Take the Pieces and Build Them Skywards - part 4

[quarterturn]

back to part 3

Frank goes back to work the next day for an early shift, leaving Gerard to mope around the apartment guiltily. He’s tempted to follow Frank in and spend all day half a step behind him, but he’d had to go to breakfast anyway.

Brian hadn’t said anything, and neither had Ray or Bob, but they’d both given him a couple of searching looks, like they expected him to explain his behavior the day before. Gerard had eaten his pancakes, accepted his assignments, and left. He knew there was no way any of them would know that he’d fallen back into old habits (not all of them, he reminds himself, trying to find something he can’t feel guilty about), but he’d still half-expected Brian to just know and bust out the “you’re fucking everything up” speech again.

The problem is, he knows. He knows exactly how much he’s fucking up right now, and he feels bad for the people that are going to die in Frank’s place, but every time he starts down that path, panic and premature grief bubble up inside him and replace any thoughts of making it right. It is right. Frank’s alive, and anything other than that can’t be right.

He picks Frank up at the diner at three, warily waiting for the news that someone else died at the diner. But Frank’s rambling about the gig they have tonight, how good they sounded at practice, and after a while, Gerard starts to relax. He doesn’t harbor any hope that things might be totally okay, doesn’t imagine that he can just slip Frank under the radar and life will go on uninterrupted, but he’s going to take what he can get for now.

The gig is at a tiny place on the other side of town, and between Frank’s rambling and the fact that they stopped at Frank’s apartment to pick up an amp and ended up having a quickie in the kitchen, Gerard’s feeling okay. He should know by now that that’s just a precursor to things going wrong.

“We were awesome, right?” Frank dives off the (fortunately low-to-the-ground) stage, scaring Gerard half to…life? Second death? Gerard still doesn’t really understand the terminology.

“You were awesome,” Gerard agrees, tugging Frank up closer to himself and starting toward the bar. He orders a Diet Coke for himself and a beer for Frank - they’ve discussed the alcohol thing, vaguely, enough for Frank to know not to offer Gerard any booze - and stares at the way Frank’s t-shirt is clinging to his body from the sweat he’d worked up on stage.

Frank notices him noticing.

“There a dressing room in this place?” Gerard asks, leaning closer to Frank to be heard about the din.

Frank fists his hands in the front of Gerard’s shirt and leans in, too. “There’s a bathroom,” he grins.

They’re halfway toward the bathroom, drinks in hand, when there’s a pop and one of the overhead lights blows, scattering sparks over the stage and the people around it. Someone screams and everyone rushes to get out of the way, but the sparks fizz out the second they hit the ground.

“Jesus,” Frank says. “I should go make sure the guys are okay.” He rushes off, fighting his way through the crowd, and Gerard follows behind, a sinking feeling in his stomach. It was just an accident, it had to be just an accident, things like that probably happened all the time in places like this, right?

He hears Frank before he sees him, voice tight and low and a little freaked-out.

“-know this was going to happen, fuck, you think we would-“

There’s a guy next to him, looking halfway between ready to cry and ready to punch someone. Gerard recognizes him as one of the guys in the band. He doesn’t recognize the guy on the floor, fingers blackened where they’re still gripping the frayed wire. There’s another guy over him, still beating uselessly at the dead guy’s chest.

Frank notices Gerard and comes over, running a hand through his sweaty hair. Gerard pulls out his phone, but Frank waves him off. “Ambulance is already on the way.”

Gerard slides his phone back into his pocket and stands awkwardly, shifting from side to side. Frank says helplessly, “We asked this guy to help us out tonight, doing sound and shit. He’s a friend of a friend or something, I didn’t- I didn’t even really know him.”

Gerard grabs Frank’s hand and squeezes, and by the time the cops and the ambulance show up, Frank’s holding on so tight Gerard’s fingers ache. The guy trying to revive the dead man has given up by now, standing off to the side as awkwardly as everyone else, and they all wait their turn to give statements. Frank keeps jerking, moving like he’s got to get somewhere or do something, and then aborting the gesture halfway. It’s pent up energy at not being able to do anything to help, Gerard can recognize it now, but he doesn’t know how to approach it. He just holds Frank’s hand until they’re done giving their statement, and then he guides Frank out of the bar.

Frank nibbles on his thumbnail the whole way home, and doesn’t say anything when Gerard asks if he wants him to stay the night. They end up going to bed early, still silent. Gerard knows Frank’s just freaked out, he knows Frank’s not upset with him. Deep down, he knows Frank should be.

--

Three more people die over a two-week period, and Gerard starts skipping breakfast. He’s squatting in a new apartment, so he doesn’t have to deal with Bob and Ray asking questions, and he doesn’t doubt that Brian could track him down if he wanted to, but he’s missed two days and there’s still no sign of him.

On the third day, Brian’s waiting outside Frank’s diner when Gerard walks him to work. Gerard stops short and Frank gives him a weird look, following Gerard’s gaze. “You know him?” he asks out of the corner of his mouth.

Gerard nods stiffly. “Brian,” he says by way of explanation and greeting.

