MCR Hospital AU
TITLE: I never told you what I do for a living.
CHAPTER: Part one
PAIRING: Frank/Gerard
RATING:Individually rated. pg-13 for swears...implied rape.
SUMMARY: Frank Iero, male nurse at Pete Wentz's private hospital and possibly more to one new patient he can't keep his eyes off of.
DISCLAIMER: Not real, never happened.
WARNING: standard Implied rape warning.
A/N: Beta'd by behindskylines and sexifulness
The first time Frank saw the latest addition to his shift, it was on its back, being wheeled past as he put his coat away and checked if his hair was suitably slicked down, as was required. It--Frank was having a hard time deciding if it was male or female--was beautiful. Long, dark hair and pale skin. It was also asleep as far as Frank could tell. Whoever it was, they were being pushed into the space which was just that morning occupied by the asthma kid. Frank loved the asthma kid. He was smart and funny and always had a smile for anyone who could be bothered to take the time to talk to him. Frank suspected that the asthma kid liked him too. He wondered sometimes if he had faked a bad attack just so that he and Frank could chat about the latest editions to their horror film collections--even though Frank knew the kid wasn't technically old enough to be watching them. Frank got on with young and old alike, drawing a smile from the weariest of folk and getting even the most stubborn to take their meds. Everyone loved him and warmed up to him. It was that reason that Bob had requested Frank for his shift, the same reason the new patient was brought down at the start of Frank's shift.
After making sure he was suitable, Frank signed in and said hi to Bob, his supervisor of sorts, asking if anything needed seeing to right away. Bob knew Frank too well, noticing his interest in the new patient. He didn't even look up when he spoke. "Two and five need checking on, the bed in one needs changing, and I could really do with a coffee."
Frank's face fell. "Are you kidding? Please say you're kidding," Frank pleaded, putting on his best pouting face.
"I'm kidding," Bob said, shaking his head. "Got a new one for ya, bed six," and then he went back to his paperwork.
"Awesome," Frank grinned.
He gave a wave to the small girl in bed three who had finally started talking to him after he pretended to get tangled up in some unused wires and fall over, and stood at the bottom of the new patient's bed. It--he was a guy, Frank decided, if the five o'clock shadow was anything to go by. An incredibly striking guy. Frank peered over him, studying the curve of his mouth and the way his shoulder length hair fell against the pillow. He wondered what color his eyes were, before picking up the guy's chart. Before he got a look at it, he saw the guy's eye open. Just one eye. Looking at him.
"Hi," Frank smiled, waving his little kid wave; all five fingers spread out and held up by his head as he waved it back and forth excitedly. The guy's eye shut immediately, and he turned over. "Hmmm, okay. You don't wanna talk. That's cool, uh...," he looked at the chart for a name. "John... Doe?" Frank laughed. "Come on, that's not your real name, surely. If it is, your parents have a warped sense of humor."
The guy just looked at him stone-faced, and replied blankly, "You're right, it's not my name, but it might as well be," before turning back to the wall. Frank frowned, and looked back at the chart. Amnesia. Oh, shit.
"Um, hey, sorry. I should've looked before I opened my mouth." Nothing, not even a flinch from the guy as Frank broke the almost silence of the room. "Well anyway, I'm Frank. If you need anything," he pulled a pad with a red button on it from the wall, drawing out a long chord with it and placing it next to 'John Doe's' side. "Just press this. If I don't come running in thirty seconds, you get a complimentary donut." Frank shrugged, "Something about patient satisfaction." His attempt at humor over with, he walked away, just spying the guy's fingers curl around the pad out of the corner of his eye.
........
"So, new guy. We don't know who he is, huh?"
"Nope. Not a clue," Bob said with a shake of his head.
It was break time for them both, and they were sat in the small room at the back of the reception desk. There wasn't much to do after 10.30pm, their rounds having been done, and most of the patients asleep. Jon was on duty anyway. "What's actually wrong with him? Besides the amnesia. I mean, it's not like we normally admit people for that."
Bob took a slow sip of his coffee and leant in close to Frank, a finger on his lips indicating Frank was meant to keep his mouth shut about whatever Bob was going to tell him.
"Some woman brought him in this morning. Said she found him face down in an alley, and he couldn't tell her who he was or what had happened to him. So she brought him here. Greta checked him over. Said she couldn't find anything past a few bruises on his back and sides--from what he'd let her see, at least. But you know Greta." Frank smiled. He did know Greta. She was compassionate and sweet, but stern when necessary.
"Goodwill case, then?"
"Yeah, but don't tell Wentz. He's charitable an' all, but, I think Greta's starting to annoy him with her admitting patients who can't pay. She just feels bad 'cause it's almost Christmas and he's obviously got nowhere to go." Bob cocked his head to the side and looked out into the ward as he heard a buzzer go off, Jon quickly going to see who it was.
"Well, I mean, shouldn't he really be with the police? So they can try and find out who he is? Maybe someone's looking for him? Parents, wife, someone must miss him."
Shaking his head, Bob sighed. "Nah, police can't do anything for him. I spoke to Trohman earlier myself. Faxed him a photo and he checked the local records. They can't place him with a facial id, but he came and collected some drawing he had in his pocket, gonna see if he can get a print off it. I think Greta wants to take care of him till he remembers something helpful. She thinks maybe he was mugged or something, seeing as he had no id or anything else on him except the bit of paper."
"Pete's seriously gonna fire her one of these days," Frank laughed.
"Yeah," Bob joined in, "maybe when he stops bangin' her--"
"Uh, Frank?"
"Oh hey," Frank turned to face Jon in the doorway. "What's up?"
"New guy, wants you," Jon rolled his eyes.
Frank set his coffee down and got up. "He asked for me? Sweet!"
"Didn't exactly ask for you, but he wouldn't say anything except your name when I asked what was wrong, so. Yeah. You're wanted."
"You called?" Frank said as he approached the bed. His voice reduced to a low whisper so as not to wake anyone.
"Coffee," the guy said flatly.
Frank scratched his head. "Coffee?"
"I believe I was promised a donut if you took longer than thirty seconds to get here, but I'd prefer a coffee."
"Oh, uh. Yeah. I think I can manage that." Frank laughed. "Was there anything else?"
"I could um... I could use a cigarette. I think. I think I smoke?" he looked confused, playing with his fingers and brought them up to his nose. "Smell kinda smokey."
"Well, the coffee's a definite, but I'll have to ask my boss about the cigarette. We're not supposed to supply them for people who don't bring them in, and patients aren't meant to be outside after 10pm. Hospital rules. Sorry."
"That's okay. Thanks though."
Frank started to walk away, stopping a few feet from the bed. "Do you know how you'd like your coffee?"
The guy smiled. "Three sugars, not too much milk. I guess hazelnut's out of the question?"
"Yep, pretty much." Frank laughed. "But maybe, maybe I'll pick something up for you from Starbucks on my way in tomorrow. If you'd like that?"
"That'd be awesome," the guy grinned, and Frank couldn't help the way he melted slightly at the guy's first genuine smile. It was kind of crooked and adorable, like the way he seemed to talk out of the right hand side of his mouth, the corner dragged down slightly.
"So," Bob asked when Frank had made a coffee that obviously wasn't for him. "What did John Doe want?"
"Uh, coffee," he gestured the cup towards Bob, biting his lip a bit.
"And?" Bob knew Frank way too well.
"He asked if he could have a smoke."
Bob rolled his eyes, reaching into a nearby drawer and pulling out a carton of cigarettes.
"Here," he handed them to Frank. "Anyone asks, he brought 'em with him. If he asks, he brought 'em with him. Got it?" Frank nodded. "And uh, I guess, seeing as he seems to have taken a shine to you, we could do without you for another ten minutes."
"Seriously? Did I ever tell you how awesome you are, Bryar?"
Bob crossed his arms against his chest and sat back in his chair. "Actually, no. You didn't."
"Well you are. You're the best."
..........
Once outside in the hospital's small private garden, Frank leant against his usual wall, thankful it wasn't too cold. Even though he'd given John Doe his jacket to wear, he still only had a hospital gown on underneath it.
"Can I ask you something?" Frank asked as the guy lit his cigarette like it was the most natural thing in the world to him, blowing the smoke out of the corner of his mouth.
"I hate it when people ask that. 'Cause they're already asking a question. Y'know? And if you don't wanna be asked a question, you're not gonna want someone asking you if they can ask one. Kinda defeats the point of asking." Frank looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Yeah, sure. Go ahead. Can't really say no since you got me these." He smiled slightly, and Frank half forgot his question.
"What, uh. What do you remember?" he asked carefully.
"Probably easier to tell you what I don't remember," he answered after a long drag. "I don't remember family, or friends. My name, my favorite color, where I lived, what happened to me. The important stuff. Sometimes I wish... except I don't, do I? I don't know what I wish. Shit." He slid down the wall and settled on the ground, sitting on his heels. "I wish I knew all the stuff I can't remember," he said sadly.
"We'll get something. We'll find out all that stuff. I'm sure something will come back to you." Frank sat down next to him. "And we have that paper-"
The guy frowned. "What paper?"
"Oh. Bob said you had some drawing or something on you when he came in. We have a friend who's a cop. He's checking it for fingerprints to see if he can find out who you are."
"You mean to see if I'm a criminal. Not that I could tell you if I were. I mean, I don't think I am. I don't feel like a criminal." He looked himself over like it would tell him something, before shaking his head and taking another puff of his cigarette.
"What do you feel like?" Frank asked curiously.
He answered honestly. Simply, "I don't know."
The next night Frank got ready for his shift as usual, stopping by Starbucks on the way to pick up a coffee for John Doe. He decided he'd have to come up with another name for him somehow. He didn't look like someone who should be called John. And Starbucks, Frank realized, was not really user friendly. There was way too much choice for someone like him who had trouble with deciding what DVD he wanted to watch of an evening--and that place had way more combinations of coffee than what Frank had DVDs. It wasn't hard to choose for himself, but for someone else? He was just glad to have hazelnut as a starter. So he just asked the guy behind the counter for something with hazelnut and some chocolate sprinkles on top. And marshmallows, because really, who doesn't love those?
He got to work fifteen minutes late for all his indecision, and Bob was waiting for him by the sign-in book.
He said, "You’re late."
"Yeah, sorry. Had to pick something up and I just. Sorry. Don't kill me?" He signed in, and noticed next to the book lay an a4 sized piece of paper. It'd been folded into quarters and had some kind of werewolf attacking a... He stared at it, head cocked to the side. "Is it attacking a china doll?"
"Fucked if I know," Bob shrugged. "I don't think china dolls bleed though. Maybe you can ask your friend?"
Frank picked up the paper to get a better look. "Huh?" There was indeed a lot of blood. And a weird looking unicorn at the edge, just kind of looking over the scene.
"John Doe. That's his drawing. Joe dropped it over about an hour ago. Got a print off it, but nothing on the system. Guy's clean. Which is good, but doesn't help find out who he is, y'know?"
"I think. I might have seen something like this somewhere. Can't think where though. It looks... kind of familiar." He folded the paper and put it in his pocket with his notebook. "I'll ask him."
"Oh, dude. You brought me coffee?" Bob picked up the paper cup and sniffed it. "Hazelnut?"
"Yes," Frank smiled, prizing it from Bob's fingers. "Also, not for you."
He could feel the shake of Bob's head as he walked over to the new guy's bed. "Hey," he called. "How're you doing today?"
The guy was on his side, and turned over with a slightly pained expression and a weak smile. "I'm alright."
"Brought you something," Frank grinned, thrusting the cup towards him.
"Oh wow, man. Thanks!" And there was that smile again. Genuinely happy to see coffee, of all things. "Fuck, marshmallows, sweet!"
Frank smiled inwardly as the guy took a long gulp of coffee, eyes shut and head leant back.
"Gotta go uh, work. See you in a bit. Enjoy your coffee." He got a nod, half hidden behind the lip of the cup as more of the hot liquid was consumed.
