The Light from Our Bodies Precedes Us (NASAverse), Part 1
The Light from Our Bodies Precedes Us
by fleurdeliser and mxtape
Frank/Gerard
~18,100 words
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. These characters are based on people of the same name, but that's pretty much where reality ends here.
Warnings: Everything we know about NASA came from the internets, and some of it is probably wrong.
Notes: Written for periodbandom.
Part 1
Part 2
NASAverse Mix
The second basement of Building Six at the Kennedy Space Center is not, Frank reminds himself, straightening his shoulders and stepping out of the elevator, one of the more intimidating offices in the NASA compound. It is, in fact, just one workshop out of many, where fabricators test out designs that come from the engineers upstairs--where Frank works. The problem with the workshop in Frank's building, however, is that Mikey Way works there. And Mikey Way is a category unto himself.
When Frank turns the corner into the busy, noisy shop, Mikey's back is to him, bent over a drafting table. Frank pauses a few feet away, but Mikey doesn't make any sort of acknowledging sign at all. Frank clenches his fingers around his binder of papers, waffling between clearing his throat and interrupting or just waiting until Mikey is done with whatever he's doing. The thing is, he's not quite sure that Mikey wouldn't just ignore him on purpose.
After several moments, Mikey's head comes up and he props the heels of his hands on the table in front of him. "Dr. Iero," he announces, and Frank can just hear the slight smirk in his voice, though his expression is probably as unreadable as ever.
Frank shuffles his feet and coughs, rattling his papers importantly. He has a reason to be here, so Mikey Way shouldn't make him feel--well, faintly ridiculous, but he always does. "Yes, right--" he begins.
Mikey turns around, eyes magnified creepily behind his large safety goggles, and interrupts Frank's attempt to gain the upper hand, here. "Dr. Iero, rocket scientist to the stars!" he announces again, eyebrows twitching upward, and it would sound very grand if it weren't delivered in complete deadpan.
Frank winces.
"What can I help you with, sir?" Mikey asks, shoving a hand into his left trouser pocket, amused smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
Frank's forehead tenses in irritation and he tries to force it smooth. "I have the blueprints for the new rocket. I think we're ready to get started with the test models, but Dr. Toro suggested I bring these down and have you go over them before we give the final all-clear."
Mikey reaches out a hand and quirks an eyebrow at Frank, who hands them over. He almost doesn't let go of them, doesn't really want to, and wow, that would've been ridiculous.
Mikey spreads them out over his table, burying the drafts he was looking at before, and studies the papers while Frank stands and watches, unsure what to do. He puts his arms behind his back and then down his sides and then he crosses them over his chest, but feels that's a little too confrontational, so he puts them behind his back again. Mikey just keeps staring at the blueprints, ignoring him completely. At one point, he scribbles something down on a notepad and Frank tries to read it, but it's too far away and Frank holds in a sigh and waits. He hates this part, the feeling of being useless and expendable.
After a few more minutes, Mikey looks up and says, "Could I keep these for the rest of the day? I'd like to make sure I don't miss anything."
"Sure," Frank nods shortly, somewhat relieved that he won't have to stand around awkwardly for twenty minutes or anything. "Just--call upstairs when you're through?"
Mikey makes a hmmm noise, attention already back on the lower right quadrant of the draft. He scribbles something on his pad again, checkmarks the thing he wrote before, and glances briefly up at Frank. "Toro told you to bring them down?"
"Well--yes--not that I disagreed, of course--" Frank fumbles. He always feels like he's one misstep away from alienating most of the engineers upstairs with his awkwardness, but Mikey never seems to mind it, at least, since he just snorts and makes a go on gesture. "We both thought the gimbal should be double-checked. I spent all last night re-calculating and I think the friction should be minimal, but--"
"Don't sweat it," Mikey interrupts Frank's rambling explanation. "I trust your judgment on the numbers, Iero. Lemme just take a look at the rest and we'll call it good to go."
Frank lets out the deep breath he was holding in and blushes because it must make him seem nervous and immature, which is the last thing he needs, particularly around Mikey, who'll just give him that knowing look that gets under Frank's skin so much. Frank doesn't want to be known, not by his co-workers, not by a mysteriously-motivated quantity like Mikey Way.
Mikey doesn't seem to notice, though, his eyes focused on the blueprints. He looks up again and says, "I'll probably be looking at these for another couple of hours. There's coffee if you want. Over there," he gestures towards a table in the corner of the room.
"You keep a substance you consume in the same room as several dangerous chemicals?" Frank pushes his glasses up his nose and raises his eyebrows.
Startlingly, Mikey cracks a funny sort of grin, like that reminded him of something, and says, "I might have to move it when my brother starts next week, actually. He'd drink anything in the proximity of coffee without looking first."
Frank shifts, confused. "Your brother does--" he waves his hand around at the general array of blowtorches and drills, "too?"
Mikey grins a little wider. "No, he'll be upstairs. In your wing, but on the Robotics end. But he'll be down here all the time stealing my coffee. If he could, he'd forget conventional relationships and marry his coffee maker. If he wasn't such a confirmed bachelor." Mikey has that look on his face again, and Frank glances down at his loafers uncomfortably.
He clears his throat, then says, "Well, it'll be... interesting to meet him. I'll come back for those in a few hours."
Mikey gives him a little salute with his drafting pencil, still watching him with that expression. Frank can't really tell if it's mocking or not, but he ducks his head in acknowledgment, nevertheless, before making a break for the elevator.
NASA, Gerard has decided after his first full week in Robotics, is not unlike high school. There are the superstar astronauts and the over-achiever engineers and the under-appreciated administrative personnel and of course, the geeks in the basement. Gerard figures he fits somewhere in the middle of the caste system, as an engineer who is perhaps not over-achieving, but at least passionate and engaged in his project. It's just that the coffee down in the break room has been calling his name for the past fifteen minutes and his protractor is starting to make no sense, no matter which way he angles it. Gerard sighs, rising from his squeaky chair with the cracked vinyl backing, and stretches, spine popping satisfactorily.
NASA even looks a bit like high school, with the industrial government grays and cardboard-y carpeting in the halls. Gerard makes his way across his wing to the break room that separates Robotics from Propulsion. As he nears it, he catches sight of a young man with a pocket protector, thick glasses, and Brylcreemed hair stepping out of an office just down the way. Mikey has mentioned something about a tiny, baby-faced engineer up on the fourth floor who hates his guts, and as soon as Gerard spies this guy, he knows it's him. Never mind that the door's frosted glass is stenciled "DR. FRANK IERO," there is just something about the way he presents himself that's fully as hilarious and charming as Mikey said.
"Hey," calls Gerard, jogging up the hallway to meet him. "I'm Gerard, I just started in Robotics." He smiles pleasantly and watches as Frank adjusts his glasses uncomfortably, like he's unsure why Gerard is introducing himself.
"Nice to meet you," Frank comes out with, eventually, sounding a bit stiff. "Dr. Iero. Propulsion." He pumps Gerard's hand once, grip a little too tight, and smiles briefly.
Gerard can't help grinning at him. Mikey was right; he's gotta be around twenty-one, but he acts like he's forty-five. He probably means it to seem professional, Gerard thinks, but really it's more adorable and amusing; he himself is only twenty-five, but that's a pretty normal age for young engineers just arriving at NASA. This kid, fidgeting in his starched blue shirt and wool trousers, has to be some kind of genius, which is intriguing.
"So Frank," he says, and Frank's brow furrows, like he's not sure if Gerard using his first name is meant to be an insult, and oh wow, this guy is going to make life so much more entertaining at work. "Frank," Gerard continues with a little smile, "walk with me. I was just gonna go steal some of Bob's Tang from the Military Lounge."
Frank's eyebrows shoot up and he glances around like someone's going to swoop down and fire Gerard for even talking about something like that. "Uh," he says, edging away and pressing the break room door open, "I don't think Captain Bryar would appreciate that, Ge-- Doctor--" he stops, realizing he doesn't know Gerard's last name, and sighs. "Anyway, I have to--I have work to do, so. Nice to meet you." He nods shortly and disappears into the room.
Gerard stands there in the hallway, caffeine fix temporarily forgotten, and ponders Frank Iero, hands in his pockets and a funny smile on his face. Mikey had said Iero was twitchy and awkwardly amusing, but he hadn't mentioned how appealing his hazel eyes are or the cowlicks that seem to escape his brutal combing regimen. Mikey wouldn't notice those things, anyway, Gerard admits to himself, turning away and taking the stairs down to the second basement to share his newest fascination.
"I knew you'd like him," Mikey says with a sly smile. He's wielding an unlit blowtorch, protective goggles perched up on his forehead as he examines the prototype he's working on. Gerard thinks it might be a new casing alloy they're testing for heat-resistance, but it could be anything, really. Mikey gets a kick out of playing with blowtorches, in general. It used to scare the pants off their father when he'd pull his '53 Buick into the garage after work to find Mikey melting his GI Joes with a manic grin. Strangely enough, it never much bothered their mother.
"Anyway, thanks for putting in a good word with Wentz," Gerard says, shrugging off Mikey's glance. "It's not exactly chock-full of creative types around here, but I can see how dedicated everyone is to the project." He watches as Mikey takes a low-grade flame to the metal plate, standing well back. "Some more than others," he adds, smirking at Mikey's intent expression.
Frank, Gerard quickly learns, is one of the more dedicated engineers at NASA, particularly for a guy his age in an entry level position. He doesn't seem to ever take breaks--just wanders into the kitchen, eyes buried in various diagrams, fumbles for the coffee blindly while reading specs under his breath, and wanders back to his office, sometimes slopping dribs of coffee as he goes--which makes it very difficult for Gerard to get to know him. And Gerard really does want to know him, even beyond the amusement factor that he's positive Frank Iero will bring to his life.
Art by theopteryx
The problem is that Frank is just as difficult to hold a conversation with as he is to pin down. Gerard finally manages to corner Frank in the break room on Monday morning while he waits for the first pot of the day to finish percolating. Frank's got that Monday morning look, too--his hair is still wet, combed carefully off his face, and his glasses magnify the purple half-circles under his eyes.
"Wild weekend?" Gerard inquires with a grin.
Frank turns suddenly, startled, like he didn't realize Gerard was there. "What?" he asks.
"Wild weekend?" Gerard repeats. "You look kind of wrecked."
Frank's gaze skitters away, holds firm on Gerard's right shoulder as he says shortly, "No. Nothing really. Just--extra work."
Gerard blinks but makes another attempt. "I've been there. What were you working on?"
Frank half-turns away to check on the coffee maker, murmuring, "Just... stuff. Re-calculations."
Gerard frowns. He knows that excuse--it's the one he gives his boss when he needs some extra time because he fucked up. "Oh," is all he says. "Well, I should've called you up, then, got you out of the house!"
Frank straightens and gives him an almost worried glance. "Why?"
Gerard laughs. "Slave labor, mostly. I moved all my stuff into Mikey's place on Saturday and he refuses to carry anything heavier than a sofa cushion, I swear. But it would've been nice to see some people outside work, regardless. That and sometimes taking a break from looking at all those numbers is just what you need to help them make sense. At least, that helps me." Gerard smiles.
Frank blinks several times, seems to be processing something, and then replies, "I, uh, wouldn't want to leave my dog alone too much. He's alone so much during the week..."
Gerard's eyes light up with excitement. "You have a dog?"
Frank gets on his tip-toes and reaches up to retrieve a NASA-issue mug out of the cupboard, then pours himself some coffee. "Sure, yeah," he says vaguely, grabbing one sugar cube with the silver emblem-stenciled tongs and plopping it in.
"Cream?" Gerard asks, wheeling around to gesture at the fridge in the corner. He wants to be helpful for some reason; Frank sort of seems like he needs someone to watch out for him. He's so young and yet obviously wary. It's strange.
"No," Frank says, and then adds, "thank you," after a beat.
"I want a dog," Gerard picks up brightly, undeterred, "but Mikey has a cat that he's taking care of for his girlfriend while she finishes college and he insists that the only way we can get one is if we properly introduce it to Bunny and make sure they get along. But nobody is going to let us bring a dog home for a trial period! He won't budge though." Gerard shakes his head sadly.
Frank casts him a funny look out the corner of his eye as he bends to blow at his coffee. "Huh," he says. "He's got a cat named Bunny?" A tiny smile curves at the corner of his mouth and Gerard latches onto it excitedly.
"Well, Alicia does, but same difference at this point, yeah."
Frank huffs a breath of laughter across his coffee, and Gerard nearly falls over. He has to bite his lip to keep from grinning too big and maybe scaring Frank away. "You should see her over the holidays when Alicia's around. They dress her in tiny cat-sized sweaters that Alicia knits when she's in class."
Frank swallows a sip, grimacing as he chokes a little. "Wow, uh, that's--love, I guess?" he offers.
Gerard smiles wistfully. "Yes, yes it is."
Frank fidgets a little, taking a swig from his mug and glancing around the room. "I should..." he gestures vaguely at the door. "Dr. Wentz will be looking for my report in a few hours."