Brian nods back, mostly at Frank.

“My uh, boss,” Gerard says. Frank gets an understanding, sympathetic look on his face, and he squeezes Gerard’s arm quickly before he heads in.

“Catch you later, Gee.”

Brian waits for Frank to get inside before he pulls out a cigarette and lights it, offering one to Gerard. Gerard declines. Brian has every right to be exceptionally pissed with Gerard right now, and Gerard hysterically wouldn’t put it past him to poison his own cigarettes with something he’d built up a resistance to just so he could trick Gerard into smoking one.

“So,” Brian says, pointing his chin toward the diner. “Boyfriend?”

Gerard nods slowly.

“I have a speech for that, you know,” Brian says, and he sounds so calm that Gerard’s really starting to get scared. “’Don’t date the living’, etcetera. But I think there’s a bigger issue here.”

Gerard thinks fuck it, I’m dead either way and motions for Brian to pass over the cigarette. Brian gives Gerard his and pulls out a new one for himself.

Brian squints through the smoke curling up off his cigarette. “People are dying again.”

Gerard keeps a straight face, and just how well he does it shocks him a little. He’s gotten a lot better at lying since he took this job, and that doesn’t sit quite right with him.

Brian watches him, expecting an explanation or an apology or a denial or something, Gerard’s sure, but he feels so fucking trapped in on all sides that the best he can do is look back and wait for Brian to just drop the other shoe already.

Brian stares at the end of his cigarette for a second, and when he looks back up at Gerard, he looks more sympathetic than Gerard has ever seen - has ever imagined Brian could look.

“You have to fix this, Gerard. I get it, but you have to fix it. Or someone else will, and I can’t keep them off your back forever.”

Gerard’s so shocked he still doesn’t say anything, and he’s still struck dumb by the time Brian gives him one last look and heads for the waffle house.

Brian’s been…keeping them off his back? Gerard can’t even parse what this means in the overall scheme of things, and he sort of dumbly waves at Frank through the diner window and mouths “be back later.”

He walks, stops by to stalk his brother for a while, and tries to figure out what the fuck he’s going to do. He can’t keep up what he’s been doing - just letting things fall as they may and hoping they work out okay. He’s either gonna have to convince Frank to move as far off the grid as they can possibly go and hope Reapers, Inc. doesn’t have the motivation to track them down - and even he knows how unlikely that is - or he’s gonna have to make things right in the eyes of the universe.

He walks for a lot longer before he ends up back at the diner.

There’s an ambulance just leaving, and a crowd of people hovering around the mess of a car wrapped around a light pole just outside the diner. Gerard swallows past the lump in his throat and goes inside, finding an empty table and pulling out his sketchpad.

Frank comes out of the back a few minutes later, taking his apron off and slinging it over his shoulder. He slides into the chair across from Gerard and drops his head into his hands. “What the fuck.”

Gerard shifts uncomfortably, but he reaches over to squeeze Frank’s wrist. “You okay?”

Frank shrugs, looking up. He looks exhausted, pale with dark bruises under his eyes. Gerard feels a stab of guilt. Frank’s been quieter than usual lately, up more often before Gerard, but apparently he’d been trying so hard to keep Frank under the radar that he’d lost track of him himself. He hadn’t noticed until just now how worn down Frank really was. “Not really. This is the fifth one, Gee, the fifth person who’s died under weird circumstances around me in two weeks. That’s not normal.”

Gerard squeezes Frank’s wrist tighter and tries to imagine what he’d do if he didn’t know what was going on. How would an innocent person act? He nods sympathetically and hopes he doesn’t look too guilty. “I’m sure it’s just coincidence.”

Frank leans back in his chair suddenly, pulling away from Gerard’s grasp. “It’s not fucking coincidence, something’s going on, and it’s not fucking okay.”

Gerard swallows thickly and stares down at his sketchpad. Frank leans back in and reaches over to grab Gerard’s hand. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap like that, I’m just so fucking tired. Everything feels…” Frank rolls his shoulders, visibly tense. “I don’t know, off? Everything just feels really off, like I’m a half-second out of sync with the whole world, you know? I can’t sleep, nothing tastes right, I’m snapping at my boyfriend who’s been nothing but totally awesome to me…” Frank tries for a grin, but on his wan face it looks more like a grimace.

Gerard flips their hands over so he can lace his fingers with Frank’s, and he stares down at them. His chest feels too tight, and his stomach keeps cramping, and he is far, far from an awesome boyfriend.

“Frank, we need to talk.”

He can feel Frank’s hand go tense in his own, and Gerard squeezes it reassuringly.

“About what?”

“Just. Stuff.”

Frank looks like someone just dropkicked his puppy into the middle of traffic and then pushed his grandma off a ledge. “About us?”

Gerard wants to say no just to get that look off his face, but technically it is kind of about them. “Kind of. Not like, I’m not breaking up with you, Frankie. I don’t want to break up with you.”