.................
"You talk to him about the drawing?" Bob asked, looking over the schedule for the next day.
"Not yet. He was a little preoccupied with the coffee. I'll ask him in a bit, he's not my only patient y'know."
Bob smirked, "Glad you noticed Iero. Melissa, bed three? She's going over to county general in the morning. See if you can get her to pack her stuff up 'cause she doesn't wanna go, and I don't want her to be rushing. Maja will be on. She doesn't have the patience for that shit."
"Alright. I'll get her packed up." Frank held his hand out, "Give me a cookie to bring as a peace offering."
"What cookies?"
"Duh. The ones in your desk. I know you're hidin' 'em. Come on. I've got work to do." Frank wiggled his fingers and Bob sighed in defeat, grabbing a packet of choc-chip and nut from his drawer and handing a couple to Frank. As he got to bed three, he chucked one of them over to John Doe--it was an impressive throw, halfway across the room and landing in his lap. Right on top of that morning's paper he was reading. Another smile.
After persuading Melissa that if she didn't go and have the operation to re-set the fracture in her leg, she wouldn't be able to grow and be a ballet dancer like she wanted, Frank had to change two beds; one because of vomiting, the other just needed changing, and had to go around the adjacent ward to sweep up. It just so happened that someone, not Frank of course, just someone, had given a bag of chocolate éclairs to a young boy in the ward, who had decided to deposit the sticky wrappers wherever he pleased.
After lights out, Frank went into the garden for a smoke, sitting on the stone wall surround of what Pete had intended as a pond until Brendon had stumbled into it somehow and almost broke his ankle. Now it was just a small stone wall. He flicked the ash off onto the ground between his feet and stared up at the dark night's sky. He could see a few stars, and wondered if maybe he was looking up at the same stars as whoever might've been looking for John Doe.
Hearing a shuffle from behind, Frank turned to see the mysterious new patient walking slowly over. "Hey," he smiled kindly. "You know you're technically not allowed to be out here now?"
"Yeah... Bob told me I could though. Said I should talk to you or something?" He quirked an eyebrow and sat next to Frank. "Got one spare?" he asked, nodding to the pack of cigarettes on the nurse’s knee.
"You got through the pack I gave you already?" he asked amusedly, holding the carton open.
"Not quite. But Bob said you smoke too much, so I should smoke what you've got instead." The guy rolled his eyes but smiled when Frank offered up a light to the end of his cigarette.
"Bob talks too much. Oh! I just remembered!" Frank fished around in his pocket, pulling out the folded drawing. "This mean anything to you? And apparently," he handed the paper over, "you'll be pleased to know, you're not a criminal. Our cop friend's got nothing on you."
"Maybe I just haven't been caught yet," he smirked before looking down. "Oh..."
"Oh? Is that good or bad?" Frank asked, watching the way the guy's thumbs moved over every detail of the drawing.
"Uh, good. I think. I, think I. It's different. I remember it differently." He looked up at Frank hopefully.
"Yeah, I was kinda thinking I'd seen it before but not quite like that. I think it had, uh--"
"Little Red Riding Hood? Instead of the doll?"
"Yes! Yeah, that's what it was! You recognize it?"
The guy bit down on his lip, eyes flickering up to Frank's slowly before he answered. "I... I drew it."
For a long moment Frank just stared in disbelief. "You drew this? Wow. It's. It's really good. Can you uh, remember anything else about it? Or anything?"
"Nah. Don't think so. Just. This might help, right? It's good, that I know I did this?"
"Yeah," Frank grinned. "It's really good." He extended his arm out around the artist's shoulders to hug him on impulse, but withdrew it quickly when the guy tensed up visibly and scrunched up his nose. "Sorry, you okay?" he asked, concerned.
"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine. Just, kind of sore." He put his hand on Frank's where it lay on the wall between them and smiled. "Thanks though."
"Look," Frank said seriously, "if you're hurt, you should let me check you out. Or someone else, if you'd be more comfortable with that. Maybe we can get you something, not the first time I've seen you flinch or look like you were hurting."
"I..." he started to shake his head, changing his mind as Frank opened his mouth to say something. "Please. You though," he added quickly, "kinda feel like I know you a little better than the others, y'know?"
"Okay," Frank smiled softly. "Whenever you're ready. Just let me know." Frank finished off the rest of his cigarette, not really having smoked any at all, and stood to go do a last check of his patients before they were mostly asleep for the night.
"Frank?" Frank turned, nodded his head while his new 'friend', maybe, blew out a lungful of smoke into the night air. "Next time you're not too busy, I, um. I think I'll be ready." He sighed, "Just wanna get it over with."
"Okay," Frank nodded. He wasn't sure what that meant exactly, it was just gonna be a quick check up as far as he was concerned. Unless the guy knew something was wrong and hadn't said.
He let Bob know what was going on, and when he'd done his checks; making sure nobody needed anything to drink or that they'd taken their last medication for the night, he went to his not-so-new patient, who'd at some point closed his curtain. "Okay to come in?" he asked through the material. Hearing a gruff sounding yes, he pulled it back just enough to step through and grabbed a pair of latex gloves from the box on the wall.
"W-what are they for?"
"Just procedure. It's okay. Now. You wanna do this here? Or there's an examination room down the hall. Your call."
"Um, here's fine, I guess." He sat up slowly on the bed with his feet dangling off of the edge.
"Alright. Well, also, I'm gonna have to give you a name 'cause I don't think John Doe really suits you... But I can't think of anything that does. So, I'm gonna call you... The Artist. That okay?"
The guy laughed quietly, "Yeah? Could be worse, I guess."
Frank flicked his head back as a few strands of his fringe fell down over his eyes. It had a tendency to do that late at night, no matter what he used to keep it held back. "Okay, The Artist. I don't know where you're hurting, so unless you're gonna tell me, d'you wanna just slip the gown down your shoulders and we'll do a whole once over?"
Without a word, but with a cringe, the Velcro neck fastening was undone and shifted down a few inches. There was a small yellowing bruise fading over his collarbone, and Frank stepped forward. "Mind if I...?" he gestured to the gown and the newly named 'The Artist' closed his eyes as Frank lowered the gown and removed his arms from it one by one, until it was sitting bunched up around his waist. He had to try not to gasp at the multitude of light bruises speckling his right arm and parts of his chest. What must have been a heavy blow to his ribcage was mirrored on his side, but when Frank got him to stand--holding the gown tight against himself--he could see it was far worse on his back. The bruising to his shoulder blades was still rather dark, blotches of purple stood out like beacons in the night against the pale of his skin. "Christ," Frank breathed out, wishing he'd kept it in his head as soon as it left his lips.
"Is it. It's that bad, huh?" He asked, head down.
"Um, sorry. I've seen worse, but. Yeah, looks kinda bad." He traced his gloved fingers lightly down the pale back in front of him, seemingly worse bruising just visible where the gown was being held tightly. "You uh, you should sit down a sec."
The Artist did, pulling the gown up over his chest. "Is it done?"
Frank closed his eyes briefly. "You. You know it's not. Don't you?" When he didn't get an answer or even eye contact, Frank sat at the other end of the bed. "You need to lie down and take that off so that either I, or someone else, can check you properly. Or, tell me what happened and we can take it from there. I'm not here to judge, man. And I'm not here to hurt you."
"I, I know. I get that. It's just that I'm not sure. Someone hurt me, mugged, that's what uh, Greta? That's what she said. But I, I don't." Pushing the hair out of his eyes, he swallowed hard. "I'm gonna need a smoke after this."
"Done," Frank replied as if it were a deal.
"Okay. How do want me to lie?"
"Uh, on your side. That must be most comfortable, seeing as you lie like that a lot?" Frank stood and waited as The Artist turned away from him and settled on his side, letting go of his gown slowly. "I'll find out about getting you your clothes back too, I think they should've been done by now." The Artist turned his head to look back at Frank with a curious expression. "We don't usually have anyone in who doesn't come prepared, so Greta will have had you clothes washed for you so you'd be more comfortable. Some people like the gowns. Others not so much. You don't remember that from when you came in?"
"Yeah, I mean. I wasn't really paying attention, just did what was needed. I didn't think about it too hard." He turned back to the wall and Frank could see the man's eyes close tightly.
"Alright, just relax okay?" Slowly, in case of a late objection, Frank tore open the Velcro fastenings one by one and lifted the gown out of his way. It seemed the worst of the bruising was contained to the guy's sides and lower back, but it wasn't the worst of his injuries. With care, Frank slipped the boxer shorts down and his eyes travelled lower. Patches of dried blood between his thighs. Frank couldn't help the way his eyes and mouth widened and his shoulders fell. He lifted them back up and closed the gown gently. "All done," he said as cheerily as he could. "You can get up now. Or sleep or, you wanted a smoke? Give me five minutes and I'll-"
"I want a bath."
"You," Frank shook his head, wanting to touch or comfort him somehow, "you can't." He found a cold hand, fingers picking at each other, and pulled it into his own. "You know why, don't you? Why didn't you say something?"
The Artist withdrew his hand, pulling his knees up to his chest with a grimace and burying his head. "I didn't, I couldn't look. I couldn't face that maybe, maybe I'd... Can't even say it," he sobbed softly, shaking the smallest amount against Frank's side.
"We need to do a rape kit. Okay?" He tried to sound soothing, brushing his fingers through his patient's long hair. "Then, you can have as long a bath as you want."
"Smoke. Smoke first." He reached down blindly to Frank's hand, stilling his jittery fingers in Frank's palm. "Please."
"Whatever you're comfortable with, alright?" Frank rubbed his thumb over the guy's fingers. "Smoke and then you should get some sleep. It'll be done in the morning, how does that sound?"
"Okay," he nodded his head.
"Good. Fine. So uh, let me go see about your clothes. I know you're gonna sleep soon but it's freezing out. I won't be long," he added, thinking it might help him get his hand out of the vice-like grip it was held in. Not that he wanted to move really, but kind of had to.
Leaving the guy sitting behind closed curtains, Frank held onto his stomach as he made his way back up to the front desk. He didn't stop, just walked straight past it and into the little back room, ignoring Bob's curious stares from where he was sat talking on the phone, and made himself a coffee without waiting for the water to boil properly. Black. No sugar. He didn't bother sitting. Didn't really have time to as he gulped it down.
"Hey, what's up?" Bob asked, dropping a hand to Frank's shoulder. Frank said nothing for a moment, unsure of exactly what to say. Nobody came into their little world after being raped. Ever. They were private. They dealt with people or the kids of people who couldn't be bothered waiting around a regular hospital for treatment. Not even for anything major. They dealt with asthma, allergies, cuts and gashes, a few stitches or maybe even the occasional person who wanted an easy rehab. If they could pay for it, they got it. But mostly everyone who came knew why. And Frank had taken to the guy, wanted to help him even with barely knowing him. He couldn't get his head around it. "Sit," Bob ordered, walking Frank to a chair and pushing his shoulders down.
"Are his clothes back? I'm taking him outside for a cigarette. It's cold," Frank said tightly.
"Yeah. And it's late. How many times you wanna break the rules for this kid?" Even so, Bob wandered over to the front desk and pulled a bag from underneath it, handing it to Frank. "His stuff's in there. You gonna tell me what happened?" He took the cup from Frank and looked him in the eyes, waiting patiently for an answer.
"He was, shit, Bob. Someone raped him." Frank rubbed at his eyes. It felt like a long day even though he'd only been working five hours, had seven more to go before Brendon would take over from him. "I gotta... I said he could go out and smoke. I'm gonna take him his clothes." He looked to Bob, asking with his eyes for that to be okay because he didn't quite trust his voice not to break. He'd never known someone in real life who'd had that happen. Heard about it all the time, sure, and it always sounded horrendous and he never once thought someone deserved it. But, to not know who you were, to have the only real solid thing you know about yourself be that you were raped? Frank just couldn't comprehend it. Or how the guy could still... breathe. Let alone manage to form actual words.