Gerard smiles. "I bet Wentz loves being people's superior. I bet he grins benevolently at you every time you turn something in to him."
"Uh, yeah, he seems to enjoy it," Frank says and starts edging towards the door just as it opens to reveal Mikey.
Mikey gets that weird little smirk on his face as he takes in the two of them. "Hi Dr. Iero, Gerard," he drawls, emphasizing Gerard's name, and they conduct a conversation involving eyebrows and the odd facial twitch.
Frank slips out the door in the middle of it.
"So," says Mikey, slumping down across from Frank at the cafeteria table, "d'you think there's Martians?"
Frank looks up incredulously, spluttering on his Coca-Cola. He eyes Mikey's mild expression and disorderly hair and snorts, sure that he's joking, and then goes back to sawing at his breaded chicken cutlet.
"You don't, huh?" Mikey nods wisely, picking up his spoon and swirling it around in the heap of mashed potatoes on his plate.
Frank rolls his eyes a little. Sometimes he wonders whether the Way brothers are all there, honestly. In the past several weeks, they seem to have decided that bothering Frank is their new pet project, constantly following him into the break room and seeking him out during his lunch to discuss really non-essential, irrelevant, sometimes ridiculous things. "I'm not discussing this with you," he replies firmly.
"Hey!" yells Mikey, ignoring Frank and waving furiously. "Gee, over here!"
Frank scowls and his knife squeaks against his plate.
"Hey!" he hears Gerard greet them breathlessly, tumbling into the seat next to Mikey. "I got the best NASA joke for you guys, okay?"
Frank can feel Gerard looking at him, trying to attract his attention, but he doesn't glance up. "Okay, okay," Gerard continues after a second, dramatically, "what's the difference between a rocket and a rocket scientist?"
Mikey hiccups a weird little giggle and prompts, "What?"
Gerard grins, Frank can see, looking briefly up at his face. He spreads his hands, pleased at Frank's attention, and snickers, "A rocket can get it up!"
Mikey dissolves into giggle spasms and Frank blushes embarrassingly, shaking his head. Gerard beams and adds slyly, "Although I think maybe it should be more like, 'A rocket scientist pays other people to get him up.'"
Frank bites down on his cheek and coughs, adjusts his glasses nervously. "I don't think that's--"
"Frank was telling me about the Martians," Mikey interrupts with a smirk and a quick glance at Gerard.
Frank sighs. "I was not," he refutes. "I was telling Mikey that scientifically speaking, it's highly improbable that there are horror movie monsters on Mars."
Gerard observes him for a moment, smiling his odd secret smile that makes Frank want to go hide in his office with the blinds drawn. "But it would be pretty cool if there were, right?"
Frank sets down his knife and looks meaningfully at him. "It would be pretty cool," he manages steadily, "if I could massacre this cutlet in peace and worry about how to get us to Mars in the first place."
Gerard shrugs, unaffected, and rattles on about how Wentz seriously has the best dirty jokes of anyone in their building, period. Frank sighs internally, wondering why on earth the Ways have taken to him so strongly when he's clearly a wet blanket and all.
Frank honestly hates weekends. It's too much time to sit around his small, dingy apartment and get distracted from the work he brings home to occupy the time. There are some bright spots--taking Nikola out for a run in the park or on the beach, although Frank's childhood asthma was such that he inevitably ends up bent over, wheezing, while Nikola frolics and yips at him. He even sort of enjoys having the time to look at the cookbooks he checks out from the library and try his hand at red velvet cake and other things he remembers his mother baking when he was a kid.
The real problem with weekends is the forced isolation. No matter how much Frank wishes he didn't, he craves someone to talk to, or even just listen to, like the banal chatter at work that makes him feel like he's part of something. This, along with... other things, is what drives his main fear of weekends: the fact that he will probably end up lonely enough to go out.
The only gay bar within fifty miles, Alfonzo's, is burrowed away on a dead-end street in the bad section of downtown, where cops regularly come knocking for payoffs and occasionally conduct a desultory raid of the back room. Frank's never been unlucky enough to be there on one of those nights, but then he doesn't go that often in the first place for fear of undercover cops. Also because he prefers to take care of business in his bathroom at home, where he can imagine whomever he wants rather than risking everything to find some miserable married guy to blow quickly in the gritty, sticky bathroom at the bar.
Frank gets intensely twitchy every time he goes to Alfonzo's, which, he thinks, probably makes him look like he's got a nasty drug habit. He prefers to sit at the corner of the bar, facing the door, so he can watch who comes in to make sure he doesn't know them. The only problem with this vantage point is that he can't see the back entrance or the restrooms, but it's a minor worry he's usually willing to ignore. Tonight, though, when Frank glances to his left at the man who's just sidled up to the bar, he wishes like hell that he hadn't.
"Frank!" Gerard gives a friendly little salute, face lighting up in surprised pleasure. "Imagine running into a sweet thing like you in a rough place like this."
Frank gapes, so utterly stunned that it takes a moment for his heart to start pounding in panic. Somehow Gerard must've managed to sneak in when he'd looked away for a second, Frank thinks, or--his brain whispers--maybe he was in the bathroom with some guy the whole time. He shakes that thought away because it makes him uncomfortable for some reason, even more than he already is under Gerard's interested gaze. Frank sips his gin and tonic--the only cocktail he knows to order, because it was what his father made every night after work--and taps his fingertips on the dark wood bar, hunching down a little, hoping desperately that Gerard will just disappear.
Gerard sits right down next to him, though, and orders a White Russian, smiles at the middle-aged bartender, and tells Frank, "Tastes just like coffee with cream, my kind of drink."
Frank nods jerkily, still paralyzed, stomach churning as he forces down another sip. Gerard is actually waiting for Frank to say something, for once, expression intent and friendly, but Frank just sits there swishing his drink around in the glass and bolting some down every once in a while.
Finally, Gerard shifts and says, "So, I haven't seen you around as much this week. Busy with a project?"
Frank can't help the nervous, incredulous laugh that escapes him. Gerard came up to him at the local gay bar to ask about work? He knocks back the last of his drink and raises an unsteady finger for another one. "Sure," he says, "I'm very busy with work. I'm always busy with work." He grits his teeth as his gut protests; it's not used to liquor on an empty stomach. "What are you doing here?" he asks and then immediately wishes he hadn't. Still, it's the question that's been cycling through his mind frantically for the past several minutes.
Gerard lets out a surprised little laugh. "Well, Dr. Iero, I can think of quite a few reasons to be here!" He leers hilariously. "But mostly, I wanted a drink and maybe to meet a new friend or two, since I'm new here. And my brother made me."
Frank winces and glances around to make sure no one's listening to their conversation. "Don't call me that here," he whispers urgently.
Gerard's eyes widen and he pulls back, looking around, himself. "No one cares who you are, here, Frank, come on. That's the reason we all come!"
Frank shrugs. That's probably true, but it doesn't stop him from losing sleep over it sometimes--the fear that some cop will follow his car home, see his mailbox, find him in his government job and then--"Never mind," he says. After a moment, his brows pull together and he looks over at Gerard, who's twirling back and forth on his stool, watching the dance floor. "Your brother made you come?" Frank asks incredulously.
Gerard grins crookedly. "According to Mikey, if left to my own devices I would spend all my time in my room drawing and forget that people exist. He's probably right. So he somehow came up with the address of this place and shoved me out the door."
"Huh. That's--weird," Frank comes out with. "I mean, he knows? He's--he encourages it?" The idea is so foreign to him, that someone, that family could accept such a thing, even support it. Frank's parents are high on his list of Those Who Can Never Find Out.
Gerard shrugs. "Yeah. I guess it probably is weird. But I can't really remember a time that he didn't know. I've always known, so Mikey has, too. I'm pretty lucky to have him as my brother. Do you have any family in the area?"
"I'm--" Frank starts, and then stops himself. Why was he about to tell Gerard his personal business? "I'm not from around here," he finishes, setting down his drink. Things've gotten too friendly for his comfort already; bars are for meeting guys in the bathroom, knocking back a few, and then going home, and it's past time, since he's obviously not going to meet anyone besides Gerard tonight. "Nice to see you," he murmurs, tossing a tip on the bar and grabbing his jacket. "I assume you won't be mentioning this at work."
Gerard's watching him with considerable surprise written all over his face. "Well, no," he ventures. "Are you really leaving? I was hoping... we were just..."
Frank smiles tightly, jams his hands into his pockets. "Seriously," he repeats, paranoia rushing back, a tight ball in the pit of his stomach, "don't mention this."
"I... no, of course not," Gerard's eyebrows are drawn together in confusion and he bites his lip. "I feel like I should be apologizing, but I'm not sure what I did. Um... have a good night, then, I guess." He turns to the bartender and asks for another drink.
Frank stands there for a short moment, feeling almost guilty about the tinge of hurt he heard in Gerard's voice. The thing is, though, he tells himself as he follows Gerard's lead and turns away, that he's never been good at "social," and Gerard's got to know that by now. Mikey certainly does.
The thought squeezes briefly at his insides as he makes his way out to the car--Gerard is definitely going to tell his brother that Frank was here tonight. He unlocks the door and slams it behind him, hangs onto the wheel tightly while his breath comes fast and panicked. That makes two people who know.
The next day at work, though, Mikey teases him the same as always and doesn't even look at him differently. Frank's not sure if Gerard isn't planning on telling him or just didn't have the opportunity yet. Gerard actually makes his presence known much less than normal, not stopping by to bother Frank during his coffee breaks, which is mostly understandable. At lunch in the cafeteria, though, he still finds Gerard smiling at him from across the table over Bryar's and Toro's bickering.
Frank doesn't smile back. It worries him that he sort of wants to, so he makes a point not to do it. He can't imagine what makes Gerard think Frank would want to associate with him at work, now that... now that he knows exactly what Gerard's many eccentricities add up to. It's asking for trouble. Gerard is clearly one of those people who makes you trust him, like him, confide in him--Frank can tell. He's not going to get caught up in that, though. He's going to work on streamlining the final draft of his propulsion systems model because the deadline for that project is the end of next week and he's got the coolant pump to re-route, still.
He's chewing his sandwich and frowning over this problem when Captain Bryar's hand comes down on his shoulder. "Don't you think, Iero?" he asks.
"Uh, sure," Frank agrees, because that's usually safe with Bryar.
"Really?" Mikey cackles from across the table. "You don't seem like the type, Frank!"
Frank stiffens, automatically casting his eyes over to Gerard, who looks just as skeptical. Frank relaxes slightly. "The type to what?"
Bryar hits him on the back of the head. "I knew you weren't listening, Iero, Christ. The luau next weekend? Hawaiian-themed?" he prompts.
Frank shrugs blankly.
"Well, it's too late to back out now. You already agreed!" Toro grins. "If the rest of us have to suffer through it, you do, too."
"Oh, it'll be fun!" Gerard smiles at Toro. "Get a few Mai Tais in you and even making nice with Dr. Pelissier will seem like a good time."
Toro wrinkles up his nose. "No, I'm pretty sure there's not enough alcohol in the world to make talking to that guy a good time."
"Anyway," Bryar continues, "it's at seven on Saturday at Wentz's place. It's going to be huge--the words 'small' and 'party' have never belonged in the same sentence, with that guy."
Frank grimaces. "Sounds lovely. Hawaiian-themed? Does this require a... costume of some sort?"
"Wentz's parties always require a costume of some sort," Mikey answers dryly. "But I think with this one you can probably get away with just a Hawaiian shirt."
Frank nods glumly, imagining the sea of drunken, pale engineers in garish colors, already. It sounds fairly hellish, but it's still probably better than staying home and watching Andy Griffith with Nikola, he supposes.
Gerard stands just outside of Frank's office for several minutes, debating whether he should try to talk to the guy--reassure him a little, maybe. After he left the bar last weekend, he'd walked the twelve blocks to his and Mikey's place, kicking loose gravel on the sidewalk and feeling sorry for himself because he really sort of likes Frank and, well, Frank doesn't seem to like him. By Sunday, though, he'd decided to just give it another go, but try to be a little gentler with his approach this time.
Transferring the mug of coffee he brought to his left hand, he knocks on the doorjamb and pokes his head in, smiling hopefully, and calls, "Hey, Frank! How goes your toiling?"
Art by midnight_city
Frank jerks and stares at him, blanching a bit and then glancing away like Gerard might retreat back into the hallway if he doesn't pay too much attention. "What are you doing here?" he mumbles.
Gerard's face falls. "I... sorry to startle you. I just wanted to see how you were doing." He takes a few steps into the room and gingerly sets the coffee on Frank's desk before backing out. Frank doesn't even look over at him, steadfastly searching through his filing cabinet. Gerard's pretty sure he's not actually looking for anything in particular, though.
Thumping down the back stairs to the second basement, Gerard's relieved to find Mikey alone, muttering over his work. He glances up at Gerard's heavy footsteps, chewing his pencil and tapping his fingers against a set of blueprints. "Hey," he greets, frowning. "Second visit this morning, is everything okay?"