Frank doesn’t look very reassured, but he squeezes Gerard’s hand back and smiles wryly. “Like I’d let you break up with me, come on. You’d try and I’d give you my sad face and you’d take it back so fast.”

Gerard smiles. “Please. I’m the one with the irresistible sad face. How many times have we watched Rock of Love just because I gave you the sad face?”

Frank laughs, and just doing that makes him look so much more like himself that Gerard’s mood brightens considerably. “I’m pretty sure every time we watched Rock of Love it was because you promised me hot sex afterward.”

“Well I’m the one with the irresistible sad face and the indescribably hot sex.”

The bell at the kitchen window dings and Frank looks over, waving when the cook points at the plates piling up on the counter. He turns back to Gerard and leans across the table, planting a quick kiss on his lips and then standing up. “I won’t argue that.”

Gerard says, “Nothing to argue,” at Frank’s retreating back, but he’s frowning, fiddling with his pencil until he realizes he’s got graphite all over his hands. The thought of coming clean with Frank - not just about the reaper thing, but about Frank’s time being up - makes him want to throw up and cry and hide under the covers and pretend nothing’s wrong. He can’t do any of those things in the middle of the diner, so he scribbles down a quick note for Frank to meet him at Gerard’s place after work, leaves it with another waiter, and leaves.

--

Frank shows up at the address Gerard had left with the waiter at seven-oh-nine, which means he either left work a few minutes early or sped the entire way over. Gerard’s stomach, already flipping uncontrollably, clenches. He wants to say he hadn’t meant to get Frank so worried about the talk, but Gerard’s in a state of complete panic, and he can’t say he’s not feeling a little bit reassured by the idea of Frank being just as upset. That way it won’t be such a jump to devastated when Gerard tells him the truth.

The doorbell rings and Gerard answers it, letting Frank in with a wry smile. Frank answers it, scratching the back of his neck and looking around.

“New digs?”

Gerard motions for Frank to sit on the couch and sits down next to him, wishing more than ever that he had a real place of his own, somewhere familiar, some place filled with his own stuff and maybe some of Frank’s, too. Instead, they’re in a house that smells like Dentucreme and Ben-Gay, knitting basket on the floor next to the couch, a wall full of pictures of people Gerard doesn’t know.

“Kind of.”

Frank rubs his palms on the knees of his jeans, keeps looking around like he doesn’t want to meet Gerard’s eyes. Gerard’s kind of okay with putting this off, even if just for a couple minutes of awkward chit-chat. “You house-sitting or something?”

So much for chit-chat; it’s as good an opening for the discussion they need to have as any. “Not…really. The lady that lived here died yesterday.”

Frank finally looks at him, sympathy creasing his forehead and thinning his lips. “Oh, man, I’m sorry. That really sucks. You were related to her or something?”

Gerard shakes his head, reaching over to take one of Frank’s hands away from nervously picking at the hole in the knee of his jeans. “No. I didn’t know her at all.”

Frank rubs at Gerard’s hand with his thumb, laughing awkwardly. “So you’re…what? Squatting?”

Gerard watches Frank’s thumb move back and forth, tries to ignore the heat traveling up his arm at the touch. He nods. “Yeah.”

Frank’s thumb stops, and he takes a deep breath. “Oh. Shit.” Gerard nods, head bobbing just for something to do so he doesn’t have to say anything else. “Gee, what the fuck.” Gerard looks up, and Frank looks angry. “If you’re having problems with housing or whatever, why didn’t you say something? I can help, fuck, you can just move in with me. You don’t have to fucking…” He glances around again, making a sweeping motion with his arm that Gerard interprets as hole up in a dead woman’s house.

For a split second, Gerard’s brilliantly happy. Happier than he’s ever been, even alive. Frank wants to live with him, Frank’s offering to take the next step, Frank worries about him. And then reality sinks back in, and he chokes down a wave of grief at what the inevitable outcome of this conversation will be. The end of them, one way or another.

“It’s not really that simple.”

Frank squeezes Gerard’s hand so tightly it’s verging on painful. “It is that simple. I’m fucking in love with you, you epically dumb motherfucker. I want you to live with me.”

Gerard laughs, and it sounds like a sob. “I love you, too.”

Frank grins and leans in to kiss Gerard, reaching up with his free hand to tangle his fingers in the back of Gerard’s hair, keeping him pressed close. Gerard lets himself sink into it, clutching Frank’s hand and licking at Frank’s lips until they open. Frank slides his tongue along Gerard’s, flicks at the roof of his mouth, and then pulls back slightly, smiling. “So get your shit and let’s go.”

Gerard pulls back further, until Frank lets go of his hair, and says, “I’m a reaper.”

The smile stays frozen on Frank’s face for too long, and then widens. “Okay. Seriously, where’s your stuff, I’ll get it myself-“

“Frank.” Gerard clenches his hands, nails digging into the tender flesh of his palms. “I’m a grim reaper. I died six months ago, and now I take people’s souls for a living. I didn’t…I didn’t know how to tell you, and then I didn’t want to. I’m sorry.“

Frank stops smiling. “I don’t get it.”

“I’m not sure how else to explain it.”

