Breathe Recycled Air and Sleep on Borrowed Time
Title: Breathe Recycled Air and Sleep on Borrowed Time
Pairing: Frank, Gerard, Bob (gen)
Rating: PG for f-bombs
Summary: It started with a sneeze, two days ago.
WC: ~1,300
Disclaimer: Not real, not mine.
Notes & Stuff: Title from "I Ain't Lost if I'm With You" by E for Explosion.
Frank knows as soon as he cracks his eyes open that he's in deep shit. His head feels muzzy and heavy, and the tension in his neck aches all the way down to his shoulders and through his ribcage.
"Aw, fuck," he croaks, mashing his face into his pillow. His next breath is too shallow, catches and explodes into a wracking cough that makes his brain feel like it's rattling around in his skull. He groans and clutches his belly. "Fucking fuck."
It started with a sneeze, two days ago. Just one, but it's never just one sneeze, or just one cough, or just one anything, with Frank. It starts off that way, his throat too dry or his lungs too wet. One fucking sneeze, and he knew this was gonna be a bad one by the way his neck was a little stiff when he went to bed.
He turns to face the wall of his bunk, the pictures of Jamia and the dogs, his parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins, all the friends he doesn't get to see enough. He fumbles for his phone, curling up into a tighter ball, and indulges the homesick clench in his gut enough to think about how warm the bedroom gets while Jamia's in the shower, the way the dogs will pile up on her side of the bed after she gets up. Her pillow is always squashed up just right when he steals it, his head fitting perfectly in the indent hers left behind.
His phone's still on Jersey time. It's quarter after six back east. He could still call; he can always call, Jamia never cares what time it is or if he wakes her up. She might even be up already, getting ready for work. Frank has no idea what day it is.
"Frank?" Gerard's voice sounds far away, like Frank's hearing it underwater. Frank rolls over and pulls his bunk curtain back an inch, dropping his arm through the narrow opening. He waggles his fingers and Gerard's hand closes over his, squeezes and then tugs. "Frank."
Frank pushes onto his elbow and peers over the edge of the bunk. Gerard looks back at him with wide-eyed concern, no trace of sleep. His light's on; he was probably drawing. Gerard never really sleeps on the bus, even when he can.
"I think there's still some of that Cold Care tea from last time," he says, smiling small and crooked. He doesn't bother with asking if Frank's okay anymore; they're way past that. "You want some?"
What Frank really wants is to pull Gerard up into the bunk with him, or slip down into Gerard's, anything for the comfort of a body he can soak up heat from.
And Gerard would do it, Gerard would let Frank octopus all over him and get him sick and Frank would feel like shit, after, when Gerard's sniffling over endless cups of tea because he can't even take meds. Gerard would do that for him. Sometimes Frank's even selfish enough to let him. Not today, though.
"Sure."
He waits for Gerard to shimmy out of his bunk first, all knees and elbows and socked feet. Frank laughs, or starts to, but then he's coughing again, into his pillow to muffle the sound. Gerard's hand alights between his shoulder blades, rubbing slow circles. Frank sputters weakly one last time.
"I sound like a fucking foghorn," he grumps, swinging his legs out into the aisle. Gerard holds onto him while he slides to the floor, steadying Frank when he sways. His center of gravity is all out of whack, his feet leaden and dragging. Now that he's up and moving, everything aches. He shudders and leans into Gerard, moaning pitifully.
"You've sounded worse." Gerard reaches into Frank's bunk and pulls out a hoodie and a blanket, hugging them to his chest with one hand and leading Frank out into the front lounge with the other. "C'mon."
Frank shuffles over to the bench sofa and curls up in the corner. He takes the hoodie from Gerard and struggles into it while Gerard tucks the blanket around his legs. Up close like this, Frank can see the small line of worry etched between Gerard's eyebrows.
He grabs the front of Gerard's shirt and pulls him down until their foreheads bump, harder than Frank meant. His depth perception's off, too.
"Ow. Sorry." He smiles and tugs at the ends of Gerard's hair, where it's knotted up funny because Gerard's always got his fingers in it. "Thanks, Gee."
Gerard squinches up his face. "You're welcome. Now lemme go so I can make your tea."
