You Are a War Worth Fighting For
Title: You Are a War Worth Fighting For
Pairing: Gerard/ Lyn-Z, Lyn-Z/Frank
Rating: Hard PG-13
Warning: Drinking, brief scene of abuse, badass-ness,
Author: Me! (xmexandxyoux)
Word Count: 3500!!!
Disclaimer: This absolutely never happened. I don’t own anyone.
Credit: FIRSTLY, humongous thanks to the people who made Angel Eyes, because this fic is based loosely on it, and if not for them, this fic would never have come to be. And that would be sucky. Title belongs to We The Kings. And my cheerleader!
A/N: Wow. I can’t believe it’s done. I am immensely proud of myself. I spent a lot a lot of time on this and I think the writing is one of my best. Gerard and Lindsey are the ultimate couple. I almost wish this happened. But then we wouldn’t have MCR and that would make my world a lot sadder. Anyway, I hope you loooove this as much as I do and want to smoosh their little faces.
Summary: “Remember me?” He asked with a wry smile. He was unable to believe he had held it together this far: he’d half-expected his subconscious mind to take control and toss him to the ground, kissing her feet.
Do I remember you? Of course I remember you. I saved your life. I remember every face and every thank-you. And oh yeah, you rescued my ass. How’s that for a little variety?
Scuffed black boots. (Doc Martens; all four aglets missing)
Police-issue slacks. (Do nothing for her figure, but it’s not like the punks she gets daily are looking)
Bullet-proof vest. (Has come in handy quite a few times)
Police-issue oxford. (Complete with her name [L. Ballato] in all capitals, very official-looking letters)
Midnight dark hair. (Secured in a tight ponytail)
Hastily applied Revlon Certainly Red lipstick. (Yes, you read that correctly)
With her revolver in its holster, a kiss from half-asleep Frank, and her laces double-knotted, Officer Lindsey Ballato was ready to start her day.
~
“This is Officer Ballato requesting back-up, there’s been a collision on highway 180, and traffic is pretty backed-up.” Lindsey repeated herself and then shut off her radio and rushed to the open driver’s side door of the battered black car. It had crashed into a beer truck; that man was all right, slightly shocked, but otherwise unscathed.
She looked into the face of the man lying before her. His hazel eyes were glazed and half-open; a nasty sure-to-be scar streaked over his cheek. His arm was twisted under him in a way that couldn’t be good. However, he was still breathing and that was a positive sign. She waved her hand in front of his eyes. He blinked slowly; she was losing him.
“Hey, you, can you hear me? You’re going to be okay. I’m here, you’re going to be okay, we’re getting you help. . . “
~
Gerard Way: July 30, 2009
Lindsey kept a record of all of the people she’d saved, or those whose deaths she’d prevented. She lit a candle for those she couldn’t. She kept them in her thoughts on the date and wondered where they were, how much their lives had changed. Sometimes they called her, or vice-versa. She needed to remember as much as they did. She needed that boost whenever she got slack for giving tickets when maybe the guy had been going only one mile over the speed limit, or when she got shit for being a chick cop.
Gerard Way was no different. The following year, she thought of him as well.
What she didn’t know was that he was thinking of her too.
~
Gerard watched her, in the bar that was misty from the rain. He watched as she laughed with her cop friends, downed her beer. She had a great smile. Eventually all of her comrades had left besides her partner, Officer E. Quinn.
“Ooh, I gotta go replace my lipstick, be right back.” Lindsey got up and headed to the ladies’ room, only to be hindered by Quinn’s voice behind her.
“You know, makeup kind of ruins that image of yours.” Quinn teased. Lindsey flipped up her middle finger with a laugh and a smirk.
“I’ll make a note of that right after you ask to borrow it again.” Lindsey chuckled and wished the other guys could have been there to hear that one. She returned a moment later, lipstick fresh, and ordered another coffee. Glancing over Quinn’s shoulder, she saw Frank’s all-too-familiar face find its way into the tavern. He did not look pleased. Nor sober.
“Shit,” she muttered softly, but loud enough for Quinn’s sharp ears to hear.
“What? Is Frankie here?” Quinn knew Frank to the extent of that he was Lindsey’s boyfriend who drank in excess and whom she’d broken up with several times and had forgiven even when he was past forgiveness. Quinn didn’t exactly approve, but Lindsey flushed pleasantly and giggled a lot when she talked about him, so maybe it was love.
Lindsey met Frank by the door before he could stagger farther inside.
“Where the fuck have you been? You said you’d be home at ten.” Frank was unkempt and his words flowed together in a manner that they were nearly incoherent.
“Frankie, I’m sorry, I was out with the guys. I had an anniversary today, you know that-“ Lindsey knew fully her answer was legitimate, and she had witnesses to vouch for it, but the real question was would possessive Frank buy it?