Frank blinks. “If it’s a joke, I just…sorry, I don’t get it.”

Gerard starts getting frustrated, now that the words are out, now that he finally got himself to say it, he wants to just deal with the fallout. “It’s not a joke. Look, I got hit by a bus, I died, and the Powers That Be brought me back to be a reaper.”

Frank stands up, hands twitching like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “Is this some kind of breakdown? Are you trying to scare me off or something? I don’t, I don’t know what to do with this, Gerard.”

Gerard pulls the crumpled newspaper clipping out of his pocket and unfolds it, staring down at his own smiling face for a second before holding it out for Frank. Frank takes it, scans the picture and the text, and looks even more confused. When he finally says something, it’s slow, measured, like he thinks Gerard really is having a breakdown. “Gerard, that’s not you. It’s the same name, but that’s not you.”

Gerard takes a deep breath. “Look at it. Just. Really look at it.”

Frank stares at him for a beat and then looks down at the picture, studying it carefully. After a minute, something dawns on his face, and he slowly folds the clipping. “He looked a lot like you. Were you related to him?”

Gerard pushes himself up angrily, grabbing the clipping back and shoving it in his pocket. He grabs Frank’s wrist, and his stomach rolls when Frank tenses and leans backward a little. “Come with me.”

Frank lets Gerard drag him out the door, but he’s got the same careful, sad look on his face. “Gerard, whatever’s going on, just talk to me. We can figure it out.”

Gerard opens Frank’s car door and pushes Frank inside, slamming it shut and going around to the driver’s side. By the time he’s in, Frank’s already buckled himself in, and he’s got his cell phone in one hand. It’s not open, but Frank’s clutching it like he might need to use it as a weapon in the face of Gerard’s obvious insanity.

Gerard drives to the address printed on his little yellow Post-It, the one he’d hung onto even after he’d read the information off to Bob earlier. He parks haphazardly at the curb, not bothering to shut the engine off before he’s out and around the car to open Frank’s door. Frank steps out warily, but he takes Gerard’s hand and laces their fingers together, clutching it as tightly as he had the phone in the car.

“Where are we?”

They’re pretty obviously at the lake, and it’s a short walk to the water, so Gerard doesn’t explain. Bob’s already there, standing under a too-short umbrella staked in the sand. He’s got a long-sleeved shirt and jeans on, and despite the streak of sunscreen on his nose, his skin’s already bright red. He looks miserable. Gerard’s pretty sure he’s got Bob beat in the misery department.

“Change your mind?”

Gerard nods shortly. “Thanks for covering for me, but I need to do this one.”

Bob nods back and doesn’t ask twice, pointing to a heavy man sitting on a fold-out chair a few feet away. “That’s him.” He stays where he’s at, glancing at Frank curiously.

Gerard squeezes Frank’s hand, takes a breath, and heads over to the man. He’s got a cooler next to him and beach toys spread out around his feet, and he’s aiming a camera toward a group of kids building a sandcastle. “Molly, David, smile!” Two of the kids look his way and turn on bright, toothy smiles, and the man snaps the picture. “Daddy!” the little girl yells, “I’m gonna go swimming now!” The man nods, setting his camera aside. “Ok, baby, but don’t forget your floaties.”

Gerard stands behind the man, glances at Frank pointedly, and then touches the man’s shoulder gently. The bright blue static travels from the man’s skin into his own hand, the familiar tickle fading quickly. The man twists around to look at him curiously. “Yes?”

“I was just wondering if you knew what time the beach closes,” Gerard says quietly.

“Nine, I think. Good thing, too, kid’s’d keep me here all night if they could.” The man grins up at Gerard, and Gerard smiles back.

“Dad!” There’s panic in the voice of the little boy at the sandcastle, and the man jerks out of his chair before he’s even got his head turned in the right direction. David points to the water. “Molly went under, Dad, I can’t see her!”

The man’s off and running, fighting through the choppy waves at the edge of the sand and then diving in once he’s in deeper water.

Frank’s fingers are digging into Gerard’s hand, and then suddenly, he’s trying to get loose. “We should go help, Gerard, shit, what if something-“ Gerard holds on tight, refusing to let Frank go. Frank pushes at Gerard’s hand, starting to sound angry. “Gerard, what the fuck, come on, let go.”

“Molly!” David runs toward the little girl wading in out of the water, pushing her hair out of her face and grinning.

“Fooled you,” she laughs, and David grabs her arm.

“Dad went in after you,” he says, and Molly’s smile fades. They both turn to look out over the water, shoulders hunching up further and further the longer they wait. Frank finally pulls loose of Gerard and takes off toward the water, diving in. He stays under for a minute, pops back up to scan the people crowding around on the beach, and then goes back under. He does it a few times before he starts swimming back, frustration and disappointment evident on his face. The man never resurfaces.

“At least she’s okay,” the man says, standing next to Gerard, his clothes dry as a bone.