Still, he couldn't exactly show all that to his patient. Frank had always prided himself on his professionalism. So he straightened himself out and headed back with the freshly laundered clothes in hand.
"Got your clothes. I'll just. I'll be outside. I've cleared it with Bob so you can come out when you're ready," pushing the pile under the curtain so as not to disturb him further. Hearing a choked and sobbed "thank you", Frank closed his eyes and whispered for him not to be too long; they'd have to lock the door for the night soon.
Not five minutes later, and halfway through his second cigarette--though he hadn't exactly finished the whole of the first--Frank heard the familiar shuffle of hospital slippers and got a cigarette out for his smoking companion. It was swiftly taken from his fingers and lit with the lighter in his hand without him even doing anything.
"Thanks."
When Frank turned, there was no awful gown. Instead he saw black jeans with a slight rip to one knee, and a battered leather jacket with what looked like an Iron Maiden shirt underneath. He could make out Eddie's head in the dim light. He almost smiled. It was certainly a look. And so different from the one he'd seen so far. What was mostly different though, was that instead of a look of sadness or wonder or sorrow, the guy was grinning. Actually grinning, and for a second Frank wanted to punch him square on the jaw because really, he should not be grinning. Frank didn't feel like grinning. Or even smiling. Instead he threw his cigarette to the ground and lit a new one, trying to make himself sound unfazed. "Like your shirt."
"Thanks," he said with a short intake of smoke, still grinning, and Frank just couldn't stop himself from asking.
"Why the fuck are you happy?"
Without a word, the guy pulled his leg up and rested the foot on his thigh. Keeping the cigarette dangling between his lips, he pulled down the edge of his sock to reveal a small tag on the inside.
"Gerard?" Frank asked questioningly.
"I guess these are really old socks or my mom thinks I still need to tag my stuff. Or they're someone else’s. But this jacket? Definitely mine. And you see here?" he lifted up the flap of a pocket. Underneath, and written in gold pen--the kind people use on Christmas cards--was written in tiny writing, "It says it's Gerard's smelly jacket. I guess it is kinda smelly, but... it's mine. Absolutely, definitely mine."
"Wow." Frank scratched the back of his neck as a slight smile spread across his own face. "That's cool. Really cool. So we're going with Gerard now? Can I put it on your chart?"
"Yep, that's my name." He put his leg back down and took the cigarette from his lips, taking a drag and flicking the ash off down by his side. "But um, I just realized. You're not gonna be here in the morning. Y'know, for the thing." He took a deep shaky breath, looking down at the floor.
"No, it's not my shift. Patrick will do it. But," Frank put his hand gently on Gerard's shoulder. "He's real nice, I promise."
"I just thought that maybe. I mean, I thought you--"
"I can't," Frank shook his head, knowing what Gerard was trying to say. "I'm just a nurse. I take pulses and give out medication, change beds. I'm not. I haven't done that kind of... I'm not qualified for that." Seeing Gerard biting his lip and stabbing his cigarette out on the wall, Frank dropped his own and tapped at Gerard's chin to get him to look at him. "I can probably be there with you, if you want? Might not be too awake, but I could drop in for a while."
"You'd do that? Even though you're not working? Really?"
"If it'd make you more comfortable, sure. And maybe I can bring you another coffee. God knows I'll need one that time of morning," he chuckled quietly.
"Yeah, please. I'd, I'd really appreciate that. The coffee, and you being there, if that wouldn't be too weird for you," he said hopefully.
"It's... It's fine, okay? Looking after my patients as best I can is my job. Even if it kinda goes over my clocking out time sometimes. Go on, you'd better get some sleep. And I should talk to Bob; see if I can get off a little early so I'm awake enough to catch the right bus tomorrow."
.................
"Bob? If I got some info on John Doe, do I get a reward for my good work?" Frank leant on his elbows over the desk, wiggling his eyebrows and flashing him a grin.
"Depends," Bob answered skeptically. "The kind of reward where you get a treat for being a good boy?" He ruffled Frank’s hair like he was talking to an unruly dog. "Or the kind where you get paid for doing your job? ‘Cause you're definitely gonna get paid, but I don't have any treats."
"More like the kind where you're totally amazing and let me go home early. Jon's here, and it's not like you're gonna miss me. Please?"
"So, who's meant to take over your duties for the next few hours?" Frank didn't answer, just looked at him imploringly. Bob sighed, "Why do you wanna go early? And what's the info?"
"John Doe's name is actually Gerard, and that drawing? He drew it," he grinned as Bob sat looking impressed. "And I told him, y'know, that we'll need to do a kit. He's really nervous about tomorrow. He thought I was gonna do it. But I said I could try and come in. Sit with him or something, but I'd really need to go early if I'm gonna be up before late afternoon-"
"Okay, okay," Bob waved his hands around. "Alright. Just. He's vulnerable, y'know? And a patient. Don't go getting all floopy-eyed at him."
Frank opened his mouth in mock-shock. "Floopy-eyed? Since when do I get floopy-eyed?"
"Since he came in," Bob stated kindly.
"Well, okay. So he's really really... Bob, he's beautiful. But I know, really I do. And I wouldn't--he's my patient, I'm not stupid. I just wanna help him, like when I came in to ride home with that kid when her parents sent a driver to pick her up instead of doing it themselves. He doesn't have anyone right now."
"Good. Frank, I know you're not stupid, I just wanted to be sure we're on the same page with this. You can go now if you want--soon as you make me coffee."
..........
The last thing Frank did before he left was change the name on Gerard's chart. He smiled as he looked over his sleeping form, cover pulled up high on his shoulders. "Gerard," he mouthed, running his fingers over the folded clothes sitting at the bottom of the bed. "I like it."
..............
Frank wasn't able to sleep as easily as he'd hoped. He just wasn't used to getting in and sleeping for another few hours from then, and it was hard to adjust on demand. He called Bob a couple of times until Bob shouted at him that he'd let him go early to sleep, and that he should really try and do that instead of calling him when Bob was trying to do the work Frank should've been doing. Frank didn't want to ask how Gerard was doing; he should've been asleep anyway. But he didn't have to because Bob knew he wanted to know, so he told him. "He woke up so I got him some art supplies from the kids' room. He's drawing something."
Eventually Frank drifted off to sleep, later than he'd meant to, and missed his alarm the first few times it went off. Dragging himself out of bed around 9am, he got dressed in his usual 'I'm not working today' get up, not forgetting to put in the piercings he had to remove for work and spending half an hour styling his hair just-so. And a little eyeliner 'cause really, he just felt naked without it.
Not quite awake, he missed the stop for Starbucks and had to walk a couple of blocks back to get two hazelnut lattes with chocolate dusting and marshmallows. One for Gerard and one for himself. When he finally got in, it was nearing 10.30am, and Maja was at the desk to greet him. When he'd first started, he'd half wished for about a month that he was into girls because he'd honestly never seen any woman ever look so good in any kind of uniform.
"Someone didn't get enough sleep last night," she said with a wink. "You look like crap, honey."
"Thanks Maja, just what I needed to hear. Looking radiant as ever," he said, playfully pushing at her shoulder. "'Trick in yet?"
"Yeah. He's waiting for you in his office. Bob left a note for him."
Frank nodded and made his way in to give the coffee to its intended owner, finding Gerard sitting with his legs crossed, sketchpad in his lap and pencil held delicately between his teeth. "What're you drawing?"
"Oh!" Gerard looked up wide eyed, pulling the pad to his chest to conceal it. "Uh, just... stuff. Nothing, um. Just random stuff." His gaze fell on the cup in Frank's hand and he quirked a smile. "My coffee?" He set the pad face down in front of him as Frank handed it to him, looking him over curiously and patting the bottom of the bed for Frank to sit. "You look different," he said flatly. Expression unreadable and half hidden behind his cup.
"Good different or ba-woah!" Frank almost shrieked as he was practically pulled backwards off of the bed by two small arms around his neck. Making a half choking sound, he pulled the kid dangling off him around to his side and patted him on the back. "Back again, huh? I didn't get anything new since you were last in."
"I had gym this morning. I swear that teacher hates me. He knows I'm not meant to be running--"
"Why didn't you just tell him where to stick it?" Gerard laughed at Frank's choice of phrase, and the kid looked at him briefly.
"Because I have a math quiz later and this way I get the rest of the day off." He looked towards Gerard again, seeing the gory wolf/doll/unicorn sketch taped to the wall next to his bed. "That's awesome!" he pointed. "Frank, who's the new guy?"
"This is Gerard," he pointed. "Gerard, this is Asthma Kid. He has a name but we don't use it 'cause he doesn't like it."
"It's Joshua, like, from the Bible or something. Crock o' shit, that is," he said with a roll of his eyes as he studied the drawing and then Gerard. And then the drawing again. "Hey, Frank! I was reading that Doom Patrol you got me. Man, that shit's good--"
"Joshua," a voice from behind them called.
"Don't call me that, I hate--"
"Okay, Asthma Kid," Maja corrected herself, hands on hips. "You're meant to be sick. Get back into bed. If you're good, I'll bring you an extra piece of funnel cake after dinner."
"Yeah, fine... Whatever you say Maaaja." Skipping back over to his bed across the room, he turned back before he hopped onto it, "Say g'bye before ya go, Frankie!"
"Will do, man," he called back as Maja went back to the desk. "I'll be in later anyway."
Gerard gasped. "Oh, shit. Forgot you're working later. I don't wanna keep you any longer than--"
"It's fine. Wouldn't have volunteered otherwise. Finish up your coffee and I'll go find Patrick."
"Okay," Gerard said quietly. "Good different, by the way. And is that?" He reached out to touch Frank's neck, "A scorpion. Sweet."
Frank tried to keep the blush from his cheeks, unsure if he was doing a great job at it as Gerard's fingers traced the tattoo slowly. "Thanks."
"I'm afraid of needles. Could never have anything like that done," he shook his head with a shiver. "You got any more? Except those, obviously." He pointed to Frank's hands.
"A few," he shrugged. "They’re all under here though," he pulled at his hoodie to explain as Gerard set his cup down and picked at the remaining marshmallows.
"Huh. Cool. I um, I'm ready? For the... thing. Y'know?" He flung his legs over the bed and swung them nervously back and forth.
...............
Patrick, just as Frank had said, was really nice. Soft spoken and understanding. He tried his best to make Gerard comfortable. He gave Gerard a sheet and closed the curtain around the bed in the examination room, instructing him to take off everything below the waist, lay the sheet over himself, and let them know when he was done. While they were waiting he washed his hands with the slightly cucumber smelling alcoholic scrub, and donned some latex gloves, exchanging sympathetic glances with Frank.
"I'm done," Gerard called quietly, and Patrick pulled the curtain back, gesturing to Frank who wasn't sure what he should be doing anymore.
"Sit here," he said, taking charge and bringing a chair over to the upper half of Gerard's body. "Gerard? I need you to bend your knees up and keep your feet flat. Deep even breaths, okay?" Gerard nodded and Patrick continued. "I'm gonna take a swab, and just check that everything's as it should be and make sure you're okay. Sound alright?" Gerard nodded again and shut his eyes tight, hands rigid next to his sides. "You have to try and relax. This will be uncomfortable, there's no way around it. But if anything hurts too bad, tell me and I'll stop."
"Okay," he breathed deeply. "Okay."
Frank took the hand closest to his and held it gently with both hands, one either side, as Gerard moved his legs as asked and closed his eyes again. Frank held onto his hand the whole time. The one Gerard wasn't squeezing, he occasionally moved up to his wrist, rubbing his thumb softly over Gerard's skin as his face screwed up into a slight wince. Frank didn't look behind him, couldn't. Just kept his eyes trained on Gerard's face, and when Patrick said he was almost done, Frank wiped the lone tear that escaped Gerard's right eye with his palm.
"Alright. It's done, Gerard. You can get dressed again now," Patrick said soon after, taking Frank outside the curtain with him.