”I don’ see any guys. Looks to me like it’s just Quib or whatever the fuck his name is. You cheatin’ on me with him?” He sneered. Behind Lindsey’s back, Quinn craned his neck to decide if he should break up what was turning into a heated scene.
“No, we were just having a few-“ Lindsey protested, gesturing to prove her point.
”Don’t lie to me, bitch!" Frank slurred and slapped her across the face. Lindsey’s heart felt squeezed, like a hand had found its way into her chest and gripped it like a hand grenade. Frank just stared at his hands; he was either amazed at his own strength, or terrified of it. The blatant smack hadn’t attracted anyone’s attention, for the bar was nearly empty. However, Quinn noticed and stood up, prepared to take action.
“Hey, what the hell’s going on here?” Lindsey rubbed her cheek and went back to the table before Quinn could confront Frank himself. She placed both hands firmly on the table and looked Quinn straight in the eyes. He tried not to notice the mark Frank had left.
“It’s the first time it happened, I swear. He’s drunk. I need to go.” Lindsey was using her No Nonsense voice, reserved for lazy boyfriends and uncooperative teenagers caught wreaking havoc.
“Ballato, he can’t treat you like this. What the fuck? He hit you.” Quinn’s voice shook. This was Lindsey, ass-kicking, self-sufficient, brave Lindsey. Who was this girl looking back at him, with the graffiti of a loose fist tattooed on her cheek?
“Let me handle my own fucking life, thank you.” Her voice managed not to quiver, like the shame heating her insides. Lindsey glowered, but inside, she was really hoping he’d press it. He didn’t. There was something sad about refusing help from a willing friend, especially when you knew you needed it. The feeling tugged at Lindsey’s heartstrings as she followed Frank’s lead outside.
~
Lindsey and Frank walked in silence from the bar, cast in darkness, except for the light of the moon.
“I know you’re screwing him.” Frank said in a tone tinged with fury; he had, apparently, been mulling this over as they walked.
“Babe, I’m not, I promise you.” Lindsey deliberated over whether telling the truth or admitting to something she hadn’t done would earn her Frank’s wrath.
“Don’t lie to me, Lindsey!” The sickening sound of hand against cheek was enough for Gerard to get out of the shadows; He emerged seemingly from nowhere. He locked an arm around Frank’s neck, and with the other pressed a very fake pistol to Frank’s temple. Frank pulled at Gerard’s arm; he was too strong. If it had been Lindsey, she’d have elbowed him in the side, stepped on his feet, and ran, as per her self-defense training. But it was Frank, not her. Lindsey also knew that the gun was fake- green plastic. Frank didn’t. Lindsey staggered back, eyes wide; unsure of whether her own, very real gun was necessary.
“You lay a hand on her one more time, you fucker, I will hear about it. And when I do, I will find you. And when I do, I will kill you. Got it?” Frank attempted a nod; instead, he emitted a feeble gagging sound. “Good.” Gerard released him harshly, shoved him against the wall, dropping the gun. He spat on Frank’s shoes. And then he was gone, leaving them stunned and bewildered in his wake.
~
Lindsey left Frank the following day. She moved in with Quinn, who had so graciously offered his home. Well, apartment space, anyway. By now, everyone at the station knew. Lindsey wasn’t proud. She appreciated their pity, but she didn’t enjoy the impending feeling of “oh-it’s- HER, the victim” she was sure to get on her day back and in the days to follow.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Quinn asked gently, touching her hand. She looked more vulnerable than he had ever seen her; clad in an oversized T-shirt she’d borrowed from him, her hair in two braids that his wife, Ingrid had insisted on, her lips bare, gun and badge in the drawer.
“I thought you’d think I was weak. I did have my pride.” Lindsey knew the excuse was feeble, but it was the truth and she planned on sticking to it, no matter how ludicrous it sounded.
“You’re so stupid, Lindsey.” Quinn said matter-of-factly, though not maliciously. Lindsey didn‘t think Quinn was even capable of sounding malicious. He was the type to let insects out the window instead of smashing them like she did and his only vice was a beer once a week with her and the guys. He cooked the best Italian food she’d ever tasted and always gave in to those pamphlets asking for money for sick children in third-world countries. She wasn‘t really even sure how he‘d stomached being a cop: they’d seen some pretty bad shit.
Quinn chuckled and soon they were both laughing so hard their sides ached. Quinn’s smile suddenly faded. “I’m gonna go to bed. You gonna be okay out here by yourself?” He gestured to her makeshift bed comprised of the couch. “Big bad Frankie’s not gonna get’cha. Especially now that he’s in police custody. Let us know if you need anything.”