Gerard nods, forcing a smile for the man and squinting against the sudden bright light behind him. The man’s gone in a flash, and Gerard’s left squinting into the sunlight when Frank comes back, looking like a drowned rat. A kind of freaked out drowned rat, which Gerard supposes would be a natural reaction to drowning, but that’s neither here nor there.

“You knew he was going to die,” Frank says, wringing out his shirt. He states it pretty simply, an edge of hysteria lurking under the calm exterior.

“Yeah,” Gerard says. “I took his soul before he died, that’s my job.” Just saying it again makes him feel tired, sick of what he does and sick of explaining what he does and sick of waiting for Frank to freak out about what he does.

Frank wrings the bottom half of his shirt out until there’s nothing left to wring, and then he keeps squeezing it. “If you knew, why didn’t you…” Finally Frank looks up, cocking his head a little and squinting at Gerard, lips pursed, like if he doesn’t keep careful control of his face, he’s going to lose control completely. “Why didn’t you warn him? Why didn’t you make sure he knew?”

“That’s not how it works. People die, they’re supposed to die. You can’t stop it. You can just make it a little easier on them.” Gerard hears the hypocrisy in his words, knows how stupid it is to keep the lie going at this point. He can stop it, he did stop it, he is still preventing fate from taking its intended victim.

“What happens if you don’t? Because I can’t think of anything much fucking worse than letting two kids watch their dad die when you could have stopped it.”

Gerard absorbs the hurt of the words, lets them sink down deep and spread out. Letting Frank hit back is the only thing making this any easier. “Other people start dying. People who aren’t supposed to. Things get messy.”

Frank goes very still, face blanking of any expression. Gerard watches him, sadness invading every part of him. It’s the cowardly way out, just letting Frank figure it out on his own, but he can’t make himself say, You’re going to die. He can’t make himself say, I’m supposed to take your soul.

It’s a long time before Frank moves again. When he does, it’s like he’s coming out of a deep sleep, little parts of him moving first, waking up before his whole body does. “That’s why all those people have been dying around me. It was supposed to be me.”

Gerard nods. The sun’s beating down on him, making his skin stretch, and it feels tight on his bones. He can hear sirens in the distance, the disquieted murmur of the crowd near the water, the hysterical crying of the kids. He can’t make himself care about anything except the way Frank’s looking at him.

Frank stands there for a few more seconds, and Gerard’s pretty sure he’s going to get punched. He’s pretty sure he deserves it. But then Frank just takes a deep breath, turns, and walks away. Gerard watches him go, keeps him in eyesight until he gets to his car, gets in, and leaves. He stands there for a while longer, long enough that the ambulance arrives and a rescue team goes in after the dead man, long enough that eventually Bob comes back and leads him toward the car.

--

Two days go by, and Frank doesn’t call. He doesn’t show up to work, either, doesn’t even leave his apartment. Gerard knows this because he’s taken to hanging out across the street, huddled under a tree. Occasionally Ray stops by with a coffee or a sandwich, once Bob stops by to tell him to stop being such an emo kid.

On the morning of the third day, Brendon shows up with breakfast and doesn’t say anything when Gerard refuses the food and just sucks down the coffee without so much as a thank you. Brendon chatters for the better part of an hour, about everything and nothing, about his crew, Gerard thinks. He’s not really paying attention. He starts paying attention when Brendon says, “…Mikey.”

Gerard takes his nose out of his coffee cup. “What?”

Brendon grins. “I met Mikey.”

“…where?”

“At the music store. Pete mentioned Mikey worked there, so I stopped in. He’s a really cool guy.”

Gerard’s heart lurches. He hasn’t been to see Mikey in a week, and it’s been even longer since he stopped obsessively tracking his movements. Guilt rolls over him, and he doesn’t mean to, but he thinks, I hope Mikey didn’t forget about me, too. Because it’s not like he forgot about Mikey, he could never forget about Mikey, but the last time he’d been to see him, Mikey had been half-bent over the counter at the music store, peering at something in a magazine a guy was holding up, and he’d been smiling. He’d been smiling like he meant it, no hint of grief or sadness around the edges, and Gerard had breathed a little easier. He doesn’t want Mikey to forget about him, but he doesn’t want to be the only thing Mikey remembers.

Belatedly, Gerard asks, “Pete?”

Brendon waves his hand. “Oh, you know, our handler. Pete Wentz. He’s kind of a big deal. In the death business, anyway. Probably would’ve been in life, too, if he’d lived longer.” Brendon looks thoughtful.

“How does he know my brother?”

Brendon shifts uncomfortably, eyes sliding to the side. “Oh, uh. I guess I thought you knew?”

Gerard turns to face Brendon fully, coffee erupting over the side of his cup when he crushes it in his hand. Not Mikey, too.. He’s broken a lot of rules since becoming a reaper, he’s already going to catch hell when Brian finds out about Frank, but he’s willing to risk a double dose of wrath if Mikey’s in the crosshairs now, too. “How. Does. He. Know. My brother.”

Brendon scratches at the back of his neck and laughs nervously. “They’re dating, dude. I really thought you knew. Shit, Pete is so gonna have my balls for breakfast.”