"Is he okay?" Frank whispered hopefully.
"Frank. You know I can't tell you. If he wants you in here when he's done, then fine. But you're not here working right now so I can't tell you first. Don't put me on the spot like that." Frank nodded, wringing his hands as they waited and pulling the chair over for Gerard to sit on when he came out.
"It's okay. I'll um, I'll stand." He shifted from one foot to the other. "And I'm not deaf. You've helped me this far, I don't mind if you stay." He looked to Patrick, waiting to hear the outcome.
"Alright, well let's get the blood samples done first and then--"
"Blood samples?" Frank didn't miss the way Gerard's complexion paled even more so than it already was. "I don't," he shook his head, "needles... I."
"It'll only take a second," Patrick stated as reassuringly as he could, bringing a chair over for Gerard and getting the needle and sample tubes ready. "Have to test for sexually transmitted diseases and infections, HIV..."
Gerard reluctantly sat on the chair and bared his arm. He didn't watch while Patrick worked, just reached for Frank's hand and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breath evenly. When it was done, he took a moment steady himself, half looking about to vomit. "I'm okay," he said in answer to the other's inquiring glances.
Patrick took a short breath before starting to explain, avoiding the usual doctor jargon as he always did with patients. "I do the lab testing around here, so I can get these done for you as soon as I have a minute. As for the examination, you've obviously had some damage done, but it seems to be healing sufficiently enough. Thankfully, nothing too major, a couple of small tears and slight internal bruising, which will be rather sore, as you've probably noticed already. So, you'll be fine. No lasting physical damage... And I've taken a swab for testing. It's for DNA, which will be sent to the police lab. They have their own testing for that and--"
"No," Gerard protested. "No police. I don't want... I just wanna forget about it. Don't, please."
"Gerard, I'm sorry. Really, I am but," Patrick sat, scratched his neck. "Rape is a criminal offence and we're obliged to tell them about it. I'm surprised they didn't send someone to do this already."
"They kind of um," Frank bit his lip. “They don't know yet."
"Frank! What the--Gerard, could you excuse us for a minute please?" Gerard left with a solemn and apologetic nod to Frank, shutting the door quietly behind him. "What were you thinking?”
“Look, I didn't know about this until last night, okay. I didn't want the cops all over him about something he can't even remember! And, he just said he doesn't want them involved. I just think--"
"It's not your job to think, and take matters like this into your own hands, Frank. It's not. Obviously you wanna help him and obviously he's taken to you, so... I think it would be best if you talked to him about it."
"You mean convince him to talk to the police." Frank paced around the room, hands in pockets. "It's not my job to do that, either, Patrick."
"If it's in his best interests, it is. Patient care, Frank--"
"That's what I've been doing! Jesus, it's almost Christmas for God's sake. He's got nowhere to go and nobody to be around except us--don't you think that's gonna be hard enough for him as it is, without police involved?" Patrick and Frank sighed, they both had good points.
"Well, at least bring it up. See what he wants to do. I'll hold off on sending this," he gestured to the DNA swab. "But if the bloods come back with anything, then I'm contacting the police regardless, and he can tell them he doesn't want anything done. If someone's going around raping people--especially if they're carrying something, they need to be found."
Frank nodded, "Okay, sure. Thanks."
"Also, you should tell him about the counseling we run. He might wanna take that up for a while."
"Alright. I'll ask him. But you know he's not, y'know, paying for treatment." He walked towards the door as Patrick told him he didn't want to know. "I'll go check him. Thanks again.”
....................
When Frank got out of Patrick’s office, Gerard was nowhere to be seen. "Garden. Smoking," Maja said, seeing Frank looking around.
Gerard was sitting at the very back, on the small two-seater chair swing, smoking what was obviously the last of the pack Frank had given him, because he was randomly ripping up the empty carton. He didn't look up as Frank approached, but did offer him a drag of his cigarette. Frank took a quick one, leaving it in Gerard's fingers and sat next to him. "How're you doing?"
He shrugged. "Hope I didn't get you into too much trouble. I'm sorry if I did."
"No," Frank shook his head. "You didn't. He's right; I should've called the cops last night, but... I guess I thought you should have some time first. Y'know? To get your head around it or whatever."
"For what it's worth, I'm glad you didn't. I don't want them involved. Can't tell 'em anything anyway." Putting a hand on Frank's knee, Gerard shifted a bit closer. "Frank?" he said softly, and Frank could hear the nerves in Gerard's voice.
Clearing his throat, his eyes not leaving the hand on his leg, Frank said, "Yeah?" And when Gerard asked him what Christmas was like at the hospital, Frank had to try not to tear up a little, thinking of Gerard with nowhere to go or anyone he knew to come and visit. "It's uh, it's nice. We decorate, for the kids that are here, and. It's okay."
"I can leave, right? When I want, I mean. I've not been committed..."
"No, no. You can go whenever. But, where? Don't you wanna see if you can remember anything else first, so maybe you'll have somewhere to go? Being on your own at Christmas is gonna be worse than being here. Trust me. Still got a few days, something might come back to you."
"You'll be on your own at Christmas?" Gerard asked, obviously surprised.
"Yeah. My mom... I don't really get along with her boyfriend, and my dad lives pretty far away. I just go and see her for the New Year. No big deal. Mostly I just hang around here anyway. It can be pretty cozy. We break out the alcohol when the kids are sleeping and last checks are done and have a very, very small drink. I think you should stick around for a while. If you want to."
Gerard sat silently for a minute, flexing his fingers on Frank's knee before leaning over and quickly brushing his lips against Frank's cheek as he stood up to go back inside. "Thank you. Thank you for earlier and thank you for helping me..." About to say something about how it was his job amidst the blush he knew was evident, Frank stopped himself when Gerard spoke again "...when you didn't have to."
Gerard left him sitting there, walking away quickly and Frank rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. It was then that he fully realized that no, he didn't have to. That he really just wanted to. "You're an idiot, Frank. Total fucking idiot," he said to himself. "He's a patient."
When Frank finally tore himself off the swinging chair, it was almost two in the afternoon and he knew he'd be completely fucked for work that evening, being that he only had four hours until his shift started. And before he left, he wanted to talk to Gerard. Well, he didn't really want to, but he wasn't sure if maybe something needed saying about Gerard kissing his cheek. He thought about it the whole while Brendon was talking to him in the hall. Something about balloon animals and how he'd be decorating soon because there were only four days until Christmas Day and the place still looked depressing as hell despite of, or maybe because of, the little hand drawn scrawls Ryan had doodled over most of the walls with bits of poetry only he understood the brighter meaning of.
Eventually he decided it probably wasn't all that dissimilar to the old lady that had grabbed his cheeks and kissed his nose for helping her get to and from the shower each day she was there. Not a big deal if he didn't make it one.
"Brendon?" Bob said, appearing from nowhere. He was always in early, and how he managed such long shifts, Frank would never know. "I need to talk to Frank." Excusing himself, Brendon skipped off happily to go spread his Christmas joy to some unsuspecting patients. "You," he poked at Frank's chest, "need to go home and sleep."
"I know," he sighed. "I know. I'll be fine. I'll be back la--"
"No. I've cleared it. You get tonight off. I know you're not working tomorrow anyway, but you've been taking on a lot around here lately and you've earned the rest. Okay? We'll survive fine without you until you're scheduled to be back."
A smile crept over Frank's exhausted features and he hugged Bob tightly. "Thanks. Seriously, I'm so drained."
"Not a problem," Bob pushed Frank away before he had chance to fall asleep on his shoulder--wouldn't have been the first time, and fixed him with a more serious stare. "I haven't spoken to Patrick yet, how'd it go?"
"Uh, yeah. It went alright. He's okay, nothing that isn't healed or isn't going to. Patrick kinda went a little nuts that I hadn't called the police though--but I calmed him down and... it's fine. He's gonna overlook it for now, and Gerard doesn't want them involved so..."
Interrupted by shouting--not exactly a regular occurrence there--both men turned to the ward to see what was going on. Maja was already there, pulling Asthma Kid back to his bed and they could see Gerard closing the curtain around his own, head down and shoulders limp. Frank held back his urge to rush right over and check if he was okay, instead going to see what Asthma Kid had to say for himself.
"He's a fucking liar, Frankie! I asked him about that drawing, 'cause it's cool and I've seen it before and wanted to know how he got it." Frank nodded, waiting for him to continue. "He said he drew it. And that's bull, 'cause I've seen it in this little comic shop and there's no fucking way he drew that--"
"What comic shop?" Frank interrupted. Maybe that was where he'd seen it too. Or it's variation at least.
"Ugh, the one two blocks from my house. You know, that tiny one we went past that day my mom made you come over for dinner? Anyway, doesn't matter, because he," he pointed angrily to Gerard's bed and raised his voice, "didn't draw it!"
"Alright. Look, settle down or Maja's gonna send you home right now. She knows you're not really sick, and I'm pretty sure your mom's not too happy with all the time you keep having off school. Even if today was the last day."
"I'll take over," Bob said, nodding over to Gerard. "You go deal with the other one."
When Frank pulled back the curtain, the only 'dealing with' he had to do, was in the form of rubbing Gerard's back gently as he sobbed into the knees pulled up to his chest, hair falling over his probably closed eyes.
"Frank... I didn't, Jesus. I didn't do anything to that kid. He just started going off on me when I told him I drew that thing, and, fuck! He should not be making me cry, damn it!" He lifted his head slowly from his knees and moved over, leaving enough space for Frank to sit on the edge with him. Which he did, hand still on Gerard's back and moving up and down his spine to stop him from softly brushing away the tear marks tracked down Gerard's cheeks. "My name, and that thing, are just about the only things that are real about me right now. Things that I feel are real, and he just manages to make me doubt it in like, ten seconds flat. And he's probably half my fucking age. It's pathetic."
"Doubting yourself when you've been through what you have, isn't pathetic. I'm sure it's probably pretty natural." He pushed some hair out of Gerard's eyes, fingers lingering behind his ear a little longer than he'd intended and moving them quickly away when he realized. "You can, um, that bath you wanted? You can do that now if you want," he said in an attempt to change the subject.
"I will," Gerard replied, almost as if it were just for something to say. "But, I'm sorry, for... before. With the. When I--"
"Oh! Hey, no. It's, it's fine. Honest, not a big deal. Happens all the time." Sometimes, Frank corrected in his head. And the people who do it are never as attractive as Gerard. Frank really didn't know what else to say on the matter, especially when Gerard leant in and kissed him again, a little closer to the corner of his jaw and just under his ear, threading his fingers through Frank's as he dropped his head to Frank's shoulder. "You," he attempted to lift Gerard's chin with the hand that had been around his back, but Gerard wasn't letting him too easily. "You probably shouldn't though. ‘Cause..."
"Yeah. Most guys don't like being kissed by... guys." He looked into Frank's eyes. Not sad or annoyed, just blank, wondering.
"Most," Frank said. "Not all. Not m..." he stopped himself, feeling his professionalism fading fast, and dislodged his fingers from Gerard's, biting his lip to stop himself from saying something he shouldn't. "Look, I'd probably come close to losing my job over this conversation, so. I'm off until the day after tomorrow, but I'll stop by with coffee for you. If you want."
"Oh, oh right. Um yeah that'd...I'd like that." He picked up his pad from the side of the bed and looked at Frank long and hard, before holding it to his chest and looking like he was waiting for him to leave.
"Have these too, seeing as you're out," he tossed his half a carton of cigarettes into Gerard's lap and when he smiled, Frank let out a short noise of frustration and sucked his lip ring into his mouth, shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. He wanted to wrap his arms around Gerard and tell him things would be okay. And kiss him. A lot.
The first thing Frank should've done when he finally left, was go straight home and jerk off for two hours straight. Because he hadn't had the time for a few days, and Gerard... He was really starting to feel like he needed to. Instead, he stopped off at the comic store Asthma Kid had told him about.
part two
CHAPTER: Part one
PAIRING: Frank/Gerard
RATING:Individually rated. pg-13 for swears...implied rape.