"M'kay." Frank burrows deeper into the sofa, closes his eyes and listens to Gerard puttering around. The slosh of water in the kettle, the clink of a mug, the squeak of the cupboard doors. Gerard humming quietly, something Frank thinks he knows, or should, but he can't place it. He starts to ask what it is, but it gets lost on a jaw-popping yawn. He'll ask later, if he remembers.
He hears the kettle whistling and tries to sit up, but he's dead weight, halfway back to sleep already and too tired to fight it. The last thing he remembers is the smell of tea, Gerard's quiet huff of laughter, and the weight of a body settling against his.
*
Frank comes out of sleep slowly, to sound and light, voices and movement. Cartoons on the TV, the smells of coffee and burnt Pop Tarts, and then the sudden, violent need to cough. He pitches forward, knocking shoulders with Gerard and Bob as he doubles over, stamping his foot. Motherfuck.
"Here." Gerard hands Frank a bottle of water, his mouth screwed up in a frown. "You okay?"
It still slips out once in a while. Frank nods, cracking open the bottle. He touches his knee to Gerard's.
"He's fine." Bob claps a hand over Frank's shoulder, grinning. "Morning, asshole." His thumb digs in at the base of Frank's neck, kneading at the tight knot of muscle. Frank hums gratefully, letting his head loll forward.
"You were in my spot," Bob says. "So I took it back."
Frank snorts. "I hope I drooled on you in my sleep."
"You did."
"Yeah, well. Good."
Bob doesn't coddle Frank when he's sick, doesn't hover and worry over Frank's every breath the way Gerard does, but he's always willing to be Frank's human furnace, whether Frank asks him to or not. It's nice when he doesn't even have to.
Frank wipes his nose on Bob's sleeve; Bob flicks his ear without missing a beat. Frank laughs, rubbing at it, and elbows Bob in the ribs.
Bob raises an eyebrow. "That all you got, little man?"
Frank can't even muster the energy for a good comeback. He flips Bob a half-hearted bird instead. "Right now? Yeah."
After a beat, Bob nods. "I'll let you off the hook, on account of the plague and all."
Frank pulls his hands up inside his sleeves and squirms back, wedging himself in tighter between Bob and Gerard. He tucks his head under Gerard's chin, tangles his cold feet with Bob's warm ones, and grabs the remote.
Pairing: Frank, Gerard, Bob (gen)
Rating: PG for f-bombs
Summary: It started with a sneeze, two days ago.
WC: ~1,300
Disclaimer: Not real, not mine.
Notes & Stuff: Title from "I Ain't Lost if I'm With You" by E for Explosion.
Frank knows as soon as he cracks his eyes open that he's in deep shit. His head feels muzzy and heavy, and the tension in his neck aches all the way down to his shoulders and through his ribcage.
"Aw, fuck," he croaks, mashing his face into his pillow. His next breath is too shallow, catches and explodes into a wracking cough that makes his brain feel like it's rattling around in his skull. He groans and clutches his belly. "Fucking fuck."
It started with a sneeze, two days ago. Just one, but it's never just one sneeze, or just one cough, or just one anything, with Frank. It starts off that way, his throat too dry or his lungs too wet. One fucking sneeze, and he knew this was gonna be a bad one by the way his neck was a little stiff when he went to bed.
He turns to face the wall of his bunk, the pictures of Jamia and the dogs, his parents and grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins, all the friends he doesn't get to see enough. He fumbles for his phone, curling up into a tighter ball, and indulges the homesick clench in his gut enough to think about how warm the bedroom gets while Jamia's in the shower, the way the dogs will pile up on her side of the bed after she gets up. Her pillow is always squashed up just right when he steals it, his head fitting perfectly in the indent hers left behind.
His phone's still on Jersey time. It's quarter after six back east. He could still call; he can always call, Jamia never cares what time it is or if he wakes her up. She might even be up already, getting ready for work. Frank has no idea what day it is.
"Frank?" Gerard's voice sounds far away, like Frank's hearing it underwater. Frank rolls over and pulls his bunk curtain back an inch, dropping his arm through the narrow opening. He waggles his fingers and Gerard's hand closes over his, squeezes and then tugs. "Frank."
Frank pushes onto his elbow and peers over the edge of the bunk. Gerard looks back at him with wide-eyed concern, no trace of sleep. His light's on; he was probably drawing. Gerard never really sleeps on the bus, even when he can.