Gerard grabs a mug of coffee, sits down, and frowns silently. Mikey watches him for several seconds, then goes back to studying his diagrams. Gerard props his chin in his hand and slowly sips his coffee, feeling disappointed and kind of chagrined. He probably should've guessed that Frank wouldn't be any more comfortable with Gerard now than he ever has been, but--he'd sort of hoped.
After a bit, he heaves a sigh and takes a big gulp of coffee. It's still too hot and it burns all the way down. "Fuck!" he gasps after swallowing. "Why am I such an idiot? That's a rhetorical question."
Mikey cackles silently at him for a brief moment, then settles down a bit. "If it's rhetorical, then I can't help you," he shrugs, concerned smile pulling at his mouth.
Gerard spares him a dry look. "I can't really... it's complicated," he sighs again. "For once in my life, I would like things to be simple, you know? Just once. I know, I know I've chosen a life that doesn't really make that possible. Doesn't mean I can't wish things were different once in a while." He glares down into his coffee as if it were purposefully too hot.
Mikey snorts. "Chosen. Yeah."
Gerard blows on the surface of his coffee, looks up at Mikey and smiles wryly before taking a careful sip. "Well, either way," he dismisses with a wave of his hand. "It's hardly relevant when everything I touch just turns to--" he stops, sighs. He's being a melodramatic fuck and he knows this, but it's what he does. Mikey knows it even better than he does, in fact, so it's not like he minds.
Mikey sets down his chewed-up pencil and leans against the table, gangly limbs folding with an awkward grace. He glances down the length of the empty workshop, then says quietly, "Look, it's not like I haven't noticed this going on, Gerard. Hell, it's not even like I didn't suspect it before you ever got here, so don't act like this is somehow your fault, okay? There are some people who just... can't deal with things. Not everyone is as..." he harrumphs a small cough, averting his eyes, "as brave as you are. As accepting. So just--keep that in mind."
Gerard's lips quirk up a bit. "Some would call me incredibly foolish." His shoulders roll upward. "I probably am. But you're right. I know you are." He sighs again and then grins. "So, we should go to the pound this weekend and see if there are any dogs you think Bunny will find acceptable."
Mikey sighs long-sufferingly. "Alicia would skin me alive, c'mon. You need to get your small needy creature fix elsewhere."
Gerard shoots him a sharp look, but Mikey just widens his eyes innocently. "Anyway, it's not like there's room in the apartment for a dog, now that you've got the study packed full of your Captain Americas."
"Captain America is important! And if we got a small dog it would be okay. It's not like I want a German Shepherd. C'mon, Mikey. I'd get a hamster, but Bunny would eat it! Actually, she'd probably eat a dog, too, but it's less likely."
Mikey snickers. "Tell you what--you convince Alicia that Bunny needs a little sibling to, y'know, adjust her or something, and stop making me the bad guy, here. Then we'll talk."
Gerard bites his lip to keep from pouting. Alicia is sweet as pie and perfect for Mikey, but she still intimidates the hell out of him when she gets protective.
"So--um--how about we just drive up to Tallahassee for a weekend and take her to the pound and get whichever puppy she likes best? I think a puppy would do a better job of convincing her than I could." Gerard grins. "And you could see her and actually leave campus because you'll have a chaperone."
Mikey perks right up at that, and Gerard smirks. "Voila! Multiple problems solved," he sing-songs.
Mikey flushes almost imperceptibly and rolls his eyes. "Sure, okay." He manages to sound reluctant somehow, which is just hilarious.
Gerard smiles sunnily, almost managing to forget his rotten mood, thinking about the adorable, cuddly little dog he's going to get. Soon.
Frank stares at the coffee mug Gerard left on his desk unhappily and pushes his hair back off his forehead. The coffee smells really good. After a few minutes, he picks it up, fully intending to bring it straight back to the lounge and leave it for someone who might actually drink it, because Frank just can't. Somehow, though, he ends up in the elevator, leaning tiredly against the cool metal wall and punching a button at random, clutching the mug in a fist that's trembling just a bit. He doesn't know where he's going; he just wants to get away from this floor, away from Gerard and all the work in his office and how overwhelmed he feels by everything lately.
The elevator shudders to a stop, opens, and Bryar gets in, smiling in surprise. "So, Dr. Iero! Rocket scientists don't usually come up this way."
Frank opens and closes his mouth a bit like a fish. Captain Bryar is unfailingly kind with his teasing, but he still makes Frank somewhat nervous, simply because--well, he's an astronaut. At the best of times, Frank is properly in awe of the military wing of NASA, and he's feeling pretty fragile right now. "Oh," he manages to eke out, "well, I was just--taking a walk. You know, brainstorming." That sounds okay, he thinks, fairly believable.
"You look like you need a break from brainstorming. Come to my office, I got a new delivery of freeze-dried foods I'm supposed to taste test. Wanna help?"
Frank gapes some more. Is this what astronauts do all day? he wonders dumbly for a brief moment before sense prevails. "Sure," he agrees quickly, because who is he to turn down Bryar, and--well, it sounds kind of fun. And distracting.
"You'll regret it. They try to get us to eat the weirdest shit, man. And let me tell you, freeze-dried tuna is vile." Bryar chuckles. The elevator opens and he puts his arm in front of the door and gestures for Frank to go through.
Frank chokes a little, then chuckles obligingly. "Sounds it. I heard the orange drink is a hit, at least?"
Bryar laughs and nods. "Mostly because it washes away the taste of the food."
Frank pulls a face.
Bryar laughs. "Yeah, it's pretty gruesome. But they're trying to make it a little more edible for us. And frankly, when you're up there, you don't really care much about what you're eating."
Frank hangs back in the doorway when they reach Bryar's corner office with a view of the parking lot. It's not precisely glamorous, but it's a far cry from Frank's cramped quarters with one noisy air vent.
Bryar gestures for him to come in and sit while rummaging around in a drawer. "Of course, a good meal up there would be better than any meal ever eaten down here."
"I bet," Frank agrees, gingerly seating himself in one of the brown leather-upholstered office chairs. "Anything's your mother's cooking when you're a hundred miles up, huh?"
Bryar nods seriously. "Even the tuna's palatable up there." He hands over an opened vacuum pack, encouraging grin on his face, and Frank reaches in tentatively, pulling out a cube of... some kind of gelatin-coated foodstuff, he imagines.
"I don't even recognize this," he hedges dubiously. He's not about to back down, though, so he takes a bite. It tastes... like food-flavored styrofoam, to be honest, weirdly grainy and dry.
Bryar laughs at his expression and says, "They're working on better reconstitution, too, or so I'm solemnly promised after every test flight."
"I should hope so. That's... nothing meant to be put in the human mouth is supposed to have that texture." Frank stares at the other half of what he bit into. "Is this supposed to be... spaghetti and meat sauce?"
Bryar grins, pleased. "You've got some sharp taste buds, my friend. Took me halfway through re-entry the first time I went up to figure out what the hell I'd eaten for dinner the night before. Trohman, the asshole, thought it'd be hilarious to haze the rookie by stealing the label."
Frank takes a quick sip of his coffee to mask the unpleasant lingering taste in his mouth and laughs appreciatively. "Well, you'll probably get some much better food this weekend, at least. Toro mentioned Wentz is, uh--going the whole hog." He snorts a little at his terrible pun. "As it were," he adds apologetically, flushing how nerdy that was.
Bryar just tips his head back and laughs. "Wentz never does anything by half, that's for sure. Knew him back in Chicago and he was always this side of insane. Having a wife and baby has done nothing to mellow him. If anything, it's made him even crazier."
Frank shrugs awkwardly; he can't really say much about his immediate superior. "Well, he's definitely, you know, different." Wentz is different, but in a way that people either appreciate or get taken from behind by, and it's obviously worked to his advantage. Frank wishes he could say the same for his own... quirks.
"Different is certainly a good word for him. He's made it work for him, though. Honestly, I'm surprised he didn't go into politics. He's good at convincing people of things. That's why he's in the position he is--he talked a lot of people into supporting the program," Bryar explains. "Lucky for us, he's good at more than just talking. We've had a few people here who could talk real nice, but couldn't actually do anything useful."
Frank makes an agreeing noise; he's heard scuttlebutt about the funding scramble for the program in the early days. "Well," he says, "I guess we owe him one, then." He smiles and pokes at the food-cube a little. "I should probably get back and finish up that report for him as a thank-you-for-my-job gesture."
Bryar grins. "You ever wanna taste test more of this stuff, just come on up. Things can get a little boring around here between missions. You scientists do all the real work."
"Well, far be it from me to turn down your home cooking, Bryar." Frank smiles, eyeing the remains of the crumbling cube. "Thanks for--thanks."
"No problem," he replies, sweeping the food, bag and all, into the nearest trash can. "See you Saturday at Wentz's, then?"
"Uh--yeah, I think so. I don't see any reason why not. You and Toro are going?"
Bryar nods. "And I better see you, Iero," he threatens pleasantly. "If anyone ever needed some fresh air and pit barbecue, it's you."
Frank laughs self-consciously, nods, and slips out the door. As he steps into the elevator across the hall, he realizes he left his coffee--Gerard's coffee--in Bryar's office. He sighs, worry settling back down over him as the elevator descends to the fourth floor. For the first time in a long time, he can't wait for the weekend to arrive.
Frank tries really hard not to show up too early at Wentz's, but he thinks he might've overshot a little bit. His mother always told him it was polite to be prompt for social engagements, but in his experience that's not always the case. By the time he pulls his battered car up the last sand dune of Wentz's winding driveway, he can hear loud shouts and the Beach Boys blasting and see what he thinks are called tiki torches dotted along the darkening beach.
He sighs, climbs out of the car, and starts to follow the path lit by the torches. The music and voices get louder and Frank's palms start to sweat. The first person he sees is Bryar, who calls out, "Iero, get over here and tell Toro that he's wrong! He won't listen to reason!"
Frank feels a smile stretching across his face and he walks over to the two of them. "Hey," he greets, sticking his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels a bit. "Toro, you're wrong," he adds obligingly, glancing at Bryar, who gives him a thumbs up and then an approving whack on the shoulder.
"My boy," he announces, grinning and sucking back a bottle of Double Diamond. "Glad you came--wasn't sure you would!"
Frank shrugs, glancing longingly at Bryar's beer because he could really use some himself. Small talk is okay, except that a lot of the time it ends up involving locker room stories and... well, the sorts of things that Frank is just not equipped to deal with. "Sure I came," he replies, like it was a simple decision, like he didn't stand in his bedroom for half an hour staring at his three patterned polos, wondering which would look least ridiculous and out-of-place. Like he didn't nearly pull a U-turn twice on the way over--once, when it occurred to him that Gerard would be here.
"Drinks're that-a-way," Bryar directs with one hand, and Frank starts and has to remind himself that everyone drinks at parties and no one is reading his mind.
He wanders over in that general direction to find a giant aluminum tub full of ice and various brands of beer. Frank grabs one at random and makes his way back over to Toro and Bryar. They've clearly moved on from whatever Toro was wrong about and on to talking about bands they've seen play at the clubs around the city. Frank doesn't really have much to contribute to the conversation; he can't remember the last time he went out with the intention of hearing a band play. Apparently, though, they're both amateur musicians who sometimes jam together.
"Frank, you play anything?" Bob asks, taking a sip of his beer and lighting a cigarette.
"Ah, I played guitar back in high school and undergrad. I haven't touched it in a while, though." Frank lights his own cigarette and tries to remember the last time he even looked at his guitar. Even just the case. Probably when he moved.
Toro's face lights up, though, and he insists, "You should join us, sometime! We just sit around in Bob's den and play whatever songs come to mind. Sometimes we make stuff up, but it's not formal or anything."
Frank takes a long pull of his beer and nods noncommitally. That actually sounds kind of fun, not that he'll ever go, probably. "Sounds cool," he says. "I think the last time I played anything it was Buddy Holly or something, though, so, y'know. Three-chord rock'n'roller."
Toro laughs and says, "That's all you need, though! Seriously, I'll let you know next time we get together, all right?"
Bryar nods. "Food included, even. No freeze-dried shit."
Frank giggles loudly and nearly slaps his hand over his mouth, utterly mortified. Everyone in school teased him for that and he tries really hard not to laugh around people anymore. He glances down at his empty bottle and guesses he's maybe further along on his way to tipsy than he'd imagined.
Toro and Bryar just grin and laugh with him, though. He runs a hand through his hair and drains the rest of his beer, ashes his cigarette into the bottle, and takes a long drag. "As long as freeze-dried spaghetti isn't on the menu, it might be fun. And as long as Wentz doesn't have me working crazy hours."
"Aw, let me take care of Wentz," Bryar boasts, eyes twinkling. "Hey, another round?"
Toro nods, snickering at Bryar's claims of influence. "I'll grab some." He wanders off toward the tub and Frank's eyes follow him briefly, noting the table of food with a gigantic roast pig in the middle, and he's about to make some comment to Bryar about it when he sees Gerard and Mikey out the corner of his eye.