SUMMARY: Frank Iero, male nurse at Pete Wentz's private hospital and possibly more to one new patient he can't keep his eyes off of.
DISCLAIMER: Not real, never happened.
WARNING: standard Implied rape warning.
A/N: Beta'd by behindskylines and sexifulness
The first time Frank saw the latest addition to his shift, it was on its back, being wheeled past as he put his coat away and checked if his hair was suitably slicked down, as was required. It--Frank was having a hard time deciding if it was male or female--was beautiful. Long, dark hair and pale skin. It was also asleep as far as Frank could tell. Whoever it was, they were being pushed into the space which was just that morning occupied by the asthma kid. Frank loved the asthma kid. He was smart and funny and always had a smile for anyone who could be bothered to take the time to talk to him. Frank suspected that the asthma kid liked him too. He wondered sometimes if he had faked a bad attack just so that he and Frank could chat about the latest editions to their horror film collections--even though Frank knew the kid wasn't technically old enough to be watching them. Frank got on with young and old alike, drawing a smile from the weariest of folk and getting even the most stubborn to take their meds. Everyone loved him and warmed up to him. It was that reason that Bob had requested Frank for his shift, the same reason the new patient was brought down at the start of Frank's shift.
After making sure he was suitable, Frank signed in and said hi to Bob, his supervisor of sorts, asking if anything needed seeing to right away. Bob knew Frank too well, noticing his interest in the new patient. He didn't even look up when he spoke. "Two and five need checking on, the bed in one needs changing, and I could really do with a coffee."
Frank's face fell. "Are you kidding? Please say you're kidding," Frank pleaded, putting on his best pouting face.
"I'm kidding," Bob said, shaking his head. "Got a new one for ya, bed six," and then he went back to his paperwork.
"Awesome," Frank grinned.
He gave a wave to the small girl in bed three who had finally started talking to him after he pretended to get tangled up in some unused wires and fall over, and stood at the bottom of the new patient's bed. It--he was a guy, Frank decided, if the five o'clock shadow was anything to go by. An incredibly striking guy. Frank peered over him, studying the curve of his mouth and the way his shoulder length hair fell against the pillow. He wondered what color his eyes were, before picking up the guy's chart. Before he got a look at it, he saw the guy's eye open. Just one eye. Looking at him.
"Hi," Frank smiled, waving his little kid wave; all five fingers spread out and held up by his head as he waved it back and forth excitedly. The guy's eye shut immediately, and he turned over. "Hmmm, okay. You don't wanna talk. That's cool, uh...," he looked at the chart for a name. "John... Doe?" Frank laughed. "Come on, that's not your real name, surely. If it is, your parents have a warped sense of humor."
The guy just looked at him stone-faced, and replied blankly, "You're right, it's not my name, but it might as well be," before turning back to the wall. Frank frowned, and looked back at the chart. Amnesia. Oh, shit.
"Um, hey, sorry. I should've looked before I opened my mouth." Nothing, not even a flinch from the guy as Frank broke the almost silence of the room. "Well anyway, I'm Frank. If you need anything," he pulled a pad with a red button on it from the wall, drawing out a long chord with it and placing it next to 'John Doe's' side. "Just press this. If I don't come running in thirty seconds, you get a complimentary donut." Frank shrugged, "Something about patient satisfaction." His attempt at humor over with, he walked away, just spying the guy's fingers curl around the pad out of the corner of his eye.
........
"So, new guy. We don't know who he is, huh?"
"Nope. Not a clue," Bob said with a shake of his head.
It was break time for them both, and they were sat in the small room at the back of the reception desk. There wasn't much to do after 10.30pm, their rounds having been done, and most of the patients asleep. Jon was on duty anyway. "What's actually wrong with him? Besides the amnesia. I mean, it's not like we normally admit people for that."
Bob took a slow sip of his coffee and leant in close to Frank, a finger on his lips indicating Frank was meant to keep his mouth shut about whatever Bob was going to tell him.
"Some woman brought him in this morning. Said she found him face down in an alley, and he couldn't tell her who he was or what had happened to him. So she brought him here. Greta checked him over. Said she couldn't find anything past a few bruises on his back and sides--from what he'd let her see, at least. But you know Greta." Frank smiled. He did know Greta. She was compassionate and sweet, but stern when necessary.
"Goodwill case, then?"
"Yeah, but don't tell Wentz. He's charitable an' all, but, I think Greta's starting to annoy him with her admitting patients who can't pay. She just feels bad 'cause it's almost Christmas and he's obviously got nowhere to go." Bob cocked his head to the side and looked out into the ward as he heard a buzzer go off, Jon quickly going to see who it was.
"Well, I mean, shouldn't he really be with the police? So they can try and find out who he is? Maybe someone's looking for him? Parents, wife, someone must miss him."
Shaking his head, Bob sighed. "Nah, police can't do anything for him. I spoke to Trohman earlier myself. Faxed him a photo and he checked the local records. They can't place him with a facial id, but he came and collected some drawing he had in his pocket, gonna see if he can get a print off it. I think Greta wants to take care of him till he remembers something helpful. She thinks maybe he was mugged or something, seeing as he had no id or anything else on him except the bit of paper."
"Pete's seriously gonna fire her one of these days," Frank laughed.
"Yeah," Bob joined in, "maybe when he stops bangin' her--"
"Uh, Frank?"
"Oh hey," Frank turned to face Jon in the doorway. "What's up?"
"New guy, wants you," Jon rolled his eyes.
Frank set his coffee down and got up. "He asked for me? Sweet!"
"Didn't exactly ask for you, but he wouldn't say anything except your name when I asked what was wrong, so. Yeah. You're wanted."
"You called?" Frank said as he approached the bed. His voice reduced to a low whisper so as not to wake anyone.
"Coffee," the guy said flatly.
Frank scratched his head. "Coffee?"
"I believe I was promised a donut if you took longer than thirty seconds to get here, but I'd prefer a coffee."
"Oh, uh. Yeah. I think I can manage that." Frank laughed. "Was there anything else?"
"I could um... I could use a cigarette. I think. I think I smoke?" he looked confused, playing with his fingers and brought them up to his nose. "Smell kinda smokey."
"Well, the coffee's a definite, but I'll have to ask my boss about the cigarette. We're not supposed to supply them for people who don't bring them in, and patients aren't meant to be outside after 10pm. Hospital rules. Sorry."
"That's okay. Thanks though."
Frank started to walk away, stopping a few feet from the bed. "Do you know how you'd like your coffee?"
The guy smiled. "Three sugars, not too much milk. I guess hazelnut's out of the question?"
"Yep, pretty much." Frank laughed. "But maybe, maybe I'll pick something up for you from Starbucks on my way in tomorrow. If you'd like that?"
"That'd be awesome," the guy grinned, and Frank couldn't help the way he melted slightly at the guy's first genuine smile. It was kind of crooked and adorable, like the way he seemed to talk out of the right hand side of his mouth, the corner dragged down slightly.
"So," Bob asked when Frank had made a coffee that obviously wasn't for him. "What did John Doe want?"
"Uh, coffee," he gestured the cup towards Bob, biting his lip a bit.
"And?" Bob knew Frank way too well.
"He asked if he could have a smoke."
Bob rolled his eyes, reaching into a nearby drawer and pulling out a carton of cigarettes.
"Here," he handed them to Frank. "Anyone asks, he brought 'em with him. If he asks, he brought 'em with him. Got it?" Frank nodded. "And uh, I guess, seeing as he seems to have taken a shine to you, we could do without you for another ten minutes."
"Seriously? Did I ever tell you how awesome you are, Bryar?"
Bob crossed his arms against his chest and sat back in his chair. "Actually, no. You didn't."
"Well you are. You're the best."
..........
Once outside in the hospital's small private garden, Frank leant against his usual wall, thankful it wasn't too cold. Even though he'd given John Doe his jacket to wear, he still only had a hospital gown on underneath it.
"Can I ask you something?" Frank asked as the guy lit his cigarette like it was the most natural thing in the world to him, blowing the smoke out of the corner of his mouth.
"I hate it when people ask that. 'Cause they're already asking a question. Y'know? And if you don't wanna be asked a question, you're not gonna want someone asking you if they can ask one. Kinda defeats the point of asking." Frank looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Yeah, sure. Go ahead. Can't really say no since you got me these." He smiled slightly, and Frank half forgot his question.
"What, uh. What do you remember?" he asked carefully.
"Probably easier to tell you what I don't remember," he answered after a long drag. "I don't remember family, or friends. My name, my favorite color, where I lived, what happened to me. The important stuff. Sometimes I wish... except I don't, do I? I don't know what I wish. Shit." He slid down the wall and settled on the ground, sitting on his heels. "I wish I knew all the stuff I can't remember," he said sadly.
"We'll get something. We'll find out all that stuff. I'm sure something will come back to you." Frank sat down next to him. "And we have that paper-"
The guy frowned. "What paper?"
"Oh. Bob said you had some drawing or something on you when he came in. We have a friend who's a cop. He's checking it for fingerprints to see if he can find out who you are."
"You mean to see if I'm a criminal. Not that I could tell you if I were. I mean, I don't think I am. I don't feel like a criminal." He looked himself over like it would tell him something, before shaking his head and taking another puff of his cigarette.
"What do you feel like?" Frank asked curiously.
He answered honestly. Simply, "I don't know."
The next night Frank got ready for his shift as usual, stopping by Starbucks on the way to pick up a coffee for John Doe. He decided he'd have to come up with another name for him somehow. He didn't look like someone who should be called John. And Starbucks, Frank realized, was not really user friendly. There was way too much choice for someone like him who had trouble with deciding what DVD he wanted to watch of an evening--and that place had way more combinations of coffee than what Frank had DVDs. It wasn't hard to choose for himself, but for someone else? He was just glad to have hazelnut as a starter. So he just asked the guy behind the counter for something with hazelnut and some chocolate sprinkles on top. And marshmallows, because really, who doesn't love those?
He got to work fifteen minutes late for all his indecision, and Bob was waiting for him by the sign-in book.
He said, "You’re late."
"Yeah, sorry. Had to pick something up and I just. Sorry. Don't kill me?" He signed in, and noticed next to the book lay an a4 sized piece of paper. It'd been folded into quarters and had some kind of werewolf attacking a... He stared at it, head cocked to the side. "Is it attacking a china doll?"
"Fucked if I know," Bob shrugged. "I don't think china dolls bleed though. Maybe you can ask your friend?"
Frank picked up the paper to get a better look. "Huh?" There was indeed a lot of blood. And a weird looking unicorn at the edge, just kind of looking over the scene.
"John Doe. That's his drawing. Joe dropped it over about an hour ago. Got a print off it, but nothing on the system. Guy's clean. Which is good, but doesn't help find out who he is, y'know?"
"I think. I might have seen something like this somewhere. Can't think where though. It looks... kind of familiar." He folded the paper and put it in his pocket with his notebook. "I'll ask him."
"Oh, dude. You brought me coffee?" Bob picked up the paper cup and sniffed it. "Hazelnut?"
"Yes," Frank smiled, prizing it from Bob's fingers. "Also, not for you."
He could feel the shake of Bob's head as he walked over to the new guy's bed. "Hey," he called. "How're you doing today?"
The guy was on his side, and turned over with a slightly pained expression and a weak smile. "I'm alright."
"Brought you something," Frank grinned, thrusting the cup towards him.
"Oh wow, man. Thanks!" And there was that smile again. Genuinely happy to see coffee, of all things. "Fuck, marshmallows, sweet!"
Frank smiled inwardly as the guy took a long gulp of coffee, eyes shut and head leant back.
"Gotta go uh, work. See you in a bit. Enjoy your coffee." He got a nod, half hidden behind the lip of the cup as more of the hot liquid was consumed.
