Fic: That Empty Place
title: That Empty Place
pairing: Frank/Gerard (implied)
rating: R
words: 637
warning: violence, past character death
summary: He lifts the gun up to his face, tilts it until the desk lamp reflects off the gleaming silver barrel and flashes into his eyes. He’s kept it in pristine condition since it came into his possession.
disclaimer: very much untrue. please don't google yourself.
a/n: Another ficlet set in my mafiaverse, after the main story. You probably don't want to read this unless you've read that, since this spoils the ending. I wrote this for the kinkbingo square of "gunplay", though it's not really that kinky, but I hope it works anyway. I was writing something completely different for that square, but I like this ficlet so much more.
Gerard carefully steps around the growing puddle of blood as he walks into the house. The body the blood’s coming from is slumped over on his front, and Gerard can’t actually tell if the guy’s dead or not, but Brian’s pretty efficient. If the guy’s not dead yet, it won’t be long.
Gerard doesn’t draw his gun until he reaches the office, where Brian is standing guard over the only man still alive. The scene is reminiscent of countless others Gerard has lived through in recent months: an older man in a suit, kneeling on the floor, surrounded by blood spatter and his comrades’ dead bodies. Gerard smiles.
Brian doesn’t look away from the man on his knees, but Gerard feels his attention shift. He gives Brain the signal to stand down; this guy’s not going anywhere. Gerard lifts the gun up to his face, tilts it until the desk lamp reflects off the gleaming silver barrel and flashes into Gerard’s eyes. He’s kept it in pristine condition since it came into his possession.
He probably keeps it cleaner than Frank ever did.
The man stares up at him with tear-stricken and blood-stained cheeks. “Please.”
Gerard cocks his head. “Why do you say that?”
“Please, please let me live, please, I’ll do anything, what do you want-”
“I don’t give in to begging.”
“Please, God-”
“Neither does he,” Gerard cuts in coldly. “God won’t hear you any more than he heard me.”
The man clasps his hands together and shuffles forward slightly. In his periphery, Gerard sees Brian raise his gun again, but the man’s focus is solely on Gerard.
“Please, Mr. Way-”
Gerard kicks the middle of the guy’s chest. There’s not a lot of force behind it, but he falls back and catches himself on his elbows while Gerard regains his footing.
“I told you, I don’t-”
“What happened to you?” the man asks, apparently in shock.
Gerard slides his thumb along the grip of Frank’s gun and smiles. “I just really,” he flicks the safety off, “really,” he cocks it, “want to kill you.” He aims the gun.
“Not even you can be this cold-hearted, please, I’ll do anything…”
“He already told you to shut up,” Brian interjects from the doorway. “You’re gonna die; now it’s just a question of how many bullets it’ll take.”
“Just one,” Gerard answers serenely. He doesn’t waste time in firing the shot. The bullet goes right between the eyes and the man keels over backwards.
Gerard doesn’t move. He watches the smoke rise from the barrel of the gun. He murmurs to Brian, “Check the house,” and hears him disappear. Gerard glances at the bodies, double-checking to make sure they’re really dead, then closes his eyes.
The gun is warm in his hand.
He tries to think of how many times Frank stood in this exact position, bleeding corpse at his feet and smoking gun still warm and settled easily in his grip. Way more than Gerard, even with everything Gerard’s done recently.
He feels a gentle hand on his shoulder, thin fingers sliding up and caressing his neck. There’s a breath of air against his ear as Frank whispers, “You’re better at this than I was.”
“No one’s better than you, Frankie,” Gerard whispers back. He wants to lean into Frank’s touch, but it’s not strong enough to hold him. Frank’s not there, behind him, no longer a constant, steady presence.
Brian comes back and pauses in the doorway; Gerard opens his eyes and turns to look. He can’t help the automatic flick of his gaze over to the empty place where Frank should be standing.
“Gerard?”
