Phone Tag
Title: Phone Tag
Author:
soulsdisband
POV: Third
Summary: Gerard and Bert haven't spoken in a while. They play phone tag before catching up.
Disclaimer: Not real. Don't own them. Don't sue me.
Author Notes: For
bert_and_gerard prompt 2.Vision and we_are_cities March 31 07
Gerard turned on his phone for the first time all day and it buzzed instantly, chirping a sickening rendition of The Smiths’ ‘Panic‘. There were two voicemail messages, both from Bert. The first was casual and warming, as if they had been speaking for the past few months. It unnerved Gerard so much that he had to run his fingers through his shorter hair to remind himself that time had passed, that he’d been on tour and had a haircut and survived without Bert. He was surprised, at first, to hear the softness of his old friend until he realised that the tone in Bert’s voice was longing.
The second was poles apart, terse and patronising, to the point where Gerard began to wonder how he had survived without Bert for so long. There was a need that buried itself in the pit of his stomach, slowly churning his insides until he was wound so tight his voice emulated Bert’s message. He would play the messages over and over again, hoping to hear the slur of words, or a hint of intoxication but it wasn’t there in either. He didn’t know which message was Bert. He couldn’t remember which one was the Bert he had known.
~~
It’s four am and Gerard is standing at the reception of a hotel somewhere in London. It’s cold, even inside, so he clings to himself like someone with a hopeful heart. He’s twisting the phone cord around in his fingers, and it reminds him of high school Mikey, all knock-knees and shy smiles. The woman at reception tries to pretend she isn’t watching his face contort with each held breath and heavy sigh. It’s in time with the dial tone, but only Gerard knows this and he wants to smile at the simple things but he’s too busy being so-fucking-angry at Bert for the way they were.
He lets it ring out and click over to voicemail, all anger disintegrating when he hears that voice. It’s cigarettes and smooth liquor that burns your throat just as it’s too late to spit out. “Hey pretties. Leave me a message, and maybe we’ll-” the beep cuts in, as if censoring Bert but Gerard knows it’s all a ploy to make whoever’s on the line laugh and forget how much they got fucked over. It’s all a game to help Bert get what he wants.
Gerard leaves a short message - impersonal, polite - but as he is hanging up the phone he pauses, about to say I miss you. He waits too long and the moment passes when the receptionist asks “Done with that, sir?”.
~~
There’s a not-quite-numb pain in Bert’s side which is really pissing him off. He can’t feel his fingers and his arm is getting pins and needles - his favourite thing about the nervous system. Sun shines just under his eyes creating a hazy glare which really doesn’t help the hang over.
It’s a great morning for snide voicemail messages left by annoying, narcissistic front-men.
“Hey Bert, just returning your calls. Haven’t heard from you in a while. It’s, uh, Gerard…”
The pause at the end feels empty, and he can’t help but picture Gerard sitting alone, moping about not saying what he wanted to at the end of the message. It’s ok though, because the empathy he feels doesn’t quite blip on his radar of things to do today. Jerry Springer is on, and he has to fill his daily white trash quota - vicariously or not.
~~
It’s later that night when he’s lying awake thinking about how to waste his next pay check that the message flashes into his mind. It’s a non sequitur if ever there was one, and he kind of hates the Gerard for the disruption. He considers the possibility of returning the phone call, and whether or not it’s worth it. If he’s at all honest with himself he has to admit that it’d be nice to talk to Gerard again, like they used to - hot nights on an open road in the middle of nowhere, blanketed by the thick drone of insects in the distance. Then again, he thinks, it would never be the same. All the time that had passed had changed them both - for better or worse.
It’s a restless night with tormenting dreams of Gerard on his skin, so he calls and there’s a lick of hunger in his voice. “Hey Gee, pick up your phone. I’m in LA right now, call me and we’ll see if our schedules match up. I’d-” He hesitates before using the word. “I’d love to see you again.”
Then he gets out of bed and grabs the bottle of Jack Daniels he’d been saving for a week. Slamming a shot back he relishes the hard burn in his throat and he feels like himself again, reckless and passionate, almost like a man in love.
~~
Gerard’s always been the reigning drama queen of the band, but today Mikey is coming pretty close. He’s been screeching at Frank all day to shut the fuck up and has already broken that big blue mug they bought in Philly. It was Franks favourite, but no one is willing to ask if it was an accident or not.