.................
"You talk to him about the drawing?" Bob asked, looking over the schedule for the next day.
"Not yet. He was a little preoccupied with the coffee. I'll ask him in a bit, he's not my only patient y'know."
Bob smirked, "Glad you noticed Iero. Melissa, bed three? She's going over to county general in the morning. See if you can get her to pack her stuff up 'cause she doesn't wanna go, and I don't want her to be rushing. Maja will be on. She doesn't have the patience for that shit."
"Alright. I'll get her packed up." Frank held his hand out, "Give me a cookie to bring as a peace offering."
"What cookies?"
"Duh. The ones in your desk. I know you're hidin' 'em. Come on. I've got work to do." Frank wiggled his fingers and Bob sighed in defeat, grabbing a packet of choc-chip and nut from his drawer and handing a couple to Frank. As he got to bed three, he chucked one of them over to John Doe--it was an impressive throw, halfway across the room and landing in his lap. Right on top of that morning's paper he was reading. Another smile.
After persuading Melissa that if she didn't go and have the operation to re-set the fracture in her leg, she wouldn't be able to grow and be a ballet dancer like she wanted, Frank had to change two beds; one because of vomiting, the other just needed changing, and had to go around the adjacent ward to sweep up. It just so happened that someone, not Frank of course, just someone, had given a bag of chocolate éclairs to a young boy in the ward, who had decided to deposit the sticky wrappers wherever he pleased.
After lights out, Frank went into the garden for a smoke, sitting on the stone wall surround of what Pete had intended as a pond until Brendon had stumbled into it somehow and almost broke his ankle. Now it was just a small stone wall. He flicked the ash off onto the ground between his feet and stared up at the dark night's sky. He could see a few stars, and wondered if maybe he was looking up at the same stars as whoever might've been looking for John Doe.
Hearing a shuffle from behind, Frank turned to see the mysterious new patient walking slowly over. "Hey," he smiled kindly. "You know you're technically not allowed to be out here now?"
"Yeah... Bob told me I could though. Said I should talk to you or something?" He quirked an eyebrow and sat next to Frank. "Got one spare?" he asked, nodding to the pack of cigarettes on the nurse’s knee.
"You got through the pack I gave you already?" he asked amusedly, holding the carton open.
"Not quite. But Bob said you smoke too much, so I should smoke what you've got instead." The guy rolled his eyes but smiled when Frank offered up a light to the end of his cigarette.
"Bob talks too much. Oh! I just remembered!" Frank fished around in his pocket, pulling out the folded drawing. "This mean anything to you? And apparently," he handed the paper over, "you'll be pleased to know, you're not a criminal. Our cop friend's got nothing on you."
"Maybe I just haven't been caught yet," he smirked before looking down. "Oh..."
"Oh? Is that good or bad?" Frank asked, watching the way the guy's thumbs moved over every detail of the drawing.
"Uh, good. I think. I, think I. It's different. I remember it differently." He looked up at Frank hopefully.
"Yeah, I was kinda thinking I'd seen it before but not quite like that. I think it had, uh--"
"Little Red Riding Hood? Instead of the doll?"
"Yes! Yeah, that's what it was! You recognize it?"
The guy bit down on his lip, eyes flickering up to Frank's slowly before he answered. "I... I drew it."
For a long moment Frank just stared in disbelief. "You drew this? Wow. It's. It's really good. Can you uh, remember anything else about it? Or anything?"
"Nah. Don't think so. Just. This might help, right? It's good, that I know I did this?"
"Yeah," Frank grinned. "It's really good." He extended his arm out around the artist's shoulders to hug him on impulse, but withdrew it quickly when the guy tensed up visibly and scrunched up his nose. "Sorry, you okay?" he asked, concerned.
"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine. Just, kind of sore." He put his hand on Frank's where it lay on the wall between them and smiled. "Thanks though."
"Look," Frank said seriously, "if you're hurt, you should let me check you out. Or someone else, if you'd be more comfortable with that. Maybe we can get you something, not the first time I've seen you flinch or look like you were hurting."
"I..." he started to shake his head, changing his mind as Frank opened his mouth to say something. "Please. You though," he added quickly, "kinda feel like I know you a little better than the others, y'know?"
"Okay," Frank smiled softly. "Whenever you're ready. Just let me know." Frank finished off the rest of his cigarette, not really having smoked any at all, and stood to go do a last check of his patients before they were mostly asleep for the night.
"Frank?" Frank turned, nodded his head while his new 'friend', maybe, blew out a lungful of smoke into the night air. "Next time you're not too busy, I, um. I think I'll be ready." He sighed, "Just wanna get it over with."
"Okay," Frank nodded. He wasn't sure what that meant exactly, it was just gonna be a quick check up as far as he was concerned. Unless the guy knew something was wrong and hadn't said.
He let Bob know what was going on, and when he'd done his checks; making sure nobody needed anything to drink or that they'd taken their last medication for the night, he went to his not-so-new patient, who'd at some point closed his curtain. "Okay to come in?" he asked through the material. Hearing a gruff sounding yes, he pulled it back just enough to step through and grabbed a pair of latex gloves from the box on the wall.
"W-what are they for?"
"Just procedure. It's okay. Now. You wanna do this here? Or there's an examination room down the hall. Your call."
"Um, here's fine, I guess." He sat up slowly on the bed with his feet dangling off of the edge.
"Alright. Well, also, I'm gonna have to give you a name 'cause I don't think John Doe really suits you... But I can't think of anything that does. So, I'm gonna call you... The Artist. That okay?"
The guy laughed quietly, "Yeah? Could be worse, I guess."
Frank flicked his head back as a few strands of his fringe fell down over his eyes. It had a tendency to do that late at night, no matter what he used to keep it held back. "Okay, The Artist. I don't know where you're hurting, so unless you're gonna tell me, d'you wanna just slip the gown down your shoulders and we'll do a whole once over?"
Without a word, but with a cringe, the Velcro neck fastening was undone and shifted down a few inches. There was a small yellowing bruise fading over his collarbone, and Frank stepped forward. "Mind if I...?" he gestured to the gown and the newly named 'The Artist' closed his eyes as Frank lowered the gown and removed his arms from it one by one, until it was sitting bunched up around his waist. He had to try not to gasp at the multitude of light bruises speckling his right arm and parts of his chest. What must have been a heavy blow to his ribcage was mirrored on his side, but when Frank got him to stand--holding the gown tight against himself--he could see it was far worse on his back. The bruising to his shoulder blades was still rather dark, blotches of purple stood out like beacons in the night against the pale of his skin. "Christ," Frank breathed out, wishing he'd kept it in his head as soon as it left his lips.
"Is it. It's that bad, huh?" He asked, head down.
"Um, sorry. I've seen worse, but. Yeah, looks kinda bad." He traced his gloved fingers lightly down the pale back in front of him, seemingly worse bruising just visible where the gown was being held tightly. "You uh, you should sit down a sec."
The Artist did, pulling the gown up over his chest. "Is it done?"
Frank closed his eyes briefly. "You. You know it's not. Don't you?" When he didn't get an answer or even eye contact, Frank sat at the other end of the bed. "You need to lie down and take that off so that either I, or someone else, can check you properly. Or, tell me what happened and we can take it from there. I'm not here to judge, man. And I'm not here to hurt you."
"I, I know. I get that. It's just that I'm not sure. Someone hurt me, mugged, that's what uh, Greta? That's what she said. But I, I don't." Pushing the hair out of his eyes, he swallowed hard. "I'm gonna need a smoke after this."
"Done," Frank replied as if it were a deal.
"Okay. How do want me to lie?"
"Uh, on your side. That must be most comfortable, seeing as you lie like that a lot?" Frank stood and waited as The Artist turned away from him and settled on his side, letting go of his gown slowly. "I'll find out about getting you your clothes back too, I think they should've been done by now." The Artist turned his head to look back at Frank with a curious expression. "We don't usually have anyone in who doesn't come prepared, so Greta will have had you clothes washed for you so you'd be more comfortable. Some people like the gowns. Others not so much. You don't remember that from when you came in?"
"Yeah, I mean. I wasn't really paying attention, just did what was needed. I didn't think about it too hard." He turned back to the wall and Frank could see the man's eyes close tightly.
"Alright, just relax okay?" Slowly, in case of a late objection, Frank tore open the Velcro fastenings one by one and lifted the gown out of his way. It seemed the worst of the bruising was contained to the guy's sides and lower back, but it wasn't the worst of his injuries. With care, Frank slipped the boxer shorts down and his eyes travelled lower. Patches of dried blood between his thighs. Frank couldn't help the way his eyes and mouth widened and his shoulders fell. He lifted them back up and closed the gown gently. "All done," he said as cheerily as he could. "You can get up now. Or sleep or, you wanted a smoke? Give me five minutes and I'll-"
"I want a bath."
"You," Frank shook his head, wanting to touch or comfort him somehow, "you can't." He found a cold hand, fingers picking at each other, and pulled it into his own. "You know why, don't you? Why didn't you say something?"
The Artist withdrew his hand, pulling his knees up to his chest with a grimace and burying his head. "I didn't, I couldn't look. I couldn't face that maybe, maybe I'd... Can't even say it," he sobbed softly, shaking the smallest amount against Frank's side.
"We need to do a rape kit. Okay?" He tried to sound soothing, brushing his fingers through his patient's long hair. "Then, you can have as long a bath as you want."
"Smoke. Smoke first." He reached down blindly to Frank's hand, stilling his jittery fingers in Frank's palm. "Please."
"Whatever you're comfortable with, alright?" Frank rubbed his thumb over the guy's fingers. "Smoke and then you should get some sleep. It'll be done in the morning, how does that sound?"
"Okay," he nodded his head.
"Good. Fine. So uh, let me go see about your clothes. I know you're gonna sleep soon but it's freezing out. I won't be long," he added, thinking it might help him get his hand out of the vice-like grip it was held in. Not that he wanted to move really, but kind of had to.
Leaving the guy sitting behind closed curtains, Frank held onto his stomach as he made his way back up to the front desk. He didn't stop, just walked straight past it and into the little back room, ignoring Bob's curious stares from where he was sat talking on the phone, and made himself a coffee without waiting for the water to boil properly. Black. No sugar. He didn't bother sitting. Didn't really have time to as he gulped it down.
"Hey, what's up?" Bob asked, dropping a hand to Frank's shoulder. Frank said nothing for a moment, unsure of exactly what to say. Nobody came into their little world after being raped. Ever. They were private. They dealt with people or the kids of people who couldn't be bothered waiting around a regular hospital for treatment. Not even for anything major. They dealt with asthma, allergies, cuts and gashes, a few stitches or maybe even the occasional person who wanted an easy rehab. If they could pay for it, they got it. But mostly everyone who came knew why. And Frank had taken to the guy, wanted to help him even with barely knowing him. He couldn't get his head around it. "Sit," Bob ordered, walking Frank to a chair and pushing his shoulders down.
"Are his clothes back? I'm taking him outside for a cigarette. It's cold," Frank said tightly.
"Yeah. And it's late. How many times you wanna break the rules for this kid?" Even so, Bob wandered over to the front desk and pulled a bag from underneath it, handing it to Frank. "His stuff's in there. You gonna tell me what happened?" He took the cup from Frank and looked him in the eyes, waiting patiently for an answer.
"He was, shit, Bob. Someone raped him." Frank rubbed at his eyes. It felt like a long day even though he'd only been working five hours, had seven more to go before Brendon would take over from him. "I gotta... I said he could go out and smoke. I'm gonna take him his clothes." He looked to Bob, asking with his eyes for that to be okay because he didn't quite trust his voice not to break. He'd never known someone in real life who'd had that happen. Heard about it all the time, sure, and it always sounded horrendous and he never once thought someone deserved it. But, to not know who you were, to have the only real solid thing you know about yourself be that you were raped? Frank just couldn't comprehend it. Or how the guy could still... breathe. Let alone manage to form actual words.