"Shit," he murmurs, and turns back to Bryar, who has clearly not sensed Frank's discomfort because he's raising his arm and calling, "Ways! Get over here. Tell Iero he's wrong!"
"Is this how you make all your friends?" Frank cracks nervously, edging away a little so at least he won't be surrounded when they get over here.
"Yup," Bryar says, but doesn't elaborate and then the Ways are upon them.
"Frank, you're wrong," Mikey states. "Doesn't that get old, Bryar?"
Bryar grins in a self-satisfied way, grabbing a bottle from Toro as he returns. "Nope. Not as long as you all play right into my hands."
"Hey guys," Toro greets Mikey and Gerard. "Shit, sorry, I only got three." He hands Frank a beer and shrugs apologetically.
"Don't worry about it," laughs Gerard. "We're good and buzzed already, I think. Wentz spiked the punch that Ashlee made earlier with coconut rum and they had a screaming fight over it while we all got toasted. I think they went back inside after that." He raises his eyebrows meaningfully and smirks. Frank tries to look away but it's sort of... captivating.
Gerard's eyes land on his and Frank has a brief moment of panic, but Gerard just looks over at Toro and asks if Krista is here somewhere. Frank takes a deep breath and a long drink of his beer and looks over at the beach for a moment. When he returns to the conversation, Mikey is giving him a calculating look.
Frank tries not to flinch, but it's difficult, and he finally drags his eyes away when he can't take it anymore. He really hates how Mikey just looks like he knows... things... all the time. It's almost as bad as Gerard, except for how Gerard makes Frank's stomach cramp up, on top of everything else. That is definitely worse. He slugs back more beer and tunes out of the conversation, staring at the sand and thinking about how there was a time when he would've killed for this kind of thing--parties, friends, relative normalcy--but right now it just reminds him of how he can never really be like everyone else here, no matter what.
"Right, Frank?" Toro's voice cuts into his thoughts.
"What? Sorry. I was--lost." Frank can feel his cheeks getting hot.
Toro laughs. "I could tell. I was saying you play guitar and we'd bribed you into joining us."
"Oh, I--" Frank's all flustered because, well, he didn't really mean he'd go and he doesn't want Gerard--or anyone--to think that he plays well. "I guess, yeah. Kind of."
Mikey snorts and Frank glances up to meet his amused gaze.
"That's great, Frank," Gerard replies, almost gently, and Frank's eyes edge over to him of their own accord before shooting back down to his beer. Beer, right. He drinks some more.
"They let Gerard play with them once and I think it's actually impossible to be worse at it than he is, so chances are, compared to him, you're a guitar genius," Mikey comments, smirking at his brother.
"Hey!" Gerard punches Mikey's arm lightly, and then grimaces. "It's true. I'm terrible. I play every fifth chord because I can't make the transitions fast enough."
Frank giggles and manages not to blush too horribly this time, at least. "At least we're not amateur rocket scientists, I guess. Much more deadly." His stomach swims a little, suddenly, and he puts his hand to it, breathes out. "Huh, I think--I'm gonna get some air."
Bryar pats him on the back and Toro nods. "Sure, man. You need any help?"
"No," Frank replies, just as Gerard volunteers, "Here, I'll come with. Could use a little walk."
Frank can barely keep himself from protesting vehemently, but he holds in a sigh and makes his way towards the nearest exit to the beach.
It's a beautiful night, really. The stars are just starting to come out and the sand is still warm from the day's sun. His stomach churns again and he takes a couple of deep breaths.
"Hey," Gerard says softly, reaching out and skimming his fingers over Frank's elbow as if to hold him steady. Instead, Frank shivers and thinks how he should be worried about whether anyone can still see them, down beyond the tufts of beach grass, but he's past caring very much at the moment.
"Hey," Gerard says again, in a different tone, "let's go wading!" He seems really excited about it, face lit and eyes out on the licking waves, scruffy hair blowing across his cheeks.
"Okay," Frank finds himself saying. He doesn't know why. He's just abruptly really tired of caring about keeping up appearances, and at least with Gerard, at least when he's rather drunk, it seems useless to try.
Gerard plops down on the sand and unties his shoes and strips off his socks, rolling up the cuffs of his pants. He looks up at Frank and smiles, asking, "You gonna stand there or are you gonna come wading with me?"
Frank carefully lowers himself to the sand and follows Gerard's lead, removing his socks and shoes and rolling up his pantlegs. "I don't think I've done this since I was fourteen and we went to Atlantic City on vacation."
Gerard grins in surprise, leaning over and tucking Frank's socks into his canvas sneakers so they don't get all sandy. "Yeah?" he asks. "Are you from Jersey, or just--Mikey and I are from Jersey."
Frank can't help but smile back. "Yeah, I'm from Jersey. Born and raised in Belleville."
"No shit?" Gerard laughs happily, rising to his feet and grabbing Frank's hands, pulling him up along with. "Small fuckin' world." He leads them out into the shallows, keeping a hand at the small of Frank's back. "Don't go too far, okay, I don't want you to drown."
Frank huffs and splashes at Gerard's shins. "I'm fine," he insists.
"You looked like you were gonna pass out. Last I checked, close to passing out did not equal fine. Also, hey!" Gerard splashes back at Frank.
Frank giggles, nearly doubling over. For some reason Gerard splashing water like a little kid just does him in. He gasps a little, hands on his knees, and then coughs, repeating, "'m fine. Just not real used to drinking, I guess." He sighs. "Such a nerd." He's got salt spray spattered on his left glasses lens somehow and he squints, trying to rub it against his shirt, but it just smears. "A nerd who can no longer see anything through his left eye," he sighs and gives up. "So you and Mikey are from Jersey? North? South?"
Gerard smirks and pulls Frank back out of the water. "Here," he says, hooking two fingers over the arm of Frank's glasses and tugging lightly. "My shirt's softer, I bet it'll work."
Frank stands, feet buried in the warm sand, and waits blindly while Gerard fiddles with his lens.
"From North Jersey," Gerard finally replies. "From--" he sounds almost embarrassed, "from Belleville, too, actually. I promise I'm not a stalker."
"That's... weird. You go to Belleville High?"
"Yep. Or, Hellville High as we liked to call it." Gerard slips Frank's glasses back onto his face and over his ears.
Frank blinks through the growing dark at him. He spends a moment distracted by the feel of Gerard's fingers on his ears, but eventually has the presence of mind to say, "I guess that explains why I never met you or Mikey, then. I was stuck at Queen of Peace, which was plenty hellish. Still odd, though. Belleville's not that big."
"No," Gerard admits, wandering a little further up the beach. Frank joins him after a moment, and they stare up at the sky together, which, Frank reflects with a burst of drunken logic, is incredibly big.
After a minute, he feels dizzy, so he fumbles his way down and lies back on the sand. He stares at the sky and imagines himself up there, flying above the atmosphere, and makes quiet, wistful rocket ship noises. Being an astronaut would be pretty cool, he thinks.
Gerard settles onto the sand next to him with a soft thump. They lie on the beach staring up at the stars for a while before Frank realizes that he's making the rocket ship noises out loud, not just in his daydreams. He presses his lips into a firm line and breathes out through his nose. His ears feel hot.
Gerard doesn't say anything about it though, just starts talking quietly about the sky above them, pointing to the things he likes. For the first time, Frank listens and finds Gerard's voice soothing, rather than sparking every paranoid idea he's ever had. It's nice, lying on the sand, staring up at the stars, listening to Gerard talk. He seems to know all the mythology about the constellations, basically every solar body the ancient Greeks and Romans could see, and the stories he tells about what's above them are interesting. Frank's never heard them before, not really, but Gerard seems to think they explain something about what's up there.
The thing is, Frank reflects, he never had the patience to sit still very much as a kid, except when he was behind his telescope, so to him, the stars were always fascinating because they were gigantic balls of pulsating energy. But he can see why Gerard is into the whole constellation thing, he guesses, even though the stories obviously aren't true.
Franks wrinkles his nose and concentrates on the stars Gerard is pointing to, then hmms and says, "I mean, I see that, I guess. But you do know that the whole idea is scientifically dubious, right? People on earth are the only beings in the solar system who see the stars in that particular illusory pattern and--and thus--y'know--interpret them in that way," he pauses as Gerard stifles a sound, then adds, "But metaphorically, it's quite moving."
Gerard's snickers grow into a full-fledged, incredulous laugh as he turns to look over at Frank.
Frank sits up and glares down at him, suddenly really aware that his hair is all cowlicky in the back and he has sand stuck to the seat of his pants. He feels ridiculous and exposed; he's trying to make an effort and Gerard is laughing at him.
Gerard abruptly stops laughing and sighs, pulling Frank back down. "I'm not laughing at you. I'm sorry. You make me all nervous sometimes."
Frank snorts, because Gerard is the one who's always making him nervous with his hovering presence and his coffee when Frank is clearly busy. "Okay," he drawls.
Gerard just sighs again and they're both quiet for a few moments before he explains, "I guess what I've been trying to say is that to me, space isn't about science or even metaphors, really. It's about the places it takes my imagination. Science and space exploration are just... my way of opening up new pathways for the imagination."
Frank relaxes a bit, shoulders falling back into the sand, brushing Gerard's. "Yeah," he agrees after several minutes of contemplation. "Okay. I mean, I used to build rockets out of Campbell's cans and stuff, and that wasn't really science so much as exploration, I guess. So I sort of get what you mean. I always wanted to go faster and farther and get somewhere." He glances over at Gerard cautiously, like maybe he'll start teasing him about being a little boy playing with the big kids.
Gerard turns his head and looks Frank in the eyes and smiles. Almost beams, really. "Yes, exactly. Every day we do something amazing, it feels like the first time I saw Sputnik up in the sky, as if the sky is not the limit and if we can just... keep reaching and learning and imagining, we can reach beyond the moon."
Frank can't help the way his throat tightens for a moment, not really. Gerard's smile is just radiant and Frank grins, suddenly so pleased with himself and with the world and everything they're working toward. His glasses are slipping down his nose, blurring everything in the dim light of the night sky, and he thumbs them up carelessly and then reaches over to pat awkwardly at Gerard's hand where it rests on his chest.
Gerard flips his hand over and gives Franks fingers a squeeze before raising his arms and gesturing at the sky. "I just get frustrated when we lose sight of that for other stuff."
"Huh," Frank agrees thoughtfully. "Yeah. There's a lot more out there than down here, anyway."
"Sometimes I think it'd be nice to just leave all this behind. The politics and the wars and the hiding, and just everything, and go find an unoccupied corner of space to live in. I know it's ridiculous and not even possible, but sometimes I think it'd be nice," Gerard murmurs dreamily.
Frank giggles unexpectedly and then bites down on his lip to muffle it. "Yeah, maybe," he allows teasingly. "If we keep up at this pace, maybe there'll really be a Mars colony someday."
Gerard laughs. "Maybe someday there will." He lapses into silence and grins over at Frank.
Frank smiles back at him, full of overwhelming contentedness. He and Gerard just lie there, smiling back and forth at each other goofily, huffing laughter every now and then, and Gerard's eyes are so alive and warm and Frank can't remember anyone ever looking at him like this. Like he's special, worth the look.
He raises his hand tentatively, sand sieving through his fingers, and reaches out to brush them over Gerard's cheek, just lightly. It's warmer than he expected, bathed in the moon's blue light, and he startles a little, lets out a small noise. He feels light-headed and relaxed and better than he has in months, possibly years, and for once in his life, he follows his first instinct and leans over and places his lips on Gerard's.
Gerard's steady breath stutters against Frank's lips, neither of them moving, and Frank's eyes slowly blink open--when did he close them?--and Gerard's lashes are laid against his cheeks, his brow tense as if he's in pain. Frank is suddenly aware of how clumsy his thick glasses are, poking uncomfortably, and he draws away, sitting up, sober awareness pouring over him. "Oh God," he whispers. "I--"
Gerard's eyes snap open, dark and unreadable, and he shakes himself, pushing up after Frank. "It's okay--it's--" he reaches for Frank's knee, grasping it firmly and nudging his nose against Frank's cheek. "If you want... it's okay."
Frank turns slightly, squeezes his eyes shut and presses his lips to Gerard's again, more firmly because, he thinks wildly, he'll probably never have another chance. He's never kissed anyone before, never been kissed. It's not something that's done in bathrooms at bars. Gerard moves slightly, somehow fits his lips less awkwardly against Frank's and it's--
There are footsteps coming over the sand dune, padding footsteps. Frank jerks back and practically launches himself up onto his feet. This really can't be happening to him.
When Mikey descends though the beach grasses, a wave of relief wars with the horror that's rolling in his stomach. He can't even bring himself to look at Gerard as he scrambles away, following the path Mikey just came down.
He jogs to his car and falls in, turning the key and pulling out fast down the driveway. Halfway back to his apartment, he has to pull over to the side of the road and vomit in a bush on somebody's front lawn. When he gets back in his car, he rests his head on the steering wheel for a moment, breathing deeply and trying to ignore the taste in his mouth. It's only then that he realizes he left his shoes and socks on the beach.