"I think there's still some of that Cold Care tea from last time," he says, smiling small and crooked. He doesn't bother with asking if Frank's okay anymore; they're way past that. "You want some?"
What Frank really wants is to pull Gerard up into the bunk with him, or slip down into Gerard's, anything for the comfort of a body he can soak up heat from.
And Gerard would do it, Gerard would let Frank octopus all over him and get him sick and Frank would feel like shit, after, when Gerard's sniffling over endless cups of tea because he can't even take meds. Gerard would do that for him. Sometimes Frank's even selfish enough to let him. Not today, though.
"Sure."
He waits for Gerard to shimmy out of his bunk first, all knees and elbows and socked feet. Frank laughs, or starts to, but then he's coughing again, into his pillow to muffle the sound. Gerard's hand alights between his shoulder blades, rubbing slow circles. Frank sputters weakly one last time.
"I sound like a fucking foghorn," he grumps, swinging his legs out into the aisle. Gerard holds onto him while he slides to the floor, steadying Frank when he sways. His center of gravity is all out of whack, his feet leaden and dragging. Now that he's up and moving, everything aches. He shudders and leans into Gerard, moaning pitifully.
"You've sounded worse." Gerard reaches into Frank's bunk and pulls out a hoodie and a blanket, hugging them to his chest with one hand and leading Frank out into the front lounge with the other. "C'mon."
Frank shuffles over to the bench sofa and curls up in the corner. He takes the hoodie from Gerard and struggles into it while Gerard tucks the blanket around his legs. Up close like this, Frank can see the small line of worry etched between Gerard's eyebrows.
He grabs the front of Gerard's shirt and pulls him down until their foreheads bump, harder than Frank meant. His depth perception's off, too.
"Ow. Sorry." He smiles and tugs at the ends of Gerard's hair, where it's knotted up funny because Gerard's always got his fingers in it. "Thanks, Gee."
Gerard squinches up his face. "You're welcome. Now lemme go so I can make your tea."
"M'kay." Frank burrows deeper into the sofa, closes his eyes and listens to Gerard puttering around. The slosh of water in the kettle, the clink of a mug, the squeak of the cupboard doors. Gerard humming quietly, something Frank thinks he knows, or should, but he can't place it. He starts to ask what it is, but it gets lost on a jaw-popping yawn. He'll ask later, if he remembers.
He hears the kettle whistling and tries to sit up, but he's dead weight, halfway back to sleep already and too tired to fight it. The last thing he remembers is the smell of tea, Gerard's quiet huff of laughter, and the weight of a body settling against his.
*
Frank comes out of sleep slowly, to sound and light, voices and movement. Cartoons on the TV, the smells of coffee and burnt Pop Tarts, and then the sudden, violent need to cough. He pitches forward, knocking shoulders with Gerard and Bob as he doubles over, stamping his foot. Motherfuck.
"Here." Gerard hands Frank a bottle of water, his mouth screwed up in a frown. "You okay?"
It still slips out once in a while. Frank nods, cracking open the bottle. He touches his knee to Gerard's.
"He's fine." Bob claps a hand over Frank's shoulder, grinning. "Morning, asshole." His thumb digs in at the base of Frank's neck, kneading at the tight knot of muscle. Frank hums gratefully, letting his head loll forward.
"You were in my spot," Bob says. "So I took it back."
Frank snorts. "I hope I drooled on you in my sleep."
"You did."
"Yeah, well. Good."
Bob doesn't coddle Frank when he's sick, doesn't hover and worry over Frank's every breath the way Gerard does, but he's always willing to be Frank's human furnace, whether Frank asks him to or not. It's nice when he doesn't even have to.
Frank wipes his nose on Bob's sleeve; Bob flicks his ear without missing a beat. Frank laughs, rubbing at it, and elbows Bob in the ribs.
Bob raises an eyebrow. "That all you got, little man?"
Frank can't even muster the energy for a good comeback. He flips Bob a half-hearted bird instead. "Right now? Yeah."
After a beat, Bob nods. "I'll let you off the hook, on account of the plague and all."
Frank pulls his hands up inside his sleeves and squirms back, wedging himself in tighter between Bob and Gerard. He tucks his head under Gerard's chin, tangles his cold feet with Bob's warm ones, and grabs the remote.