Gerard feels a little dizzy, going from terrified to amused in about half a second flat. He laughs, and then he starts logicing it out in his head. “Wait, Pete’s a reaper, right?”

“Yeah.” Brendon still looks wary.

“And he’s a handler?”

“Yeah…” Brendon’s leaning back a little now, like maybe Gerard’s going someplace that ends up with Brendon being the one to blame for something.

“Aren’t there…I was told there were rules about that kind of stuff.”

Brendon laughs, relaxing a little. “Oh, yeah. Rules. Pete kind of has this rule about never following rules. It drives the boss crazy.”

Gerard’s starting to feel just as lost as he did the day he died. “The boss?”

Brendon sips at his own coffee and waves his hand again. “Pete’s boss, not The Boss, you know. Patrick.” At Gerard’s blank look, he explains, “He’s in charge of all the handlers, like our handlers are in charge of us. He makes sure they’re doing their jobs and stuff. Except Patrick has a soft spot for Pete, or Pete’s just good enough at his job that it doesn’t matter, I don’t know. I just know he doesn’t get in trouble for much, and he does a lot of trouble-making.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Like I said, Pete doesn’t really think much of the rules. He tells us a lot more than he probably should.” Brendon looks intensely proud of that fact. “He’s pretty great.”

“Sounds great,” Gerard says faintly, although he’s reserving judgment on his brother’s apparent boyfriend until he actually meets the guy, which he plans on doing as soon as possible. “You guys meet up every morning?”

Brendon looks confused. “No, why would we?”

“…to get your assignments.”

Brendon laughs and leans back so he can pull a Sidekick out of his insanely tight pants. “He just texts us. We only meet up if there’s a problem, but we usually see each other every couple of days anyway, to hang out or whatever.”

Gerard can’t imagine meeting up with Brian just to hang out. He imagines Brian would huff a lot and possibly try to make them do reaping drills or something.

“Are you guys meeting up anytime soon?”

“Yeah, later today. You wanna come?” Brendon looks so enthusiastic that Gerard wouldn’t say no even if he didn’t have ulterior motives.

“Sure. I might need-“

Brendon grins and stands up. “We’ll swing by and pick you up at four.”

Gerard settles back against the bench and smiles. It’s been long enough since the last time he did that his face feels a little funny, but mostly it feels nice. “Thanks, Brendon.”

Brendon shrugs. “I hope things work out with Frank.” A car pulls up at the curb just then, and Brendon’s close enough to the curb that Ryan can reach out and grab his wrist, tugging him toward the car with a grin. Gerard doesn’t get a chance to ask how he knows about Frank, or how much he knows about Frank, or come to think of it, how he knew where to find Gerard in the first place. He assumes the answer he’d get would either be, “Bob,” or “Ray.” Possibly both.

When the car pulls away, Brendon waving like crazy, Gerard sits back to finish his coffee and stare at Frank’s window some more.

--

At noon, Frank comes out. Gerard’s been busy thinking up ways to intimidate his brother’s boyfriend who is also a reaper and is possibly a Big Deal. Gerard is possibly the least intimidating person he knows, and he is far from a Big Deal in the death business, so really, he hasn’t come up with much yet. In any other case, he’d threaten death to anyone who might potentially hurt Mikey, but somehow he doesn’t really think that will have much impact here.

When he sees Frank, Gerard sits up and tries to look inconspicuous, tucking his face into his shoulder at an angle where he can still see Frank out of his peripheries, but it doesn’t seem to matter, because Frank’s headed right toward him.

“What are you doing?”

Gerard takes his face out of his shoulder and looks up, instinctively going for the “who, me?” face. “Uh. Sitting here?”

Frank crosses his arms and looks annoyed, and Gerard is so fucking in love with him he can hardly stand it. “Why are you staking out my building?”

“A guy can’t sit on a bench and relax? I’m not staking out your building.”

Frank taps his foot three times, tap tap tap, and shifts his weight. “A guy can sit on a bench. A guy can’t sit on a bench for almost three days straight staring at the same building. Well, he can, but then he’s a stalker.”

Gerard slumps. “I miss you.”

Frank sits down on the bench next to him and wipes his hand across his face. Gerard suddenly notices how tired he looks, the stubble on his chin that looks about three days old, the same t-shirt he was wearing at the beach. “I miss you, too,” Frank finally says, and it takes everything Gerard has not to just reach over and kiss him, tell him to forget everything, beg him to let things go back to the way they were.

“So what now?” Gerard asks softly.

Frank reaches over and laces his fingers with Gerard’s, staring at their intertwined hands for a few seconds before squeezing gently and letting go. “People can’t keep dying so I can stay alive,-“

Gerard shakes his hand loose and stands up. “No.” He busies himself with his pockets, pulling out a lighter and a handful of change, switching them to opposite pockets and then back again. Anything to avoid hearing what Frank’s going to say.

Frank stands up, too, slips his arm around Gerard’s waist, and catches his wrist to keep him from juggling the lighter and change any more. “Come in with me.”

