.

F. Iero, Fifth St. Diner, 11:30 AM

Gerard’s heart stops. He’d always thought it was just a saying, an exaggerated way of expressing shock, but it turns out it’s actually possible to feel your heart stop in your chest. He has to suck in a breath, and he can feel his face flush bright red, a sick sweat breaking out on his forehead. He can hear Brian talking, but it sounds like it’s from far away, tinny and small. The neat block text on the Post-It blurs together, and he realizes he’s staring at it like it might disappear if he stares hard enough.

“Gerard?”

Gerard finally looks up, blinking, and Brian actually looks concerned. “Are you okay? What- do you know one of them?”

Gerard finds himself shaking his head no before he even knows what he’s doing. “N-No. No, just. Not feeling very good.”

Brian doesn’t look like he buys it, but he doesn’t say anything else, and Gerard leaves without saying goodbye.

He gets outside and pukes in the alley, the fucking Post-It clutched into a crumpled wad in his fist.

Panic wells up inside him, and he tries to throw up again, but there’s nothing in his stomach. He can hardly breathe, can’t think through the fog in his head. Frank. Not Frank. Not now. Things had been going so good, and Gerard had finally thought the universe had let up on the shitstorm that was his life. He’d thought maybe being a reaper had kind of balanced things out, but apparently he hasn’t paid for whatever sins someone Up There thinks he’s committed.

It hits him suddenly, out of the blue, and the panic recedes as quickly as it had overwhelmed him. He feels weirdly calm after the rush, almost numb. It doesn’t have to happen. Frank doesn’t have to die. Gerard’s stopped people dying before, for way less important reasons. He hasn’t forgotten how fucked up that had ended up being, but at this moment, it’s worth repeating if it means Frank gets to stay alive.

Bob and Ray come out of the diner a few minutes later, obviously worried, but Gerard’s able to smile and make up some bullshit about being nervous about a big night out with Frank. He’s not sure they buy it, but it’s not like he can fake the flu and go home. Reapers don’t get the flu. Reapers just get Post-It notes with their boyfriend’s name on them.

Gerard has two reaps before eleven-thirty, and he does them both on autopilot, smiling woodenly at the souls and showing them toward the light. It makes him nauseous again, but he can’t help imagining Frank in both scenarios - Frank with his head cracked open and bloody after a fall, Frank’s body floating serenely on top of the water after a swimming mishap. He can’t help imagining Frank walking into the light, away from Gerard, gone for what might be forever. It makes his heart clench painfully in his chest, and he catches a bus an hour before he needs to, showing up at the diner an hour before Frank’s scheduled to die.

Frank grins when he sees him, face lighting up like Christmas morning, and it takes everything Gerard’s got to smile back instead of just grabbing Frank and holding on as tight as he can.

“You’re early,” Frank says, wiping his hands off on a dishtowel and leaning up to peck Gerard on the side of the mouth.

“Is that a complaint?” Gerard asks, falling into the comfortable rhythm.

Frank puts a fingertip to his chin and pretends to think about it. It only lasts a second before he breaks out in a grin and shakes his head. “Nah. I can probably take off early, if you want?”

Gerard nods. He feels disconnected, slightly mechanical in his movements. The panic is a tight knot in his stomach, ready to burst if there’s any hint he might not be able to stop this one. He’d never had any problem before, but there’s the niggling doubt in his mind that this is how the people upstairs have chosen to punish him, and there won’t be any way to save Frank, no matter how hard he tries.

It takes Frank a couple minutes to get his apron off and tell his co-workers he’s going, and by the time he comes around the counter to grab Gerard’s hand, Gerard’s bouncing with nervous energy.

“Where we going?” Frank asks, lingering.

Gerard tugs him toward the front door, glancing around anxiously, expecting to see a graveling lurking around every corner. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s just go.”

Frank follows him, but once they’re outside, he pulls his hand away and frowns. “What’s up?”

Outside the diner is still too close for comfort. Gerard scratches at the back of his neck and smiles awkwardly. “Nothing. Just hungry.”

Frank looks dubious, but he follows Gerard down the street and after a couple minutes, they fall into an easy silence. There’s a café about six blocks away from the diner, and Gerard only starts breathing easier once they make it there. They get seated outside, and once they’re sitting, Gerard hooks his ankle around Frank’s under the table. Frank holds his menu out, looking under the table with a grin, like maybe it’s not really Gerard down there.