He kissed her forehead; they’d worked together for more than five years, been partners for nearly all of that time. He was the brother she’d never had, so it was not awkward or unnatural. “You want a bedtime story?” Lindsey punched him on the shoulder. “Hey, hey, lay off or I’ll have you arrested for domestic violence like someone we know.” Quinn said in a half-serious tone. He got off the couch, saluted Lindsey and headed toward his room, only to remember something he’d forgotten. “Hey, Linds, you find out his name?”
“Nope, not yet. Maybe he’ll turn up. I could swear I’ve seen him before, or known him in a previous life. I dunno. I need to think about it.”
“Will do, Ballato.” With that, he retired to his room, leaving Lindsey to ponder.
~
Lindsey was awoken the following morning by the door slamming and the smell of breakfast lingering in the air. She wandered over to the kitchen to make some coffee, only to realize that it wasn’t her house. There was a note from Quinn on the fridge.
L-
Take whatever you want. Anything here is at your disposal, even those fancy soaps in the bathroom with names like ginger and kamomill (I can’t spell, you know that). Enjoy your day off! Keep safe.
-E.Q.
Taking the anything you want part to her advantage, Lindsey fixed herself a peanut butter and banana sandwich and a steaming mug of joe with as much milk as she wished- a luxury she’d never allowed herself before. As she was getting to an interesting piece in the morning’s paper, she was disrupted. There was a beeping from downstairs indicating that someone wished to be let upstairs. She asked who it was.
“It’s- It’s Gerard Way.” She buzzed him upstairs, utterly dumbstruck. Why was he here? How was he here? How had he found her?
“You.” Was the only word that escaped from her gaping mouth upon opening the door. “You” had taken the form of a sleepy-eyed Gerard Way, subconsciously running a hand through his inky-black hair that seemed to coordinate with the rest of his attire. Lindsey suddenly felt very naked; she felt exposed, without any of her usual armor.
“Remember me?” He asked with a wry smile. He was unable to believe he had held it together this far: he’d half-expected his subconscious mind to take control and toss him to the ground, kissing her feet.
Do I remember you? Of course I remember you. I saved your life. I remember every face and every thank-you. And oh yeah, you rescued my ass. How’s that for a little variety? If you hadn’t been my dark knight, who knows how long I would have stayed with Frank, letting him drink himself to proportions irate enough to inflict harm on the only target available. Me. A new form of self-destruction, for both of us. You’ve got more guts than I have.
“Yeah. I do.” Lindsey choked out, wishing she’d said the things that had first popped into her head. “July 30, last year. Car crash.” And that was one thing she wished she’d kept inside her brain.
“Uh, okay, yeah.” He laughed mock-nervously, an impish grin on his lips. “Do you know my date of birth, social security number and mother’s maiden name as well?”
“February 21, 1981, 521175890, and Sage.” She bullshitted, hoping her “wondrous sense of humor” (direct quote from Quinn) would redeem her. She attempted to mirror his smile, and to her relieved delight, Gerard laughed again. It was a great sound; it drowned out all thoughts of going back to Frank.
“Not quite. Okay, now that I know you aren’t stalking me, I’d like to come in. Unless you don’t want me to.“ He said bluntly. Shit, what is fucking wrong with me? That was so stupid.
“Sure. You like coffee?” Lindsey knew the question was rhetorical, because who didn’t like Optimism In A Cup, but it seemed like a good conversation starter.
“Like it? It’s fucking Happiness in a handy container. Excuse my language.” He added as an afterthought. Lindsey was pleased to see they had the same sense of humor: dry.
“My thoughts exactly. I just never thought happiness would be brown, you know?” Gerard laughed again. His happiness made her head go all fuzzy at the thought that she had caused it. Two points for Ballato. Keep that endless wit coming. “I expected something soft, like yellow. Or pink.”
“Can’t argue with you there. Do you mind if I take off my jacket?” He asked cavalierly. And he’s polite too! Lindsey exclaimed gleefully. In her mind, obviously.
“Not at all. Milk or creamer? Artificial sweetener?” He draped his dark denim jacket over a chair and picked up the paper, flipping straight to the comics.
“Black.” She joined him on the couch, putting the mugs on coasters (Quinn would freak if she hadn‘t: “This table was inherited from my great-great-grandfather! It’s antique!” He’d stated on previous occasions when she’d been over, about to place the sweating or steamy beverage on the table- without a coaster!) Gerard put the paper down and lifted his mug, blowing on it. The couch was not all that big (as Lindsey had learned last night, being cramped in the fetal position), so they sat facing each other, their knees touching slightly. Lindsey swore she felt herself blush. Gerard wasn’t exactly blanching, himself.
“I assume you know my name, so there’s no need for an introduction. I mean, you’re here, aren’t you?” Lindsey hoped she wasn’t coming off too brashly. She had a tendency to. Gerard nodded, feeling sheepish, like she’d walked in on something she wasn’t supposed to. Like a secret had been revealed. And it had, sort of. “But tell me about yourself.”