Gerard stares at Frank’s hand, the vivid tattoos and the tiny scars. Gerard doesn’t know about all of them yet; he doesn’t know why Frank has barbed wire around his wrist, or why he has a tiny, jagged scar in the webbing between his third and fourth fingers. He doesn’t know what Frank wanted to be when he grew up, or whether he likes Chinese food, or if he wants kids. There’s so much he doesn’t know, and he’s suddenly, overwhelmingly angry with himself for not finding out sooner. He had all that time with Frank, all those months he spent arguing in favor of watching Rock of Love instead of the History Channel, all those hours he spent sleeping in or hanging out with Ray and Bob or drawing, and he could have been using them to find these things out.

“A few more months,” he says, and he knows before he’s done asking what the answer will be.

“How many people are gonna die while I’m alive?” Frank drops his forehead against Gerard’s shoulder, leaning in like he might fall over if he doesn’t have something to keep him standing. “I don’t…” He sighs. “I don’t wanna die, Gerard, I like my life. I like my life with you. And for a while I thought maybe I could live like that, knowing I was living on someone else’s time, if I had you. But I can’t. I won’t.” He lifts his head, gently pulling away. “If you won’t do it, I’ll find someone who will. Bob, or Ray.”

Gerard looks up in surprise, and Frank grins wryly. “I’m not completely blind. You guys hang out all the time, keep the same weird hours. If they’re not reapers too I’ll eat your socks that I know you’ve been wearing for at least three days. Gross, Gee. Seriously gross.” He’s still smiling, and just the idea of smiling right now makes Gerard want to crumple in on himself.

Frank shoves his hands in his pockets and tilts his head toward the building. “Come inside.”

Gerard takes a step forward, grabs Frank’s hand again, and nods. He knows just how selfish it is to want to talk Frank out of what he’s decided, but knowing doesn’t make him want to do it any less.

Frank’s apartment is cluttered, not really dirty, just covered in piles of stuff. Stacks of CDs, half of them out of their cases. Comics lay open everywhere, photo albums have half-blank pages, the pictures sitting out, most of them propped up on something. Frank makes a face. “Sorry about the mess.” He goes to the fridge and pulls out two beers, offering one to Gerard. Gerard wants one more than he can ever remember wanting one in his life, wants something to dull the pain in his gut, the pounding in his head, but even if it could, he doesn’t want anything to dull the time he’s spending with Frank. He shakes his head.

“Going through all your earthly possessions?” Gerard asks.

Frank flops down on the sofa and sips his beer. “Kind of. Not to like, make out my will or anything, I don’t really care what happens to my stuff. Just.” He picks up a picture from the arm of the couch and grins at it. “Just trying to process everything.”

Gerard sits down next to him and takes the picture. It’s Frank, probably three or four years old, wearing a huge pair of sunglasses and grinning cheesily at the camera. His grin hasn’t changed much. “Trying to decide if you want to die?” It sounds bitter, tastes bitter in his mouth, but he can’t help it. Suddenly, it feels a lot like Frank’s telling him he’s not worth living for.

Frank takes another drink of his beer, picks up another picture. It’s Frank again, this time at a white table with a god-awful yellow place mat, blowing out the candle stuck in half a pecan pie. His mom and what Gerard assumes is his grandma are behind him. “Trying to decide if I’d be okay letting someone I loved die so someone who should rightfully be dead could live.”

It hits Gerard in the gut, the guilt and the grief and the knowledge that if it was Mikey, if it was his mom in the line of fire, if they were going to die before their time because some selfish asshole couldn’t let go, he’d make sure fate carried through with the right death. But it’s Frank, and Gerard can’t help saying, “Did you decide whether or not it was okay to leave behind people who love you, when you have a choice?”

Frank looks at him, and Gerard can see the apology in his eyes, the fierce determination in the set of his mouth even before he says, “Yeah. It’s not okay, but it’s better than the alternative.”

Gerard presses the heels of his hands into his eyes and tries not to let the grief cripple him. Frank puts his hand on the back of Gerard’s neck, squeezes lightly, rubs at the tense muscles. “You should tell me about being a reaper.”

So Gerard tells him about Brian, and the littlest reapers, and how badly he fucked up at first, and how much he misses his family, and how eventually, he’ll cross over, too. Frank looks alternately amused and rapt, asking questions and making ‘aha!’ faces when Gerard mentions something that explains some past weird behavior or omission. He’s especially curious about Mikey, and Gerard’s spent so long keeping himself from talking about him to Frank for fear of having to pony up a brother he can’t actually produce that he talks himself hoarse catching up.

Before long, it’s four o’clock and there’s a car honking on the street. Gerard checks out the window to make sure it’s Brendon, and spontaneously says, “Wanna come meet Mikey’s boyfriend with me?”

Frank grins.

The car is definitely not equipped for five people, let alone six, so Frank ends up on Gerard’s lap, relaxing back against him until Gerard can nose at the stubble on his cheeks. They hold hands the whole ride there, and he’s not exactly self-conscious about it - all notions of embarrassment or too much affection have gone out the window at the prospect of only a certain amount of time left with Frank - but when he glances between the seats and sees Jon and Ryan brushing each others’ hands like some bizarre mating ritual before actually clasping, he feels a little more at home.