Part 2
by fleurdeliser and mxtape
Frank/Gerard
~18,100 words
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. These characters are based on people of the same name, but that's pretty much where reality ends here.
Warnings: Everything we know about NASA came from the internets, and some of it is probably wrong.
Notes: Written for periodbandom.
Part 1
Part 2
NASAverse Mix
The second basement of Building Six at the Kennedy Space Center is not, Frank reminds himself, straightening his shoulders and stepping out of the elevator, one of the more intimidating offices in the NASA compound. It is, in fact, just one workshop out of many, where fabricators test out designs that come from the engineers upstairs--where Frank works. The problem with the workshop in Frank's building, however, is that Mikey Way works there. And Mikey Way is a category unto himself.
When Frank turns the corner into the busy, noisy shop, Mikey's back is to him, bent over a drafting table. Frank pauses a few feet away, but Mikey doesn't make any sort of acknowledging sign at all. Frank clenches his fingers around his binder of papers, waffling between clearing his throat and interrupting or just waiting until Mikey is done with whatever he's doing. The thing is, he's not quite sure that Mikey wouldn't just ignore him on purpose.
After several moments, Mikey's head comes up and he props the heels of his hands on the table in front of him. "Dr. Iero," he announces, and Frank can just hear the slight smirk in his voice, though his expression is probably as unreadable as ever.
Frank shuffles his feet and coughs, rattling his papers importantly. He has a reason to be here, so Mikey Way shouldn't make him feel--well, faintly ridiculous, but he always does. "Yes, right--" he begins.
Mikey turns around, eyes magnified creepily behind his large safety goggles, and interrupts Frank's attempt to gain the upper hand, here. "Dr. Iero, rocket scientist to the stars!" he announces again, eyebrows twitching upward, and it would sound very grand if it weren't delivered in complete deadpan.
Frank winces.
"What can I help you with, sir?" Mikey asks, shoving a hand into his left trouser pocket, amused smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
Frank's forehead tenses in irritation and he tries to force it smooth. "I have the blueprints for the new rocket. I think we're ready to get started with the test models, but Dr. Toro suggested I bring these down and have you go over them before we give the final all-clear."
Mikey reaches out a hand and quirks an eyebrow at Frank, who hands them over. He almost doesn't let go of them, doesn't really want to, and wow, that would've been ridiculous.
Mikey spreads them out over his table, burying the drafts he was looking at before, and studies the papers while Frank stands and watches, unsure what to do. He puts his arms behind his back and then down his sides and then he crosses them over his chest, but feels that's a little too confrontational, so he puts them behind his back again. Mikey just keeps staring at the blueprints, ignoring him completely. At one point, he scribbles something down on a notepad and Frank tries to read it, but it's too far away and Frank holds in a sigh and waits. He hates this part, the feeling of being useless and expendable.
After a few more minutes, Mikey looks up and says, "Could I keep these for the rest of the day? I'd like to make sure I don't miss anything."
"Sure," Frank nods shortly, somewhat relieved that he won't have to stand around awkwardly for twenty minutes or anything. "Just--call upstairs when you're through?"
Mikey makes a hmmm noise, attention already back on the lower right quadrant of the draft. He scribbles something on his pad again, checkmarks the thing he wrote before, and glances briefly up at Frank. "Toro told you to bring them down?"
"Well--yes--not that I disagreed, of course--" Frank fumbles. He always feels like he's one misstep away from alienating most of the engineers upstairs with his awkwardness, but Mikey never seems to mind it, at least, since he just snorts and makes a go on gesture. "We both thought the gimbal should be double-checked. I spent all last night re-calculating and I think the friction should be minimal, but--"
"Don't sweat it," Mikey interrupts Frank's rambling explanation. "I trust your judgment on the numbers, Iero. Lemme just take a look at the rest and we'll call it good to go."
Frank lets out the deep breath he was holding in and blushes because it must make him seem nervous and immature, which is the last thing he needs, particularly around Mikey, who'll just give him that knowing look that gets under Frank's skin so much. Frank doesn't want to be known, not by his co-workers, not by a mysteriously-motivated quantity like Mikey Way.
Mikey doesn't seem to notice, though, his eyes focused on the blueprints. He looks up again and says, "I'll probably be looking at these for another couple of hours. There's coffee if you want. Over there," he gestures towards a table in the corner of the room.
"You keep a substance you consume in the same room as several dangerous chemicals?" Frank pushes his glasses up his nose and raises his eyebrows.
Startlingly, Mikey cracks a funny sort of grin, like that reminded him of something, and says, "I might have to move it when my brother starts next week, actually. He'd drink anything in the proximity of coffee without looking first."
Frank shifts, confused. "Your brother does--" he waves his hand around at the general array of blowtorches and drills, "too?"
Mikey grins a little wider. "No, he'll be upstairs. In your wing, but on the Robotics end. But he'll be down here all the time stealing my coffee. If he could, he'd forget conventional relationships and marry his coffee maker. If he wasn't such a confirmed bachelor." Mikey has that look on his face again, and Frank glances down at his loafers uncomfortably.
He clears his throat, then says, "Well, it'll be... interesting to meet him. I'll come back for those in a few hours."
Mikey gives him a little salute with his drafting pencil, still watching him with that expression. Frank can't really tell if it's mocking or not, but he ducks his head in acknowledgment, nevertheless, before making a break for the elevator.
NASA, Gerard has decided after his first full week in Robotics, is not unlike high school. There are the superstar astronauts and the over-achiever engineers and the under-appreciated administrative personnel and of course, the geeks in the basement. Gerard figures he fits somewhere in the middle of the caste system, as an engineer who is perhaps not over-achieving, but at least passionate and engaged in his project. It's just that the coffee down in the break room has been calling his name for the past fifteen minutes and his protractor is starting to make no sense, no matter which way he angles it. Gerard sighs, rising from his squeaky chair with the cracked vinyl backing, and stretches, spine popping satisfactorily.
NASA even looks a bit like high school, with the industrial government grays and cardboard-y carpeting in the halls. Gerard makes his way across his wing to the break room that separates Robotics from Propulsion. As he nears it, he catches sight of a young man with a pocket protector, thick glasses, and Brylcreemed hair stepping out of an office just down the way. Mikey has mentioned something about a tiny, baby-faced engineer up on the fourth floor who hates his guts, and as soon as Gerard spies this guy, he knows it's him. Never mind that the door's frosted glass is stenciled "DR. FRANK IERO," there is just something about the way he presents himself that's fully as hilarious and charming as Mikey said.
"Hey," calls Gerard, jogging up the hallway to meet him. "I'm Gerard, I just started in Robotics." He smiles pleasantly and watches as Frank adjusts his glasses uncomfortably, like he's unsure why Gerard is introducing himself.
"Nice to meet you," Frank comes out with, eventually, sounding a bit stiff. "Dr. Iero. Propulsion." He pumps Gerard's hand once, grip a little too tight, and smiles briefly.
Gerard can't help grinning at him. Mikey was right; he's gotta be around twenty-one, but he acts like he's forty-five. He probably means it to seem professional, Gerard thinks, but really it's more adorable and amusing; he himself is only twenty-five, but that's a pretty normal age for young engineers just arriving at NASA. This kid, fidgeting in his starched blue shirt and wool trousers, has to be some kind of genius, which is intriguing.
"So Frank," he says, and Frank's brow furrows, like he's not sure if Gerard using his first name is meant to be an insult, and oh wow, this guy is going to make life so much more entertaining at work. "Frank," Gerard continues with a little smile, "walk with me. I was just gonna go steal some of Bob's Tang from the Military Lounge."
Frank's eyebrows shoot up and he glances around like someone's going to swoop down and fire Gerard for even talking about something like that. "Uh," he says, edging away and pressing the break room door open, "I don't think Captain Bryar would appreciate that, Ge-- Doctor--" he stops, realizing he doesn't know Gerard's last name, and sighs. "Anyway, I have to--I have work to do, so. Nice to meet you." He nods shortly and disappears into the room.
Gerard stands there in the hallway, caffeine fix temporarily forgotten, and ponders Frank Iero, hands in his pockets and a funny smile on his face. Mikey had said Iero was twitchy and awkwardly amusing, but he hadn't mentioned how appealing his hazel eyes are or the cowlicks that seem to escape his brutal combing regimen. Mikey wouldn't notice those things, anyway, Gerard admits to himself, turning away and taking the stairs down to the second basement to share his newest fascination.
"I knew you'd like him," Mikey says with a sly smile. He's wielding an unlit blowtorch, protective goggles perched up on his forehead as he examines the prototype he's working on. Gerard thinks it might be a new casing alloy they're testing for heat-resistance, but it could be anything, really. Mikey gets a kick out of playing with blowtorches, in general. It used to scare the pants off their father when he'd pull his '53 Buick into the garage after work to find Mikey melting his GI Joes with a manic grin. Strangely enough, it never much bothered their mother.
"Anyway, thanks for putting in a good word with Wentz," Gerard says, shrugging off Mikey's glance. "It's not exactly chock-full of creative types around here, but I can see how dedicated everyone is to the project." He watches as Mikey takes a low-grade flame to the metal plate, standing well back. "Some more than others," he adds, smirking at Mikey's intent expression.
Frank, Gerard quickly learns, is one of the more dedicated engineers at NASA, particularly for a guy his age in an entry level position. He doesn't seem to ever take breaks--just wanders into the kitchen, eyes buried in various diagrams, fumbles for the coffee blindly while reading specs under his breath, and wanders back to his office, sometimes slopping dribs of coffee as he goes--which makes it very difficult for Gerard to get to know him. And Gerard really does want to know him, even beyond the amusement factor that he's positive Frank Iero will bring to his life.
Art by theopteryx
The problem is that Frank is just as difficult to hold a conversation with as he is to pin down. Gerard finally manages to corner Frank in the break room on Monday morning while he waits for the first pot of the day to finish percolating. Frank's got that Monday morning look, too--his hair is still wet, combed carefully off his face, and his glasses magnify the purple half-circles under his eyes.
"Wild weekend?" Gerard inquires with a grin.
Frank turns suddenly, startled, like he didn't realize Gerard was there. "What?" he asks.
"Wild weekend?" Gerard repeats. "You look kind of wrecked."
Frank's gaze skitters away, holds firm on Gerard's right shoulder as he says shortly, "No. Nothing really. Just--extra work."
Gerard blinks but makes another attempt. "I've been there. What were you working on?"
Frank half-turns away to check on the coffee maker, murmuring, "Just... stuff. Re-calculations."
Gerard frowns. He knows that excuse--it's the one he gives his boss when he needs some extra time because he fucked up. "Oh," is all he says. "Well, I should've called you up, then, got you out of the house!"
Frank straightens and gives him an almost worried glance. "Why?"
Gerard laughs. "Slave labor, mostly. I moved all my stuff into Mikey's place on Saturday and he refuses to carry anything heavier than a sofa cushion, I swear. But it would've been nice to see some people outside work, regardless. That and sometimes taking a break from looking at all those numbers is just what you need to help them make sense. At least, that helps me." Gerard smiles.
Frank blinks several times, seems to be processing something, and then replies, "I, uh, wouldn't want to leave my dog alone too much. He's alone so much during the week..."
Gerard's eyes light up with excitement. "You have a dog?"
Frank gets on his tip-toes and reaches up to retrieve a NASA-issue mug out of the cupboard, then pours himself some coffee. "Sure, yeah," he says vaguely, grabbing one sugar cube with the silver emblem-stenciled tongs and plopping it in.
"Cream?" Gerard asks, wheeling around to gesture at the fridge in the corner. He wants to be helpful for some reason; Frank sort of seems like he needs someone to watch out for him. He's so young and yet obviously wary. It's strange.
"No," Frank says, and then adds, "thank you," after a beat.
"I want a dog," Gerard picks up brightly, undeterred, "but Mikey has a cat that he's taking care of for his girlfriend while she finishes college and he insists that the only way we can get one is if we properly introduce it to Bunny and make sure they get along. But nobody is going to let us bring a dog home for a trial period! He won't budge though." Gerard shakes his head sadly.
Frank casts him a funny look out the corner of his eye as he bends to blow at his coffee. "Huh," he says. "He's got a cat named Bunny?" A tiny smile curves at the corner of his mouth and Gerard latches onto it excitedly.
"Well, Alicia does, but same difference at this point, yeah."
Frank huffs a breath of laughter across his coffee, and Gerard nearly falls over. He has to bite his lip to keep from grinning too big and maybe scaring Frank away. "You should see her over the holidays when Alicia's around. They dress her in tiny cat-sized sweaters that Alicia knits when she's in class."
Frank swallows a sip, grimacing as he chokes a little. "Wow, uh, that's--love, I guess?" he offers.
Gerard smiles wistfully. "Yes, yes it is."
Frank fidgets a little, taking a swig from his mug and glancing around the room. "I should..." he gestures vaguely at the door. "Dr. Wentz will be looking for my report in a few hours."