“What d’you want to know?” Lindsey hated when people asked these kinds of questions back to her, but she tolerated it in this case.
“Where do you live, where do you work?” Lindsey asked, wishing the words sounded less like an interrogation and more like an actual conversation.
“I live right around the corner. I work from home. I illustrate novels.” It wasn’t so bad once she’d gotten the ball rolling.
“Really? That’s fascinating.” Lindsey wanted to smack herself; she sounded like she was at a family reunion or at a deathly boring office presentation.
“Eh, not so much. It sounds good, but it’s just a frustrating job with long hours, little pay, and lots of hunching over. I’m going to have some eye and back issues when I’m old and shit. But that’s life, I guess. What do you do?” He inquired, as if he didn’t know. Lindsey played along.
“I’m a cop. Five years under my belt. And where I live- well, I’m not so sure anymore.” Lindsey admitted.
“You ever used your gun?” Gerard had a habit of being very blunt, but in an endearing way, not a prying one.
“Once. It was late winter, second year on the job. Some asshole was on one of the busiest street corners here, threatening people with a knife. We yelled at him to drop the gun and he wouldn’t. He grabbed a guy, an elderly man. I shot him point-blank.” Gerard looked impressed, awed. Lindsey was surprised at how quickly it had taken for their conversation to veer in a more intimate direction, and especially how natural it felt to be talking about such things.
“Wow.” Lindsey nodded.
“Yeah. So it’s my turn to ask you a question now, right?” Gerard shrugged.
“Okay, why not.”
“Why was it so important for you to find me?“ Gerard looked taken aback. He stiffened. Oh, fuck. Apparently it’s a sore subject. She gulped down a hot sip of coffee to hide her embarrassment, and to prevent herself from saying anything more. As mortified as she was for bringing up a topic he seemed to want to avoid, she did still want to know the answer. Gerard stared past her shoulder, out the window to the azure sky, his face taut. A moment later, he began.
“My-my son. Michael. I lost custody that day, July 30th. My world was crumbling around me. My wife had just filed a few weeks ago. She took my house, my life, even my son. The crash, really, it was just stupidity on my part. I was caught up in thinking about the what-ifs. What if I had worked a little less, spent more time with my kid? What if the court gave me a chance to prove myself? What if I still had my life as it was?
“Then there was you. You just appeared, saved my life as if you did it every day.” It’s just my job, Lindsey thought wryly. I do do it every day. Being a cop definitely had its bad points and wasn’t all about saving lives, but that was what she wanted to be remembered for. “You were this heroic superwoman. Maybe you don’t see it, but I do. So I just sort of followed you, I felt drawn to you. I was hoping you could sew my life back together.” By this time, Lindsey was flushing so deeply she wasn’t even bothering to try to hide it.
“It’s been a year. Why didn’t you come sooner, if you were going to?” Lindsey asked, realization and shock crashing over her. Everything sort of made sense now.
“I had to get up my nerve. Being this suave doesn’t come to me naturally.” He cracked. Lindsey was aching to kiss him but refrained.
“Tell me about Michael.”
~
Three hours later, they’d consumed an infinite amount of coffee (and last night‘s leftovers), healed Lindsey’s ego, and made their voices sore. Though, the conversation had become stagnant and left them trying to remember what they had been discussing. However, they didn’t particularly care whether they continued, for it was less significant than what they had chosen to do instead: gaze at one another.
A key turning in the lock broke their stupor. Both heads turned automatically to the door. Quinn stood in the doorway, looking both bewildered and amused. His eyes took in the scene, catching for a long while on Gerard.
“Take a picture; it’ll last longer.” Gerard said dryly with the slightest of smiles.
“What are you doing here?” Lindsey asked in more of an accusatory tone than she would have liked, taken a bit aback at Quinn’s presence, albeit relieved they had only been caught staring.
“Am I not allowed to come home at two in the afternoon? This is my place, after all. I had to get some paperwork. What’s your excuse?”
“Gerard came by.” She said tersely.
“Yeah, and you know, I should probably go.” Gerard said weakly. He got up from his seat and Quinn moved from the door as if to say, don’t let me hold you back. Lindsey sent a murderous glare to Quinn’s back as he went to get his paperwork from his office. She wasn’t even sure if he actually had come to get something or just to spy on her, but he was gonna get it from her later for scaring Gerard away. “Thanks for the food and coffee and the talking and stuff.”
Lindsey interrupted his stuttering with a kiss full of love and loss, hope and regrets, mended hearts and new beginnings.
“You know, if you weren’t so charming, I think I’d be worried about you stalking me.” She whispered on his lips. They both smiled in a way that was a bit silly as they observed that first-kiss euphoria evidently doesn’t only apply to your first kiss ever.