Still, he couldn't exactly show all that to his patient. Frank had always prided himself on his professionalism. So he straightened himself out and headed back with the freshly laundered clothes in hand.
"Got your clothes. I'll just. I'll be outside. I've cleared it with Bob so you can come out when you're ready," pushing the pile under the curtain so as not to disturb him further. Hearing a choked and sobbed "thank you", Frank closed his eyes and whispered for him not to be too long; they'd have to lock the door for the night soon.
Not five minutes later, and halfway through his second cigarette--though he hadn't exactly finished the whole of the first--Frank heard the familiar shuffle of hospital slippers and got a cigarette out for his smoking companion. It was swiftly taken from his fingers and lit with the lighter in his hand without him even doing anything.
"Thanks."
When Frank turned, there was no awful gown. Instead he saw black jeans with a slight rip to one knee, and a battered leather jacket with what looked like an Iron Maiden shirt underneath. He could make out Eddie's head in the dim light. He almost smiled. It was certainly a look. And so different from the one he'd seen so far. What was mostly different though, was that instead of a look of sadness or wonder or sorrow, the guy was grinning. Actually grinning, and for a second Frank wanted to punch him square on the jaw because really, he should not be grinning. Frank didn't feel like grinning. Or even smiling. Instead he threw his cigarette to the ground and lit a new one, trying to make himself sound unfazed. "Like your shirt."
"Thanks," he said with a short intake of smoke, still grinning, and Frank just couldn't stop himself from asking.
"Why the fuck are you happy?"
Without a word, the guy pulled his leg up and rested the foot on his thigh. Keeping the cigarette dangling between his lips, he pulled down the edge of his sock to reveal a small tag on the inside.
"Gerard?" Frank asked questioningly.
"I guess these are really old socks or my mom thinks I still need to tag my stuff. Or they're someone else’s. But this jacket? Definitely mine. And you see here?" he lifted up the flap of a pocket. Underneath, and written in gold pen--the kind people use on Christmas cards--was written in tiny writing, "It says it's Gerard's smelly jacket. I guess it is kinda smelly, but... it's mine. Absolutely, definitely mine."
"Wow." Frank scratched the back of his neck as a slight smile spread across his own face. "That's cool. Really cool. So we're going with Gerard now? Can I put it on your chart?"
"Yep, that's my name." He put his leg back down and took the cigarette from his lips, taking a drag and flicking the ash off down by his side. "But um, I just realized. You're not gonna be here in the morning. Y'know, for the thing." He took a deep shaky breath, looking down at the floor.
"No, it's not my shift. Patrick will do it. But," Frank put his hand gently on Gerard's shoulder. "He's real nice, I promise."
"I just thought that maybe. I mean, I thought you--"
"I can't," Frank shook his head, knowing what Gerard was trying to say. "I'm just a nurse. I take pulses and give out medication, change beds. I'm not. I haven't done that kind of... I'm not qualified for that." Seeing Gerard biting his lip and stabbing his cigarette out on the wall, Frank dropped his own and tapped at Gerard's chin to get him to look at him. "I can probably be there with you, if you want? Might not be too awake, but I could drop in for a while."
"You'd do that? Even though you're not working? Really?"
"If it'd make you more comfortable, sure. And maybe I can bring you another coffee. God knows I'll need one that time of morning," he chuckled quietly.
"Yeah, please. I'd, I'd really appreciate that. The coffee, and you being there, if that wouldn't be too weird for you," he said hopefully.
"It's... It's fine, okay? Looking after my patients as best I can is my job. Even if it kinda goes over my clocking out time sometimes. Go on, you'd better get some sleep. And I should talk to Bob; see if I can get off a little early so I'm awake enough to catch the right bus tomorrow."
.................
"Bob? If I got some info on John Doe, do I get a reward for my good work?" Frank leant on his elbows over the desk, wiggling his eyebrows and flashing him a grin.
"Depends," Bob answered skeptically. "The kind of reward where you get a treat for being a good boy?" He ruffled Frank’s hair like he was talking to an unruly dog. "Or the kind where you get paid for doing your job? ‘Cause you're definitely gonna get paid, but I don't have any treats."
"More like the kind where you're totally amazing and let me go home early. Jon's here, and it's not like you're gonna miss me. Please?"
"So, who's meant to take over your duties for the next few hours?" Frank didn't answer, just looked at him imploringly. Bob sighed, "Why do you wanna go early? And what's the info?"
"John Doe's name is actually Gerard, and that drawing? He drew it," he grinned as Bob sat looking impressed. "And I told him, y'know, that we'll need to do a kit. He's really nervous about tomorrow. He thought I was gonna do it. But I said I could try and come in. Sit with him or something, but I'd really need to go early if I'm gonna be up before late afternoon-"
"Okay, okay," Bob waved his hands around. "Alright. Just. He's vulnerable, y'know? And a patient. Don't go getting all floopy-eyed at him."
Frank opened his mouth in mock-shock. "Floopy-eyed? Since when do I get floopy-eyed?"
"Since he came in," Bob stated kindly.
"Well, okay. So he's really really... Bob, he's beautiful. But I know, really I do. And I wouldn't--he's my patient, I'm not stupid. I just wanna help him, like when I came in to ride home with that kid when her parents sent a driver to pick her up instead of doing it themselves. He doesn't have anyone right now."
"Good. Frank, I know you're not stupid, I just wanted to be sure we're on the same page with this. You can go now if you want--soon as you make me coffee."
..........
The last thing Frank did before he left was change the name on Gerard's chart. He smiled as he looked over his sleeping form, cover pulled up high on his shoulders. "Gerard," he mouthed, running his fingers over the folded clothes sitting at the bottom of the bed. "I like it."
..............
Frank wasn't able to sleep as easily as he'd hoped. He just wasn't used to getting in and sleeping for another few hours from then, and it was hard to adjust on demand. He called Bob a couple of times until Bob shouted at him that he'd let him go early to sleep, and that he should really try and do that instead of calling him when Bob was trying to do the work Frank should've been doing. Frank didn't want to ask how Gerard was doing; he should've been asleep anyway. But he didn't have to because Bob knew he wanted to know, so he told him. "He woke up so I got him some art supplies from the kids' room. He's drawing something."
Eventually Frank drifted off to sleep, later than he'd meant to, and missed his alarm the first few times it went off. Dragging himself out of bed around 9am, he got dressed in his usual 'I'm not working today' get up, not forgetting to put in the piercings he had to remove for work and spending half an hour styling his hair just-so. And a little eyeliner 'cause really, he just felt naked without it.
Not quite awake, he missed the stop for Starbucks and had to walk a couple of blocks back to get two hazelnut lattes with chocolate dusting and marshmallows. One for Gerard and one for himself. When he finally got in, it was nearing 10.30am, and Maja was at the desk to greet him. When he'd first started, he'd half wished for about a month that he was into girls because he'd honestly never seen any woman ever look so good in any kind of uniform.
"Someone didn't get enough sleep last night," she said with a wink. "You look like crap, honey."
"Thanks Maja, just what I needed to hear. Looking radiant as ever," he said, playfully pushing at her shoulder. "'Trick in yet?"
"Yeah. He's waiting for you in his office. Bob left a note for him."
Frank nodded and made his way in to give the coffee to its intended owner, finding Gerard sitting with his legs crossed, sketchpad in his lap and pencil held delicately between his teeth. "What're you drawing?"
"Oh!" Gerard looked up wide eyed, pulling the pad to his chest to conceal it. "Uh, just... stuff. Nothing, um. Just random stuff." His gaze fell on the cup in Frank's hand and he quirked a smile. "My coffee?" He set the pad face down in front of him as Frank handed it to him, looking him over curiously and patting the bottom of the bed for Frank to sit. "You look different," he said flatly. Expression unreadable and half hidden behind his cup.
"Good different or ba-woah!" Frank almost shrieked as he was practically pulled backwards off of the bed by two small arms around his neck. Making a half choking sound, he pulled the kid dangling off him around to his side and patted him on the back. "Back again, huh? I didn't get anything new since you were last in."
"I had gym this morning. I swear that teacher hates me. He knows I'm not meant to be running--"
"Why didn't you just tell him where to stick it?" Gerard laughed at Frank's choice of phrase, and the kid looked at him briefly.
"Because I have a math quiz later and this way I get the rest of the day off." He looked towards Gerard again, seeing the gory wolf/doll/unicorn sketch taped to the wall next to his bed. "That's awesome!" he pointed. "Frank, who's the new guy?"
"This is Gerard," he pointed. "Gerard, this is Asthma Kid. He has a name but we don't use it 'cause he doesn't like it."
"It's Joshua, like, from the Bible or something. Crock o' shit, that is," he said with a roll of his eyes as he studied the drawing and then Gerard. And then the drawing again. "Hey, Frank! I was reading that Doom Patrol you got me. Man, that shit's good--"
"Joshua," a voice from behind them called.
"Don't call me that, I hate--"
"Okay, Asthma Kid," Maja corrected herself, hands on hips. "You're meant to be sick. Get back into bed. If you're good, I'll bring you an extra piece of funnel cake after dinner."
"Yeah, fine... Whatever you say Maaaja." Skipping back over to his bed across the room, he turned back before he hopped onto it, "Say g'bye before ya go, Frankie!"
"Will do, man," he called back as Maja went back to the desk. "I'll be in later anyway."
Gerard gasped. "Oh, shit. Forgot you're working later. I don't wanna keep you any longer than--"
"It's fine. Wouldn't have volunteered otherwise. Finish up your coffee and I'll go find Patrick."
"Okay," Gerard said quietly. "Good different, by the way. And is that?" He reached out to touch Frank's neck, "A scorpion. Sweet."
Frank tried to keep the blush from his cheeks, unsure if he was doing a great job at it as Gerard's fingers traced the tattoo slowly. "Thanks."
"I'm afraid of needles. Could never have anything like that done," he shook his head with a shiver. "You got any more? Except those, obviously." He pointed to Frank's hands.
"A few," he shrugged. "They’re all under here though," he pulled at his hoodie to explain as Gerard set his cup down and picked at the remaining marshmallows.
"Huh. Cool. I um, I'm ready? For the... thing. Y'know?" He flung his legs over the bed and swung them nervously back and forth.
...............
Patrick, just as Frank had said, was really nice. Soft spoken and understanding. He tried his best to make Gerard comfortable. He gave Gerard a sheet and closed the curtain around the bed in the examination room, instructing him to take off everything below the waist, lay the sheet over himself, and let them know when he was done. While they were waiting he washed his hands with the slightly cucumber smelling alcoholic scrub, and donned some latex gloves, exchanging sympathetic glances with Frank.
"I'm done," Gerard called quietly, and Patrick pulled the curtain back, gesturing to Frank who wasn't sure what he should be doing anymore.
"Sit here," he said, taking charge and bringing a chair over to the upper half of Gerard's body. "Gerard? I need you to bend your knees up and keep your feet flat. Deep even breaths, okay?" Gerard nodded and Patrick continued. "I'm gonna take a swab, and just check that everything's as it should be and make sure you're okay. Sound alright?" Gerard nodded again and shut his eyes tight, hands rigid next to his sides. "You have to try and relax. This will be uncomfortable, there's no way around it. But if anything hurts too bad, tell me and I'll stop."
"Okay," he breathed deeply. "Okay."
Frank took the hand closest to his and held it gently with both hands, one either side, as Gerard moved his legs as asked and closed his eyes again. Frank held onto his hand the whole time. The one Gerard wasn't squeezing, he occasionally moved up to his wrist, rubbing his thumb softly over Gerard's skin as his face screwed up into a slight wince. Frank didn't look behind him, couldn't. Just kept his eyes trained on Gerard's face, and when Patrick said he was almost done, Frank wiped the lone tear that escaped Gerard's right eye with his palm.
"Alright. It's done, Gerard. You can get dressed again now," Patrick said soon after, taking Frank outside the curtain with him.