Gerard smiles. "I bet Wentz loves being people's superior. I bet he grins benevolently at you every time you turn something in to him."
"Uh, yeah, he seems to enjoy it," Frank says and starts edging towards the door just as it opens to reveal Mikey.
Mikey gets that weird little smirk on his face as he takes in the two of them. "Hi Dr. Iero, Gerard," he drawls, emphasizing Gerard's name, and they conduct a conversation involving eyebrows and the odd facial twitch.
Frank slips out the door in the middle of it.
"So," says Mikey, slumping down across from Frank at the cafeteria table, "d'you think there's Martians?"
Frank looks up incredulously, spluttering on his Coca-Cola. He eyes Mikey's mild expression and disorderly hair and snorts, sure that he's joking, and then goes back to sawing at his breaded chicken cutlet.
"You don't, huh?" Mikey nods wisely, picking up his spoon and swirling it around in the heap of mashed potatoes on his plate.
Frank rolls his eyes a little. Sometimes he wonders whether the Way brothers are all there, honestly. In the past several weeks, they seem to have decided that bothering Frank is their new pet project, constantly following him into the break room and seeking him out during his lunch to discuss really non-essential, irrelevant, sometimes ridiculous things. "I'm not discussing this with you," he replies firmly.
"Hey!" yells Mikey, ignoring Frank and waving furiously. "Gee, over here!"
Frank scowls and his knife squeaks against his plate.
"Hey!" he hears Gerard greet them breathlessly, tumbling into the seat next to Mikey. "I got the best NASA joke for you guys, okay?"
Frank can feel Gerard looking at him, trying to attract his attention, but he doesn't glance up. "Okay, okay," Gerard continues after a second, dramatically, "what's the difference between a rocket and a rocket scientist?"
Mikey hiccups a weird little giggle and prompts, "What?"
Gerard grins, Frank can see, looking briefly up at his face. He spreads his hands, pleased at Frank's attention, and snickers, "A rocket can get it up!"
Mikey dissolves into giggle spasms and Frank blushes embarrassingly, shaking his head. Gerard beams and adds slyly, "Although I think maybe it should be more like, 'A rocket scientist pays other people to get him up.'"
Frank bites down on his cheek and coughs, adjusts his glasses nervously. "I don't think that's--"
"Frank was telling me about the Martians," Mikey interrupts with a smirk and a quick glance at Gerard.
Frank sighs. "I was not," he refutes. "I was telling Mikey that scientifically speaking, it's highly improbable that there are horror movie monsters on Mars."
Gerard observes him for a moment, smiling his odd secret smile that makes Frank want to go hide in his office with the blinds drawn. "But it would be pretty cool if there were, right?"
Frank sets down his knife and looks meaningfully at him. "It would be pretty cool," he manages steadily, "if I could massacre this cutlet in peace and worry about how to get us to Mars in the first place."
Gerard shrugs, unaffected, and rattles on about how Wentz seriously has the best dirty jokes of anyone in their building, period. Frank sighs internally, wondering why on earth the Ways have taken to him so strongly when he's clearly a wet blanket and all.
Frank honestly hates weekends. It's too much time to sit around his small, dingy apartment and get distracted from the work he brings home to occupy the time. There are some bright spots--taking Nikola out for a run in the park or on the beach, although Frank's childhood asthma was such that he inevitably ends up bent over, wheezing, while Nikola frolics and yips at him. He even sort of enjoys having the time to look at the cookbooks he checks out from the library and try his hand at red velvet cake and other things he remembers his mother baking when he was a kid.
The real problem with weekends is the forced isolation. No matter how much Frank wishes he didn't, he craves someone to talk to, or even just listen to, like the banal chatter at work that makes him feel like he's part of something. This, along with... other things, is what drives his main fear of weekends: the fact that he will probably end up lonely enough to go out.
The only gay bar within fifty miles, Alfonzo's, is burrowed away on a dead-end street in the bad section of downtown, where cops regularly come knocking for payoffs and occasionally conduct a desultory raid of the back room. Frank's never been unlucky enough to be there on one of those nights, but then he doesn't go that often in the first place for fear of undercover cops. Also because he prefers to take care of business in his bathroom at home, where he can imagine whomever he wants rather than risking everything to find some miserable married guy to blow quickly in the gritty, sticky bathroom at the bar.
Frank gets intensely twitchy every time he goes to Alfonzo's, which, he thinks, probably makes him look like he's got a nasty drug habit. He prefers to sit at the corner of the bar, facing the door, so he can watch who comes in to make sure he doesn't know them. The only problem with this vantage point is that he can't see the back entrance or the restrooms, but it's a minor worry he's usually willing to ignore. Tonight, though, when Frank glances to his left at the man who's just sidled up to the bar, he wishes like hell that he hadn't.
"Frank!" Gerard gives a friendly little salute, face lighting up in surprised pleasure. "Imagine running into a sweet thing like you in a rough place like this."
Frank gapes, so utterly stunned that it takes a moment for his heart to start pounding in panic. Somehow Gerard must've managed to sneak in when he'd looked away for a second, Frank thinks, or--his brain whispers--maybe he was in the bathroom with some guy the whole time. He shakes that thought away because it makes him uncomfortable for some reason, even more than he already is under Gerard's interested gaze. Frank sips his gin and tonic--the only cocktail he knows to order, because it was what his father made every night after work--and taps his fingertips on the dark wood bar, hunching down a little, hoping desperately that Gerard will just disappear.
Gerard sits right down next to him, though, and orders a White Russian, smiles at the middle-aged bartender, and tells Frank, "Tastes just like coffee with cream, my kind of drink."
Frank nods jerkily, still paralyzed, stomach churning as he forces down another sip. Gerard is actually waiting for Frank to say something, for once, expression intent and friendly, but Frank just sits there swishing his drink around in the glass and bolting some down every once in a while.
Finally, Gerard shifts and says, "So, I haven't seen you around as much this week. Busy with a project?"
Frank can't help the nervous, incredulous laugh that escapes him. Gerard came up to him at the local gay bar to ask about work? He knocks back the last of his drink and raises an unsteady finger for another one. "Sure," he says, "I'm very busy with work. I'm always busy with work." He grits his teeth as his gut protests; it's not used to liquor on an empty stomach. "What are you doing here?" he asks and then immediately wishes he hadn't. Still, it's the question that's been cycling through his mind frantically for the past several minutes.
Gerard lets out a surprised little laugh. "Well, Dr. Iero, I can think of quite a few reasons to be here!" He leers hilariously. "But mostly, I wanted a drink and maybe to meet a new friend or two, since I'm new here. And my brother made me."
Frank winces and glances around to make sure no one's listening to their conversation. "Don't call me that here," he whispers urgently.
Gerard's eyes widen and he pulls back, looking around, himself. "No one cares who you are, here, Frank, come on. That's the reason we all come!"
Frank shrugs. That's probably true, but it doesn't stop him from losing sleep over it sometimes--the fear that some cop will follow his car home, see his mailbox, find him in his government job and then--"Never mind," he says. After a moment, his brows pull together and he looks over at Gerard, who's twirling back and forth on his stool, watching the dance floor. "Your brother made you come?" Frank asks incredulously.
Gerard grins crookedly. "According to Mikey, if left to my own devices I would spend all my time in my room drawing and forget that people exist. He's probably right. So he somehow came up with the address of this place and shoved me out the door."
"Huh. That's--weird," Frank comes out with. "I mean, he knows? He's--he encourages it?" The idea is so foreign to him, that someone, that family could accept such a thing, even support it. Frank's parents are high on his list of Those Who Can Never Find Out.
Gerard shrugs. "Yeah. I guess it probably is weird. But I can't really remember a time that he didn't know. I've always known, so Mikey has, too. I'm pretty lucky to have him as my brother. Do you have any family in the area?"
"I'm--" Frank starts, and then stops himself. Why was he about to tell Gerard his personal business? "I'm not from around here," he finishes, setting down his drink. Things've gotten too friendly for his comfort already; bars are for meeting guys in the bathroom, knocking back a few, and then going home, and it's past time, since he's obviously not going to meet anyone besides Gerard tonight. "Nice to see you," he murmurs, tossing a tip on the bar and grabbing his jacket. "I assume you won't be mentioning this at work."
Gerard's watching him with considerable surprise written all over his face. "Well, no," he ventures. "Are you really leaving? I was hoping... we were just..."
Frank smiles tightly, jams his hands into his pockets. "Seriously," he repeats, paranoia rushing back, a tight ball in the pit of his stomach, "don't mention this."
"I... no, of course not," Gerard's eyebrows are drawn together in confusion and he bites his lip. "I feel like I should be apologizing, but I'm not sure what I did. Um... have a good night, then, I guess." He turns to the bartender and asks for another drink.
Frank stands there for a short moment, feeling almost guilty about the tinge of hurt he heard in Gerard's voice. The thing is, though, he tells himself as he follows Gerard's lead and turns away, that he's never been good at "social," and Gerard's got to know that by now. Mikey certainly does.
The thought squeezes briefly at his insides as he makes his way out to the car--Gerard is definitely going to tell his brother that Frank was here tonight. He unlocks the door and slams it behind him, hangs onto the wheel tightly while his breath comes fast and panicked. That makes two people who know.
The next day at work, though, Mikey teases him the same as always and doesn't even look at him differently. Frank's not sure if Gerard isn't planning on telling him or just didn't have the opportunity yet. Gerard actually makes his presence known much less than normal, not stopping by to bother Frank during his coffee breaks, which is mostly understandable. At lunch in the cafeteria, though, he still finds Gerard smiling at him from across the table over Bryar's and Toro's bickering.
Frank doesn't smile back. It worries him that he sort of wants to, so he makes a point not to do it. He can't imagine what makes Gerard think Frank would want to associate with him at work, now that... now that he knows exactly what Gerard's many eccentricities add up to. It's asking for trouble. Gerard is clearly one of those people who makes you trust him, like him, confide in him--Frank can tell. He's not going to get caught up in that, though. He's going to work on streamlining the final draft of his propulsion systems model because the deadline for that project is the end of next week and he's got the coolant pump to re-route, still.
He's chewing his sandwich and frowning over this problem when Captain Bryar's hand comes down on his shoulder. "Don't you think, Iero?" he asks.
"Uh, sure," Frank agrees, because that's usually safe with Bryar.
"Really?" Mikey cackles from across the table. "You don't seem like the type, Frank!"
Frank stiffens, automatically casting his eyes over to Gerard, who looks just as skeptical. Frank relaxes slightly. "The type to what?"
Bryar hits him on the back of the head. "I knew you weren't listening, Iero, Christ. The luau next weekend? Hawaiian-themed?" he prompts.
Frank shrugs blankly.
"Well, it's too late to back out now. You already agreed!" Toro grins. "If the rest of us have to suffer through it, you do, too."
"Oh, it'll be fun!" Gerard smiles at Toro. "Get a few Mai Tais in you and even making nice with Dr. Pelissier will seem like a good time."
Toro wrinkles up his nose. "No, I'm pretty sure there's not enough alcohol in the world to make talking to that guy a good time."
"Anyway," Bryar continues, "it's at seven on Saturday at Wentz's place. It's going to be huge--the words 'small' and 'party' have never belonged in the same sentence, with that guy."
Frank grimaces. "Sounds lovely. Hawaiian-themed? Does this require a... costume of some sort?"
"Wentz's parties always require a costume of some sort," Mikey answers dryly. "But I think with this one you can probably get away with just a Hawaiian shirt."
Frank nods glumly, imagining the sea of drunken, pale engineers in garish colors, already. It sounds fairly hellish, but it's still probably better than staying home and watching Andy Griffith with Nikola, he supposes.
Gerard stands just outside of Frank's office for several minutes, debating whether he should try to talk to the guy--reassure him a little, maybe. After he left the bar last weekend, he'd walked the twelve blocks to his and Mikey's place, kicking loose gravel on the sidewalk and feeling sorry for himself because he really sort of likes Frank and, well, Frank doesn't seem to like him. By Sunday, though, he'd decided to just give it another go, but try to be a little gentler with his approach this time.
Transferring the mug of coffee he brought to his left hand, he knocks on the doorjamb and pokes his head in, smiling hopefully, and calls, "Hey, Frank! How goes your toiling?"
Art by midnight_city
Frank jerks and stares at him, blanching a bit and then glancing away like Gerard might retreat back into the hallway if he doesn't pay too much attention. "What are you doing here?" he mumbles.
Gerard's face falls. "I... sorry to startle you. I just wanted to see how you were doing." He takes a few steps into the room and gingerly sets the coffee on Frank's desk before backing out. Frank doesn't even look over at him, steadfastly searching through his filing cabinet. Gerard's pretty sure he's not actually looking for anything in particular, though.
Thumping down the back stairs to the second basement, Gerard's relieved to find Mikey alone, muttering over his work. He glances up at Gerard's heavy footsteps, chewing his pencil and tapping his fingers against a set of blueprints. "Hey," he greets, frowning. "Second visit this morning, is everything okay?"