Gerard shrugs, suddenly realizing that ‘clingy’ might not be the best choice for relationship behavior. He starts to pull his foot away, but Frank uses both his ankles to trap Gerard’s and keep it where it is.

“You’re still coming to the show tonight, right?”

Gerard nods. He’d completely forgotten about Frank’s gig between everything going on, but it's the first show Frank's invited him to since they started dating, so he’s not going to miss it. Not for the world.

“Of course. You still coming over after to watch Tivo’d episodes of bad reality TV?”

“Your obsession will never make sense to me.” Frank grins, shaking his head.

“Someday,” Gerard warns, “Someday you will miss an episode of Top Chef and you won’t understand why you feel so empty.”

The waiter arrives to take their order, and Frank says, “Well, I’m sure you’ll be around to alert me to my withdrawal and make it all better.”

Gerard watches Frank order and knows that he’ll be around. And if he has anything to do with it, Frank will be, too.

--

The first person is dead by the time they get back to the diner.

“Holy shit,” Frank says, eyes going wide at the sight of the stretcher coming out of the front doors.

They’d heard the ambulance siren wailing down the street, and Frank had craned his neck to see if he could catch a glimpse of it, but Gerard had gone on eating his pasta and ignored it until Frank turned back around and continued his story about the creepy guy that kept coming in and ordering nothing but half a scrambled egg.

The ambulance’s siren isn’t going now; the body on the stretcher is already covered from head to toe. There’s not really any rush to get them to the hospital when they’re definitely dead, Gerard guesses.

Frank rushes in as soon as the paramedics are out of the way, grabbing the arm of one of the other waiters and mumbling, “What the hell, Mark? What happened?”

Mark points to the spot above the counter where a big, bright neon sign exclaiming “Good eats!” used to hang. The sign’s been moved out of the way, but there’s still a big indention where the end of it hit the floor and a smear of blood where some other part of it hit the person on the stretcher.

“It just fell. No warning, nothing. Knocked some guy right off his booth, they said he was probably dead instantly.”

Frank gapes and then looks over at Gerard like can you believe this shit? Gerard shrugs helplessly. He knows who was supposed to die here today, and it wasn’t that guy. But he doesn’t tamp down the overwhelming relief that it’s not Frank on that stretcher, that Frank is still alive and standing right here in front of him.

The diner shuts down for the day and Frank’s unusually somber when they get back to his apartment.

“You okay?” It’s a dumb question and Gerard knows it, but Frank just shrugs and flops down on the couch.

“I guess. It’s just weird, you know?” When Gerard doesn’t answer, Frank waves his hand and says, “You know, death, and everything. Dying.”

Weird doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“My grandpa died when I was little, but I’ve never really had anyone I know die.”

Gerard sits down next to Frank. “You didn’t know this guy, either.”

“Yeah, but he died where I work. I could’ve been there; shit, if it’d swung a different way, it could’ve killed someone I work with. I don’t know. It just feels weird, like maybe if I’d been there he would have sat somewhere else, or I could’ve done something.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to,” Gerard says, and it sounds like a platitude, there’s nothing you could have done, but he knows better than anyone how true it is. If Frank had been there, he’d be the one getting carted off to the morgue.

Frank shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.” He glances at the clock and then squirms until he’s up close to Gerard, face tucked into Gerard’s shoulder. “We have a couple hours until the show. You wanna take a nap?”

Gerard’s not tired - he’s not sure he could sleep after a handful of Valium at this point - but he’s not about to turn down time spent wrapped around Frank. He fakes a yawn. “Sure.”

Frank makes a disappointed face and shakes his head. “One of these days I’m going to get you to recognize when I’m hinting that we should have sex. And that day will be awesome.”

“One of these days you’ll stop hinting and just get naked. And that day will be-“

Frank wiggles out from under Gerard’s arm and grabs the hem of his shirt, shucking it off in record time. “Today!”

They spend the afternoon in bed, kissing until their lips ache and then lazily exchanging blowjobs. Gerard can’t stop thinking about where he’d be if he’d made a different decision; how he might be spending his time if Frank had just died. He can’t stop thinking about the man that died in Frank’s place, and he can’t stop feeling guilty about not feeling guilty about the choice he made.

part 4
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