"Is he okay?" Frank whispered hopefully.
"Frank. You know I can't tell you. If he wants you in here when he's done, then fine. But you're not here working right now so I can't tell you first. Don't put me on the spot like that." Frank nodded, wringing his hands as they waited and pulling the chair over for Gerard to sit on when he came out.
"It's okay. I'll um, I'll stand." He shifted from one foot to the other. "And I'm not deaf. You've helped me this far, I don't mind if you stay." He looked to Patrick, waiting to hear the outcome.
"Alright, well let's get the blood samples done first and then--"
"Blood samples?" Frank didn't miss the way Gerard's complexion paled even more so than it already was. "I don't," he shook his head, "needles... I."
"It'll only take a second," Patrick stated as reassuringly as he could, bringing a chair over for Gerard and getting the needle and sample tubes ready. "Have to test for sexually transmitted diseases and infections, HIV..."
Gerard reluctantly sat on the chair and bared his arm. He didn't watch while Patrick worked, just reached for Frank's hand and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breath evenly. When it was done, he took a moment steady himself, half looking about to vomit. "I'm okay," he said in answer to the other's inquiring glances.
Patrick took a short breath before starting to explain, avoiding the usual doctor jargon as he always did with patients. "I do the lab testing around here, so I can get these done for you as soon as I have a minute. As for the examination, you've obviously had some damage done, but it seems to be healing sufficiently enough. Thankfully, nothing too major, a couple of small tears and slight internal bruising, which will be rather sore, as you've probably noticed already. So, you'll be fine. No lasting physical damage... And I've taken a swab for testing. It's for DNA, which will be sent to the police lab. They have their own testing for that and--"
"No," Gerard protested. "No police. I don't want... I just wanna forget about it. Don't, please."
"Gerard, I'm sorry. Really, I am but," Patrick sat, scratched his neck. "Rape is a criminal offence and we're obliged to tell them about it. I'm surprised they didn't send someone to do this already."
"They kind of um," Frank bit his lip. “They don't know yet."
"Frank! What the--Gerard, could you excuse us for a minute please?" Gerard left with a solemn and apologetic nod to Frank, shutting the door quietly behind him. "What were you thinking?”
“Look, I didn't know about this until last night, okay. I didn't want the cops all over him about something he can't even remember! And, he just said he doesn't want them involved. I just think--"
"It's not your job to think, and take matters like this into your own hands, Frank. It's not. Obviously you wanna help him and obviously he's taken to you, so... I think it would be best if you talked to him about it."
"You mean convince him to talk to the police." Frank paced around the room, hands in pockets. "It's not my job to do that, either, Patrick."
"If it's in his best interests, it is. Patient care, Frank--"
"That's what I've been doing! Jesus, it's almost Christmas for God's sake. He's got nowhere to go and nobody to be around except us--don't you think that's gonna be hard enough for him as it is, without police involved?" Patrick and Frank sighed, they both had good points.
"Well, at least bring it up. See what he wants to do. I'll hold off on sending this," he gestured to the DNA swab. "But if the bloods come back with anything, then I'm contacting the police regardless, and he can tell them he doesn't want anything done. If someone's going around raping people--especially if they're carrying something, they need to be found."
Frank nodded, "Okay, sure. Thanks."
"Also, you should tell him about the counseling we run. He might wanna take that up for a while."
"Alright. I'll ask him. But you know he's not, y'know, paying for treatment." He walked towards the door as Patrick told him he didn't want to know. "I'll go check him. Thanks again.”
....................
When Frank got out of Patrick’s office, Gerard was nowhere to be seen. "Garden. Smoking," Maja said, seeing Frank looking around.
Gerard was sitting at the very back, on the small two-seater chair swing, smoking what was obviously the last of the pack Frank had given him, because he was randomly ripping up the empty carton. He didn't look up as Frank approached, but did offer him a drag of his cigarette. Frank took a quick one, leaving it in Gerard's fingers and sat next to him. "How're you doing?"
He shrugged. "Hope I didn't get you into too much trouble. I'm sorry if I did."
"No," Frank shook his head. "You didn't. He's right; I should've called the cops last night, but... I guess I thought you should have some time first. Y'know? To get your head around it or whatever."
"For what it's worth, I'm glad you didn't. I don't want them involved. Can't tell 'em anything anyway." Putting a hand on Frank's knee, Gerard shifted a bit closer. "Frank?" he said softly, and Frank could hear the nerves in Gerard's voice.
Clearing his throat, his eyes not leaving the hand on his leg, Frank said, "Yeah?" And when Gerard asked him what Christmas was like at the hospital, Frank had to try not to tear up a little, thinking of Gerard with nowhere to go or anyone he knew to come and visit. "It's uh, it's nice. We decorate, for the kids that are here, and. It's okay."
"I can leave, right? When I want, I mean. I've not been committed..."
"No, no. You can go whenever. But, where? Don't you wanna see if you can remember anything else first, so maybe you'll have somewhere to go? Being on your own at Christmas is gonna be worse than being here. Trust me. Still got a few days, something might come back to you."
"You'll be on your own at Christmas?" Gerard asked, obviously surprised.
"Yeah. My mom... I don't really get along with her boyfriend, and my dad lives pretty far away. I just go and see her for the New Year. No big deal. Mostly I just hang around here anyway. It can be pretty cozy. We break out the alcohol when the kids are sleeping and last checks are done and have a very, very small drink. I think you should stick around for a while. If you want to."
Gerard sat silently for a minute, flexing his fingers on Frank's knee before leaning over and quickly brushing his lips against Frank's cheek as he stood up to go back inside. "Thank you. Thank you for earlier and thank you for helping me..." About to say something about how it was his job amidst the blush he knew was evident, Frank stopped himself when Gerard spoke again "...when you didn't have to."
Gerard left him sitting there, walking away quickly and Frank rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair. It was then that he fully realized that no, he didn't have to. That he really just wanted to. "You're an idiot, Frank. Total fucking idiot," he said to himself. "He's a patient."
When Frank finally tore himself off the swinging chair, it was almost two in the afternoon and he knew he'd be completely fucked for work that evening, being that he only had four hours until his shift started. And before he left, he wanted to talk to Gerard. Well, he didn't really want to, but he wasn't sure if maybe something needed saying about Gerard kissing his cheek. He thought about it the whole while Brendon was talking to him in the hall. Something about balloon animals and how he'd be decorating soon because there were only four days until Christmas Day and the place still looked depressing as hell despite of, or maybe because of, the little hand drawn scrawls Ryan had doodled over most of the walls with bits of poetry only he understood the brighter meaning of.
Eventually he decided it probably wasn't all that dissimilar to the old lady that had grabbed his cheeks and kissed his nose for helping her get to and from the shower each day she was there. Not a big deal if he didn't make it one.
"Brendon?" Bob said, appearing from nowhere. He was always in early, and how he managed such long shifts, Frank would never know. "I need to talk to Frank." Excusing himself, Brendon skipped off happily to go spread his Christmas joy to some unsuspecting patients. "You," he poked at Frank's chest, "need to go home and sleep."
"I know," he sighed. "I know. I'll be fine. I'll be back la--"
"No. I've cleared it. You get tonight off. I know you're not working tomorrow anyway, but you've been taking on a lot around here lately and you've earned the rest. Okay? We'll survive fine without you until you're scheduled to be back."
A smile crept over Frank's exhausted features and he hugged Bob tightly. "Thanks. Seriously, I'm so drained."
"Not a problem," Bob pushed Frank away before he had chance to fall asleep on his shoulder--wouldn't have been the first time, and fixed him with a more serious stare. "I haven't spoken to Patrick yet, how'd it go?"
"Uh, yeah. It went alright. He's okay, nothing that isn't healed or isn't going to. Patrick kinda went a little nuts that I hadn't called the police though--but I calmed him down and... it's fine. He's gonna overlook it for now, and Gerard doesn't want them involved so..."
Interrupted by shouting--not exactly a regular occurrence there--both men turned to the ward to see what was going on. Maja was already there, pulling Asthma Kid back to his bed and they could see Gerard closing the curtain around his own, head down and shoulders limp. Frank held back his urge to rush right over and check if he was okay, instead going to see what Asthma Kid had to say for himself.
"He's a fucking liar, Frankie! I asked him about that drawing, 'cause it's cool and I've seen it before and wanted to know how he got it." Frank nodded, waiting for him to continue. "He said he drew it. And that's bull, 'cause I've seen it in this little comic shop and there's no fucking way he drew that--"
"What comic shop?" Frank interrupted. Maybe that was where he'd seen it too. Or it's variation at least.
"Ugh, the one two blocks from my house. You know, that tiny one we went past that day my mom made you come over for dinner? Anyway, doesn't matter, because he," he pointed angrily to Gerard's bed and raised his voice, "didn't draw it!"
"Alright. Look, settle down or Maja's gonna send you home right now. She knows you're not really sick, and I'm pretty sure your mom's not too happy with all the time you keep having off school. Even if today was the last day."
"I'll take over," Bob said, nodding over to Gerard. "You go deal with the other one."
When Frank pulled back the curtain, the only 'dealing with' he had to do, was in the form of rubbing Gerard's back gently as he sobbed into the knees pulled up to his chest, hair falling over his probably closed eyes.
"Frank... I didn't, Jesus. I didn't do anything to that kid. He just started going off on me when I told him I drew that thing, and, fuck! He should not be making me cry, damn it!" He lifted his head slowly from his knees and moved over, leaving enough space for Frank to sit on the edge with him. Which he did, hand still on Gerard's back and moving up and down his spine to stop him from softly brushing away the tear marks tracked down Gerard's cheeks. "My name, and that thing, are just about the only things that are real about me right now. Things that I feel are real, and he just manages to make me doubt it in like, ten seconds flat. And he's probably half my fucking age. It's pathetic."
"Doubting yourself when you've been through what you have, isn't pathetic. I'm sure it's probably pretty natural." He pushed some hair out of Gerard's eyes, fingers lingering behind his ear a little longer than he'd intended and moving them quickly away when he realized. "You can, um, that bath you wanted? You can do that now if you want," he said in an attempt to change the subject.
"I will," Gerard replied, almost as if it were just for something to say. "But, I'm sorry, for... before. With the. When I--"
"Oh! Hey, no. It's, it's fine. Honest, not a big deal. Happens all the time." Sometimes, Frank corrected in his head. And the people who do it are never as attractive as Gerard. Frank really didn't know what else to say on the matter, especially when Gerard leant in and kissed him again, a little closer to the corner of his jaw and just under his ear, threading his fingers through Frank's as he dropped his head to Frank's shoulder. "You," he attempted to lift Gerard's chin with the hand that had been around his back, but Gerard wasn't letting him too easily. "You probably shouldn't though. ‘Cause..."
"Yeah. Most guys don't like being kissed by... guys." He looked into Frank's eyes. Not sad or annoyed, just blank, wondering.
"Most," Frank said. "Not all. Not m..." he stopped himself, feeling his professionalism fading fast, and dislodged his fingers from Gerard's, biting his lip to stop himself from saying something he shouldn't. "Look, I'd probably come close to losing my job over this conversation, so. I'm off until the day after tomorrow, but I'll stop by with coffee for you. If you want."
"Oh, oh right. Um yeah that'd...I'd like that." He picked up his pad from the side of the bed and looked at Frank long and hard, before holding it to his chest and looking like he was waiting for him to leave.
"Have these too, seeing as you're out," he tossed his half a carton of cigarettes into Gerard's lap and when he smiled, Frank let out a short noise of frustration and sucked his lip ring into his mouth, shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. He wanted to wrap his arms around Gerard and tell him things would be okay. And kiss him. A lot.
The first thing Frank should've done when he finally left, was go straight home and jerk off for two hours straight. Because he hadn't had the time for a few days, and Gerard... He was really starting to feel like he needed to. Instead, he stopped off at the comic store Asthma Kid had told him about.
part two