Gerard grabs a mug of coffee, sits down, and frowns silently. Mikey watches him for several seconds, then goes back to studying his diagrams. Gerard props his chin in his hand and slowly sips his coffee, feeling disappointed and kind of chagrined. He probably should've guessed that Frank wouldn't be any more comfortable with Gerard now than he ever has been, but--he'd sort of hoped.
After a bit, he heaves a sigh and takes a big gulp of coffee. It's still too hot and it burns all the way down. "Fuck!" he gasps after swallowing. "Why am I such an idiot? That's a rhetorical question."
Mikey cackles silently at him for a brief moment, then settles down a bit. "If it's rhetorical, then I can't help you," he shrugs, concerned smile pulling at his mouth.
Gerard spares him a dry look. "I can't really... it's complicated," he sighs again. "For once in my life, I would like things to be simple, you know? Just once. I know, I know I've chosen a life that doesn't really make that possible. Doesn't mean I can't wish things were different once in a while." He glares down into his coffee as if it were purposefully too hot.
Mikey snorts. "Chosen. Yeah."
Gerard blows on the surface of his coffee, looks up at Mikey and smiles wryly before taking a careful sip. "Well, either way," he dismisses with a wave of his hand. "It's hardly relevant when everything I touch just turns to--" he stops, sighs. He's being a melodramatic fuck and he knows this, but it's what he does. Mikey knows it even better than he does, in fact, so it's not like he minds.
Mikey sets down his chewed-up pencil and leans against the table, gangly limbs folding with an awkward grace. He glances down the length of the empty workshop, then says quietly, "Look, it's not like I haven't noticed this going on, Gerard. Hell, it's not even like I didn't suspect it before you ever got here, so don't act like this is somehow your fault, okay? There are some people who just... can't deal with things. Not everyone is as..." he harrumphs a small cough, averting his eyes, "as brave as you are. As accepting. So just--keep that in mind."
Gerard's lips quirk up a bit. "Some would call me incredibly foolish." His shoulders roll upward. "I probably am. But you're right. I know you are." He sighs again and then grins. "So, we should go to the pound this weekend and see if there are any dogs you think Bunny will find acceptable."
Mikey sighs long-sufferingly. "Alicia would skin me alive, c'mon. You need to get your small needy creature fix elsewhere."
Gerard shoots him a sharp look, but Mikey just widens his eyes innocently. "Anyway, it's not like there's room in the apartment for a dog, now that you've got the study packed full of your Captain Americas."
"Captain America is important! And if we got a small dog it would be okay. It's not like I want a German Shepherd. C'mon, Mikey. I'd get a hamster, but Bunny would eat it! Actually, she'd probably eat a dog, too, but it's less likely."
Mikey snickers. "Tell you what--you convince Alicia that Bunny needs a little sibling to, y'know, adjust her or something, and stop making me the bad guy, here. Then we'll talk."
Gerard bites his lip to keep from pouting. Alicia is sweet as pie and perfect for Mikey, but she still intimidates the hell out of him when she gets protective.
"So--um--how about we just drive up to Tallahassee for a weekend and take her to the pound and get whichever puppy she likes best? I think a puppy would do a better job of convincing her than I could." Gerard grins. "And you could see her and actually leave campus because you'll have a chaperone."
Mikey perks right up at that, and Gerard smirks. "Voila! Multiple problems solved," he sing-songs.
Mikey flushes almost imperceptibly and rolls his eyes. "Sure, okay." He manages to sound reluctant somehow, which is just hilarious.
Gerard smiles sunnily, almost managing to forget his rotten mood, thinking about the adorable, cuddly little dog he's going to get. Soon.
Frank stares at the coffee mug Gerard left on his desk unhappily and pushes his hair back off his forehead. The coffee smells really good. After a few minutes, he picks it up, fully intending to bring it straight back to the lounge and leave it for someone who might actually drink it, because Frank just can't. Somehow, though, he ends up in the elevator, leaning tiredly against the cool metal wall and punching a button at random, clutching the mug in a fist that's trembling just a bit. He doesn't know where he's going; he just wants to get away from this floor, away from Gerard and all the work in his office and how overwhelmed he feels by everything lately.
The elevator shudders to a stop, opens, and Bryar gets in, smiling in surprise. "So, Dr. Iero! Rocket scientists don't usually come up this way."
Frank opens and closes his mouth a bit like a fish. Captain Bryar is unfailingly kind with his teasing, but he still makes Frank somewhat nervous, simply because--well, he's an astronaut. At the best of times, Frank is properly in awe of the military wing of NASA, and he's feeling pretty fragile right now. "Oh," he manages to eke out, "well, I was just--taking a walk. You know, brainstorming." That sounds okay, he thinks, fairly believable.
"You look like you need a break from brainstorming. Come to my office, I got a new delivery of freeze-dried foods I'm supposed to taste test. Wanna help?"
Frank gapes some more. Is this what astronauts do all day? he wonders dumbly for a brief moment before sense prevails. "Sure," he agrees quickly, because who is he to turn down Bryar, and--well, it sounds kind of fun. And distracting.
"You'll regret it. They try to get us to eat the weirdest shit, man. And let me tell you, freeze-dried tuna is vile." Bryar chuckles. The elevator opens and he puts his arm in front of the door and gestures for Frank to go through.
Frank chokes a little, then chuckles obligingly. "Sounds it. I heard the orange drink is a hit, at least?"
Bryar laughs and nods. "Mostly because it washes away the taste of the food."
Frank pulls a face.
Bryar laughs. "Yeah, it's pretty gruesome. But they're trying to make it a little more edible for us. And frankly, when you're up there, you don't really care much about what you're eating."
Frank hangs back in the doorway when they reach Bryar's corner office with a view of the parking lot. It's not precisely glamorous, but it's a far cry from Frank's cramped quarters with one noisy air vent.
Bryar gestures for him to come in and sit while rummaging around in a drawer. "Of course, a good meal up there would be better than any meal ever eaten down here."
"I bet," Frank agrees, gingerly seating himself in one of the brown leather-upholstered office chairs. "Anything's your mother's cooking when you're a hundred miles up, huh?"
Bryar nods seriously. "Even the tuna's palatable up there." He hands over an opened vacuum pack, encouraging grin on his face, and Frank reaches in tentatively, pulling out a cube of... some kind of gelatin-coated foodstuff, he imagines.
"I don't even recognize this," he hedges dubiously. He's not about to back down, though, so he takes a bite. It tastes... like food-flavored styrofoam, to be honest, weirdly grainy and dry.
Bryar laughs at his expression and says, "They're working on better reconstitution, too, or so I'm solemnly promised after every test flight."
"I should hope so. That's... nothing meant to be put in the human mouth is supposed to have that texture." Frank stares at the other half of what he bit into. "Is this supposed to be... spaghetti and meat sauce?"
Bryar grins, pleased. "You've got some sharp taste buds, my friend. Took me halfway through re-entry the first time I went up to figure out what the hell I'd eaten for dinner the night before. Trohman, the asshole, thought it'd be hilarious to haze the rookie by stealing the label."
Frank takes a quick sip of his coffee to mask the unpleasant lingering taste in his mouth and laughs appreciatively. "Well, you'll probably get some much better food this weekend, at least. Toro mentioned Wentz is, uh--going the whole hog." He snorts a little at his terrible pun. "As it were," he adds apologetically, flushing how nerdy that was.
Bryar just tips his head back and laughs. "Wentz never does anything by half, that's for sure. Knew him back in Chicago and he was always this side of insane. Having a wife and baby has done nothing to mellow him. If anything, it's made him even crazier."
Frank shrugs awkwardly; he can't really say much about his immediate superior. "Well, he's definitely, you know, different." Wentz is different, but in a way that people either appreciate or get taken from behind by, and it's obviously worked to his advantage. Frank wishes he could say the same for his own... quirks.
"Different is certainly a good word for him. He's made it work for him, though. Honestly, I'm surprised he didn't go into politics. He's good at convincing people of things. That's why he's in the position he is--he talked a lot of people into supporting the program," Bryar explains. "Lucky for us, he's good at more than just talking. We've had a few people here who could talk real nice, but couldn't actually do anything useful."
Frank makes an agreeing noise; he's heard scuttlebutt about the funding scramble for the program in the early days. "Well," he says, "I guess we owe him one, then." He smiles and pokes at the food-cube a little. "I should probably get back and finish up that report for him as a thank-you-for-my-job gesture."
Bryar grins. "You ever wanna taste test more of this stuff, just come on up. Things can get a little boring around here between missions. You scientists do all the real work."
"Well, far be it from me to turn down your home cooking, Bryar." Frank smiles, eyeing the remains of the crumbling cube. "Thanks for--thanks."
"No problem," he replies, sweeping the food, bag and all, into the nearest trash can. "See you Saturday at Wentz's, then?"
"Uh--yeah, I think so. I don't see any reason why not. You and Toro are going?"
Bryar nods. "And I better see you, Iero," he threatens pleasantly. "If anyone ever needed some fresh air and pit barbecue, it's you."
Frank laughs self-consciously, nods, and slips out the door. As he steps into the elevator across the hall, he realizes he left his coffee--Gerard's coffee--in Bryar's office. He sighs, worry settling back down over him as the elevator descends to the fourth floor. For the first time in a long time, he can't wait for the weekend to arrive.
Frank tries really hard not to show up too early at Wentz's, but he thinks he might've overshot a little bit. His mother always told him it was polite to be prompt for social engagements, but in his experience that's not always the case. By the time he pulls his battered car up the last sand dune of Wentz's winding driveway, he can hear loud shouts and the Beach Boys blasting and see what he thinks are called tiki torches dotted along the darkening beach.
He sighs, climbs out of the car, and starts to follow the path lit by the torches. The music and voices get louder and Frank's palms start to sweat. The first person he sees is Bryar, who calls out, "Iero, get over here and tell Toro that he's wrong! He won't listen to reason!"
Frank feels a smile stretching across his face and he walks over to the two of them. "Hey," he greets, sticking his hands in his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels a bit. "Toro, you're wrong," he adds obligingly, glancing at Bryar, who gives him a thumbs up and then an approving whack on the shoulder.
"My boy," he announces, grinning and sucking back a bottle of Double Diamond. "Glad you came--wasn't sure you would!"
Frank shrugs, glancing longingly at Bryar's beer because he could really use some himself. Small talk is okay, except that a lot of the time it ends up involving locker room stories and... well, the sorts of things that Frank is just not equipped to deal with. "Sure I came," he replies, like it was a simple decision, like he didn't stand in his bedroom for half an hour staring at his three patterned polos, wondering which would look least ridiculous and out-of-place. Like he didn't nearly pull a U-turn twice on the way over--once, when it occurred to him that Gerard would be here.
"Drinks're that-a-way," Bryar directs with one hand, and Frank starts and has to remind himself that everyone drinks at parties and no one is reading his mind.
He wanders over in that general direction to find a giant aluminum tub full of ice and various brands of beer. Frank grabs one at random and makes his way back over to Toro and Bryar. They've clearly moved on from whatever Toro was wrong about and on to talking about bands they've seen play at the clubs around the city. Frank doesn't really have much to contribute to the conversation; he can't remember the last time he went out with the intention of hearing a band play. Apparently, though, they're both amateur musicians who sometimes jam together.
"Frank, you play anything?" Bob asks, taking a sip of his beer and lighting a cigarette.
"Ah, I played guitar back in high school and undergrad. I haven't touched it in a while, though." Frank lights his own cigarette and tries to remember the last time he even looked at his guitar. Even just the case. Probably when he moved.
Toro's face lights up, though, and he insists, "You should join us, sometime! We just sit around in Bob's den and play whatever songs come to mind. Sometimes we make stuff up, but it's not formal or anything."
Frank takes a long pull of his beer and nods noncommitally. That actually sounds kind of fun, not that he'll ever go, probably. "Sounds cool," he says. "I think the last time I played anything it was Buddy Holly or something, though, so, y'know. Three-chord rock'n'roller."
Toro laughs and says, "That's all you need, though! Seriously, I'll let you know next time we get together, all right?"
Bryar nods. "Food included, even. No freeze-dried shit."
Frank giggles loudly and nearly slaps his hand over his mouth, utterly mortified. Everyone in school teased him for that and he tries really hard not to laugh around people anymore. He glances down at his empty bottle and guesses he's maybe further along on his way to tipsy than he'd imagined.
Toro and Bryar just grin and laugh with him, though. He runs a hand through his hair and drains the rest of his beer, ashes his cigarette into the bottle, and takes a long drag. "As long as freeze-dried spaghetti isn't on the menu, it might be fun. And as long as Wentz doesn't have me working crazy hours."
"Aw, let me take care of Wentz," Bryar boasts, eyes twinkling. "Hey, another round?"
Toro nods, snickering at Bryar's claims of influence. "I'll grab some." He wanders off toward the tub and Frank's eyes follow him briefly, noting the table of food with a gigantic roast pig in the middle, and he's about to make some comment to Bryar about it when he sees Gerard and Mikey out the corner of his eye.