They pull up outside a club, and in the late afternoon sun, it looks too big, garish, out-of-place. They pile out of the car, and Spencer leads the way inside, taking them across the main floor and past the karaoke stage to a back room. It’s not exactly what Gerard imagined a VIP room would look like: it’s mostly old, worn couches, cushions sagging, a foosball table that’s seen better days, and a bookshelf crammed with so many books the shelves bow. The only luxury in the room is the flatpanel high-definition TV on the wall, but even that’s hooked up to an old-school Nintendo system whose controller wires are held together with duct tape.

There’s a guy sitting on one of the couches, furiously scribbling away in a notebook, and since he’s the only one there, Gerard can only assume he’s Pete. He’s small, way smaller than Gerard had imagined, only marginally bigger than Frank. He’s got the most ridiculous pair of bright orange sneakers on, and they clash horribly with his purple hoodie, but he doesn’t really look like the type that cares. When he hears them come in, he looks up and grins, and Gerard’s taken off-guard by the wideness of it, the genuine excitement behind it.

“You must be Gerard.” He bounces out of his seat and comes over to take Gerard’s hand, pumping it enthusiastically. “Dude, I have heard…” He makes a gesture with his hands, rounding them and using them to draw a bubble around his head. “So much about you, seriously. Between Mikey and these guys, I feel like I already know you.”

Gerard prickles a little at that. Pete doesn’t know him, and it sets off a deep-seated sort of jealousy that Pete - also a reaper - has gotten to spend enough time with Mikey to hear all about his dead brother, while Gerard has had to resort to skulking around like a sexual predator just to catch glimpses of him.

Frank stays close to Gerard, sitting so close to him on the couch Pete offers he’s practically in Gerard’s lap. The rest of them sprawl out over two of the other couches, and Pete perches precariously on the edge of the foosball table. “So, you’re probably like, kind of bummed about not seeing Mikey much anymore, huh?”

Gerard has to seriously restrain himself from knocking Pete over and using his head to score a foosball goal.

“Yeah. Bummed, you could say that.”

Pete waves his hands. “It’s fucked up, man, the whole system. Don’t do this, don’t do that, don’t go see your family anymore, like you can just turn off all the things that tie you to them.”

Gerard relaxes a little, and he nods. “You seem to get away with not following the rules.”

Pete grins, and it verges on preening. “I’ve got someone upstairs looking out for me. That helps.”

“I bet.”

Pete’s grin fades, and he kicks his feet a little. “Me and Mikey, we’re good together, you know?”

Gerard doesn’t know, and as much as he wants to hate Pete just for having what he doesn’t - his brother and a relationship that doesn’t have an inevitable end in the immediate future - he wants to believe him. “He’s doing okay?”

Pete nods. “Better, anyway. I didn’t meet him until a while after you died, but he was still pretty torn up about it. He still is. He misses you a lot. But he’s getting better. He doesn’t freeze up every time we go to a comic store anymore.”

Gerard’s stuck between feeling guilty that such mundane things would affect Mikey so strongly and glad they’re not anymore. “Does he, uh. Does he know?”

“Nah. That’s kind of a heavy thing to bust out on someone, you gotta time it right or it fucks everything up.” He catches himself about halfway through the sentence, eyes sliding over to Frank, and last few words are spoken with a distinct air of ’oh shit’.

“I’m Frank,” Frank says, half standing up to lean over and shake Pete’s hand.

“I’ve heard about you,” Pete says, shaking Frank’s hand just as enthusiastically as he had Gerard’s. “The suits upstairs aren’t real happy about you.”

Frank doesn’t look too concerned, but Gerard’s throat suddenly goes dry. “They know about Frank?”

Pete makes a face.”They’re the ones that picked his name out of a hat or whatever, right? If you got the assignment and Brian gave you the assignment, stands to reason someone gave Brian that assignment. And since Frank hasn’t shown up all be-winged and be-harped, they probably know the score.”

“There’s not really wings and harps and shit, is there?” Frank sounds kind of horrified.

Pete laughs, and it’s such a ridiculous sound that Gerard can’t stop the smile that spreads over his face. “Nah, dude, I don’t think so. I haven’t been there so I don’t know for sure, but Patrick’s up there and he wouldn’t put up with wings. Harps maybe.” Pete looks thoughtful.

Gerard’s smile doesn’t last very long. He can’t really imagine what could be done to him as punishment for keeping Frank alive - keep him on Earth longer? Make him listen to one of Brian’s lectures? - but he’s suddenly struck with the idea that maybe they’ll punish Frank for it. “Are they really pissed about Frank?”

Pete shrugs. “I think you would’a heard about it by now if they were like, smite you down pissed.” Gerard breathes easier, but Pete adds, “You probably shouldn’t keep them waiting, though.”

Frank squeezes Gerard’s leg and says diplomatically, “We’ve got it figured out.”

part 5
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