He looks down at his gun, lets his gaze linger on it a moment before holstering it. Then he looks back up at Brian. “Let’s go.”
fin.
pairing: Frank/Gerard (implied)
rating: R
words: 637
warning: violence, past character death
summary: He lifts the gun up to his face, tilts it until the desk lamp reflects off the gleaming silver barrel and flashes into his eyes. He’s kept it in pristine condition since it came into his possession.
disclaimer: very much untrue. please don't google yourself.
a/n: Another ficlet set in my mafiaverse, after the main story. You probably don't want to read this unless you've read that, since this spoils the ending. I wrote this for the kinkbingo square of "gunplay", though it's not really that kinky, but I hope it works anyway. I was writing something completely different for that square, but I like this ficlet so much more.
Gerard carefully steps around the growing puddle of blood as he walks into the house. The body the blood’s coming from is slumped over on his front, and Gerard can’t actually tell if the guy’s dead or not, but Brian’s pretty efficient. If the guy’s not dead yet, it won’t be long.
Gerard doesn’t draw his gun until he reaches the office, where Brian is standing guard over the only man still alive. The scene is reminiscent of countless others Gerard has lived through in recent months: an older man in a suit, kneeling on the floor, surrounded by blood spatter and his comrades’ dead bodies. Gerard smiles.
Brian doesn’t look away from the man on his knees, but Gerard feels his attention shift. He gives Brain the signal to stand down; this guy’s not going anywhere. Gerard lifts the gun up to his face, tilts it until the desk lamp reflects off the gleaming silver barrel and flashes into Gerard’s eyes. He’s kept it in pristine condition since it came into his possession.
He probably keeps it cleaner than Frank ever did.
The man stares up at him with tear-stricken and blood-stained cheeks. “Please.”
Gerard cocks his head. “Why do you say that?”
“Please, please let me live, please, I’ll do anything, what do you want-”
“I don’t give in to begging.”
“Please, God-”
“Neither does he,” Gerard cuts in coldly. “God won’t hear you any more than he heard me.”
The man clasps his hands together and shuffles forward slightly. In his periphery, Gerard sees Brian raise his gun again, but the man’s focus is solely on Gerard.
“Please, Mr. Way-”
Gerard kicks the middle of the guy’s chest. There’s not a lot of force behind it, but he falls back and catches himself on his elbows while Gerard regains his footing.
“I told you, I don’t-”
“What happened to you?” the man asks, apparently in shock.
Gerard slides his thumb along the grip of Frank’s gun and smiles. “I just really,” he flicks the safety off, “really,” he cocks it, “want to kill you.” He aims the gun.
“Not even you can be this cold-hearted, please, I’ll do anything…”
“He already told you to shut up,” Brian interjects from the doorway. “You’re gonna die; now it’s just a question of how many bullets it’ll take.”
“Just one,” Gerard answers serenely. He doesn’t waste time in firing the shot. The bullet goes right between the eyes and the man keels over backwards.
Gerard doesn’t move. He watches the smoke rise from the barrel of the gun. He murmurs to Brian, “Check the house,” and hears him disappear. Gerard glances at the bodies, double-checking to make sure they’re really dead, then closes his eyes.
The gun is warm in his hand.
He tries to think of how many times Frank stood in this exact position, bleeding corpse at his feet and smoking gun still warm and settled easily in his grip. Way more than Gerard, even with everything Gerard’s done recently.
He feels a gentle hand on his shoulder, thin fingers sliding up and caressing his neck. There’s a breath of air against his ear as Frank whispers, “You’re better at this than I was.”
“No one’s better than you, Frankie,” Gerard whispers back. He wants to lean into Frank’s touch, but it’s not strong enough to hold him. Frank’s not there, behind him, no longer a constant, steady presence.
Brian comes back and pauses in the doorway; Gerard opens his eyes and turns to look. He can’t help the automatic flick of his gaze over to the empty place where Frank should be standing.
“Gerard?”
He looks down at his gun, lets his gaze linger on it a moment before holstering it. Then he looks back up at Brian. “Let’s go.”
fin.