"Shit," he murmurs, and turns back to Bryar, who has clearly not sensed Frank's discomfort because he's raising his arm and calling, "Ways! Get over here. Tell Iero he's wrong!"
"Is this how you make all your friends?" Frank cracks nervously, edging away a little so at least he won't be surrounded when they get over here.
"Yup," Bryar says, but doesn't elaborate and then the Ways are upon them.
"Frank, you're wrong," Mikey states. "Doesn't that get old, Bryar?"
Bryar grins in a self-satisfied way, grabbing a bottle from Toro as he returns. "Nope. Not as long as you all play right into my hands."
"Hey guys," Toro greets Mikey and Gerard. "Shit, sorry, I only got three." He hands Frank a beer and shrugs apologetically.
"Don't worry about it," laughs Gerard. "We're good and buzzed already, I think. Wentz spiked the punch that Ashlee made earlier with coconut rum and they had a screaming fight over it while we all got toasted. I think they went back inside after that." He raises his eyebrows meaningfully and smirks. Frank tries to look away but it's sort of... captivating.
Gerard's eyes land on his and Frank has a brief moment of panic, but Gerard just looks over at Toro and asks if Krista is here somewhere. Frank takes a deep breath and a long drink of his beer and looks over at the beach for a moment. When he returns to the conversation, Mikey is giving him a calculating look.
Frank tries not to flinch, but it's difficult, and he finally drags his eyes away when he can't take it anymore. He really hates how Mikey just looks like he knows... things... all the time. It's almost as bad as Gerard, except for how Gerard makes Frank's stomach cramp up, on top of everything else. That is definitely worse. He slugs back more beer and tunes out of the conversation, staring at the sand and thinking about how there was a time when he would've killed for this kind of thing--parties, friends, relative normalcy--but right now it just reminds him of how he can never really be like everyone else here, no matter what.
"Right, Frank?" Toro's voice cuts into his thoughts.
"What? Sorry. I was--lost." Frank can feel his cheeks getting hot.
Toro laughs. "I could tell. I was saying you play guitar and we'd bribed you into joining us."
"Oh, I--" Frank's all flustered because, well, he didn't really mean he'd go and he doesn't want Gerard--or anyone--to think that he plays well. "I guess, yeah. Kind of."
Mikey snorts and Frank glances up to meet his amused gaze.
"That's great, Frank," Gerard replies, almost gently, and Frank's eyes edge over to him of their own accord before shooting back down to his beer. Beer, right. He drinks some more.
"They let Gerard play with them once and I think it's actually impossible to be worse at it than he is, so chances are, compared to him, you're a guitar genius," Mikey comments, smirking at his brother.
"Hey!" Gerard punches Mikey's arm lightly, and then grimaces. "It's true. I'm terrible. I play every fifth chord because I can't make the transitions fast enough."
Frank giggles and manages not to blush too horribly this time, at least. "At least we're not amateur rocket scientists, I guess. Much more deadly." His stomach swims a little, suddenly, and he puts his hand to it, breathes out. "Huh, I think--I'm gonna get some air."
Bryar pats him on the back and Toro nods. "Sure, man. You need any help?"
"No," Frank replies, just as Gerard volunteers, "Here, I'll come with. Could use a little walk."
Frank can barely keep himself from protesting vehemently, but he holds in a sigh and makes his way towards the nearest exit to the beach.
It's a beautiful night, really. The stars are just starting to come out and the sand is still warm from the day's sun. His stomach churns again and he takes a couple of deep breaths.
"Hey," Gerard says softly, reaching out and skimming his fingers over Frank's elbow as if to hold him steady. Instead, Frank shivers and thinks how he should be worried about whether anyone can still see them, down beyond the tufts of beach grass, but he's past caring very much at the moment.
"Hey," Gerard says again, in a different tone, "let's go wading!" He seems really excited about it, face lit and eyes out on the licking waves, scruffy hair blowing across his cheeks.
"Okay," Frank finds himself saying. He doesn't know why. He's just abruptly really tired of caring about keeping up appearances, and at least with Gerard, at least when he's rather drunk, it seems useless to try.
Gerard plops down on the sand and unties his shoes and strips off his socks, rolling up the cuffs of his pants. He looks up at Frank and smiles, asking, "You gonna stand there or are you gonna come wading with me?"
Frank carefully lowers himself to the sand and follows Gerard's lead, removing his socks and shoes and rolling up his pantlegs. "I don't think I've done this since I was fourteen and we went to Atlantic City on vacation."
Gerard grins in surprise, leaning over and tucking Frank's socks into his canvas sneakers so they don't get all sandy. "Yeah?" he asks. "Are you from Jersey, or just--Mikey and I are from Jersey."
Frank can't help but smile back. "Yeah, I'm from Jersey. Born and raised in Belleville."
"No shit?" Gerard laughs happily, rising to his feet and grabbing Frank's hands, pulling him up along with. "Small fuckin' world." He leads them out into the shallows, keeping a hand at the small of Frank's back. "Don't go too far, okay, I don't want you to drown."
Frank huffs and splashes at Gerard's shins. "I'm fine," he insists.
"You looked like you were gonna pass out. Last I checked, close to passing out did not equal fine. Also, hey!" Gerard splashes back at Frank.
Frank giggles, nearly doubling over. For some reason Gerard splashing water like a little kid just does him in. He gasps a little, hands on his knees, and then coughs, repeating, "'m fine. Just not real used to drinking, I guess." He sighs. "Such a nerd." He's got salt spray spattered on his left glasses lens somehow and he squints, trying to rub it against his shirt, but it just smears. "A nerd who can no longer see anything through his left eye," he sighs and gives up. "So you and Mikey are from Jersey? North? South?"
Gerard smirks and pulls Frank back out of the water. "Here," he says, hooking two fingers over the arm of Frank's glasses and tugging lightly. "My shirt's softer, I bet it'll work."
Frank stands, feet buried in the warm sand, and waits blindly while Gerard fiddles with his lens.
"From North Jersey," Gerard finally replies. "From--" he sounds almost embarrassed, "from Belleville, too, actually. I promise I'm not a stalker."
"That's... weird. You go to Belleville High?"
"Yep. Or, Hellville High as we liked to call it." Gerard slips Frank's glasses back onto his face and over his ears.
Frank blinks through the growing dark at him. He spends a moment distracted by the feel of Gerard's fingers on his ears, but eventually has the presence of mind to say, "I guess that explains why I never met you or Mikey, then. I was stuck at Queen of Peace, which was plenty hellish. Still odd, though. Belleville's not that big."
"No," Gerard admits, wandering a little further up the beach. Frank joins him after a moment, and they stare up at the sky together, which, Frank reflects with a burst of drunken logic, is incredibly big.
After a minute, he feels dizzy, so he fumbles his way down and lies back on the sand. He stares at the sky and imagines himself up there, flying above the atmosphere, and makes quiet, wistful rocket ship noises. Being an astronaut would be pretty cool, he thinks.
Gerard settles onto the sand next to him with a soft thump. They lie on the beach staring up at the stars for a while before Frank realizes that he's making the rocket ship noises out loud, not just in his daydreams. He presses his lips into a firm line and breathes out through his nose. His ears feel hot.
Gerard doesn't say anything about it though, just starts talking quietly about the sky above them, pointing to the things he likes. For the first time, Frank listens and finds Gerard's voice soothing, rather than sparking every paranoid idea he's ever had. It's nice, lying on the sand, staring up at the stars, listening to Gerard talk. He seems to know all the mythology about the constellations, basically every solar body the ancient Greeks and Romans could see, and the stories he tells about what's above them are interesting. Frank's never heard them before, not really, but Gerard seems to think they explain something about what's up there.
The thing is, Frank reflects, he never had the patience to sit still very much as a kid, except when he was behind his telescope, so to him, the stars were always fascinating because they were gigantic balls of pulsating energy. But he can see why Gerard is into the whole constellation thing, he guesses, even though the stories obviously aren't true.
Franks wrinkles his nose and concentrates on the stars Gerard is pointing to, then hmms and says, "I mean, I see that, I guess. But you do know that the whole idea is scientifically dubious, right? People on earth are the only beings in the solar system who see the stars in that particular illusory pattern and--and thus--y'know--interpret them in that way," he pauses as Gerard stifles a sound, then adds, "But metaphorically, it's quite moving."
Gerard's snickers grow into a full-fledged, incredulous laugh as he turns to look over at Frank.
Frank sits up and glares down at him, suddenly really aware that his hair is all cowlicky in the back and he has sand stuck to the seat of his pants. He feels ridiculous and exposed; he's trying to make an effort and Gerard is laughing at him.
Gerard abruptly stops laughing and sighs, pulling Frank back down. "I'm not laughing at you. I'm sorry. You make me all nervous sometimes."
Frank snorts, because Gerard is the one who's always making him nervous with his hovering presence and his coffee when Frank is clearly busy. "Okay," he drawls.
Gerard just sighs again and they're both quiet for a few moments before he explains, "I guess what I've been trying to say is that to me, space isn't about science or even metaphors, really. It's about the places it takes my imagination. Science and space exploration are just... my way of opening up new pathways for the imagination."
Frank relaxes a bit, shoulders falling back into the sand, brushing Gerard's. "Yeah," he agrees after several minutes of contemplation. "Okay. I mean, I used to build rockets out of Campbell's cans and stuff, and that wasn't really science so much as exploration, I guess. So I sort of get what you mean. I always wanted to go faster and farther and get somewhere." He glances over at Gerard cautiously, like maybe he'll start teasing him about being a little boy playing with the big kids.
Gerard turns his head and looks Frank in the eyes and smiles. Almost beams, really. "Yes, exactly. Every day we do something amazing, it feels like the first time I saw Sputnik up in the sky, as if the sky is not the limit and if we can just... keep reaching and learning and imagining, we can reach beyond the moon."
Frank can't help the way his throat tightens for a moment, not really. Gerard's smile is just radiant and Frank grins, suddenly so pleased with himself and with the world and everything they're working toward. His glasses are slipping down his nose, blurring everything in the dim light of the night sky, and he thumbs them up carelessly and then reaches over to pat awkwardly at Gerard's hand where it rests on his chest.
Gerard flips his hand over and gives Franks fingers a squeeze before raising his arms and gesturing at the sky. "I just get frustrated when we lose sight of that for other stuff."
"Huh," Frank agrees thoughtfully. "Yeah. There's a lot more out there than down here, anyway."
"Sometimes I think it'd be nice to just leave all this behind. The politics and the wars and the hiding, and just everything, and go find an unoccupied corner of space to live in. I know it's ridiculous and not even possible, but sometimes I think it'd be nice," Gerard murmurs dreamily.
Frank giggles unexpectedly and then bites down on his lip to muffle it. "Yeah, maybe," he allows teasingly. "If we keep up at this pace, maybe there'll really be a Mars colony someday."
Gerard laughs. "Maybe someday there will." He lapses into silence and grins over at Frank.
Frank smiles back at him, full of overwhelming contentedness. He and Gerard just lie there, smiling back and forth at each other goofily, huffing laughter every now and then, and Gerard's eyes are so alive and warm and Frank can't remember anyone ever looking at him like this. Like he's special, worth the look.
He raises his hand tentatively, sand sieving through his fingers, and reaches out to brush them over Gerard's cheek, just lightly. It's warmer than he expected, bathed in the moon's blue light, and he startles a little, lets out a small noise. He feels light-headed and relaxed and better than he has in months, possibly years, and for once in his life, he follows his first instinct and leans over and places his lips on Gerard's.
Gerard's steady breath stutters against Frank's lips, neither of them moving, and Frank's eyes slowly blink open--when did he close them?--and Gerard's lashes are laid against his cheeks, his brow tense as if he's in pain. Frank is suddenly aware of how clumsy his thick glasses are, poking uncomfortably, and he draws away, sitting up, sober awareness pouring over him. "Oh God," he whispers. "I--"
Gerard's eyes snap open, dark and unreadable, and he shakes himself, pushing up after Frank. "It's okay--it's--" he reaches for Frank's knee, grasping it firmly and nudging his nose against Frank's cheek. "If you want... it's okay."
Frank turns slightly, squeezes his eyes shut and presses his lips to Gerard's again, more firmly because, he thinks wildly, he'll probably never have another chance. He's never kissed anyone before, never been kissed. It's not something that's done in bathrooms at bars. Gerard moves slightly, somehow fits his lips less awkwardly against Frank's and it's--
There are footsteps coming over the sand dune, padding footsteps. Frank jerks back and practically launches himself up onto his feet. This really can't be happening to him.
When Mikey descends though the beach grasses, a wave of relief wars with the horror that's rolling in his stomach. He can't even bring himself to look at Gerard as he scrambles away, following the path Mikey just came down.
He jogs to his car and falls in, turning the key and pulling out fast down the driveway. Halfway back to his apartment, he has to pull over to the side of the road and vomit in a bush on somebody's front lawn. When he gets back in his car, he rests his head on the steering wheel for a moment, breathing deeply and trying to ignore the taste in his mouth. It's only then that he realizes he left his shoes and socks on the beach.
Part 2