Ray has locked himself in the back, playing around with some new riffs and Bob has been AWOL since nine when he left “For coffee”. So, Gerard creeps away from the heightening tension as Frank starts humming ‘I know a song that will get on your nerves’ with a capsicum and a pack of cigarettes. He finds a table a couple of metres away from the bus and awkwardly slips himself onto the splintering bench. He listens to Bert’s latest message again and can feel an ache somewhere below his hips as the words, slow and intense, are echoed in his mind.
The capsicum is moist, dripping down his arm and generally being annoying, so he gives up on it, using it as an ashtray instead. Mikey arrives just as he’s pressed the ‘call’ button and reaches for the red fruit, stopping as his thumb smears in the ash.
“Fuck Gerard. That’s disgusting”
Gerard motions to the phone, which is still ringing, and pretends like he can’t hear his brother.
“Who are you calling?”
Gerard looks away before replying. “Bert”
There’s a pause as Mikey tries to look Gerard in the eye. “You say that like you’re ashamed.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Well, you should be.”
And Bert picks up. “Gee?”
He swallows hard as Mikey glares at him, ready to explode because of Frank’s stupid song, and the damn ash on his thumb which won’t come off, and his stupid brother who is doing nothing to help himself right now. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“How. How’ve you been?”
“Ok, you?”
In the background Bert hears Mikey saying “You’re such a dick, Gerard.”
“Yeah, Gerard, you’re a dick.” Suddenly it’s like old times and Mikey’s voice is numbed while Gerard sinks into the playful insults and silences which aren’t awkward enough to be between friends.
“Well, if I’m a dick you’re a dick.”
Bert adopts a high pitched, quivering voice which is way too endearing and quotes “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.”
“It’s Ryan Gosling who says that, ass.”
And then at the same time, Mikey and Bert both laugh. “Is he quoting The Notebook?”; “God, how do you know that? Queer.”
~~
After five minutes of being ignored, Mikey storms off, supposedly to torment Ray, and Gerard feels like there’s only Bert and himself left in the world. He cuts in while Bert is going on about how he was on the same plane as Joaquin Phoenix, and even though he wasn’t his type, he’d totally fuck him just to join the mile high club - again. “Bert, shut up. I don’t want to think about you and Joaquin Phoenix.”
There’s a pause, this time all too awkward not to mean something. “Sorry.”
“I just. I’ve hated not seeing you.”
“Where are you?”
“London, it‘s three here”
“Fuck you, it‘s just past 7am here.”
“Well, we’ll be there in a month.”
“What dates? I want to see you.”
Gerard sighs, heavy with desire and relief from the loneliness he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I want to see you too.”
~~
In LA three and a half weeks later, they sit across from each other in silence. The booth they’ve been put in closes them of from the world and Bert wishes for people to watch to get the conversation going. The waitress watches them, and Gerard feels like he’s back at the hotel reception - clumsy and transparent.
There is a fight over who will pay the bill, and then Gerard spits “God, it’s not a date, we’ll just pay half each.” and Bert gets quiet until they‘re standing in the hallway of his hotel.
Gerard starts, eager to leave before he does something he would regret. “Well, it was good seeing you. I’ve missed having you around. It’s nice to talk to an unbiased friend.”
“Yeah. Yeah” Bert replies emphatically, but he’s crushed. He’s just a friend. Gerard had always known he was gay, but he wasn’t so sure if Gerard knew Gerard was gay. And you can’t make someone come out if they don’t want to believe it. So, he sticks to the friend angle, but it’s hard not to desperately scream “Fuck me!” as Gerard is turning away.
“Gee?” He says. “Maybe we could go for a drive tonight, to the middle of nowhere. Like we used to.”
Gerard nods and steps closer to Bert. “Sure.” He says, then rocks back on his feet before diving in. “Or maybe we could do this, like we never used to.” Then he cautiously presses his lips to Bert’s and brings his hand up to his cheek. He smiles wryly before lightly dragging his fingers over Bert’s skin and walking away.
“See you tonight fucker.” Gerard calls. “Unless you don’t like the sound of my plans.”
Bert swallows hard. “No. Tonight. That’s fine.”
He stands stock still, trying to hold himself together and as he watches that amazing ass swagger away he thinks thank god I made that phone call.
Author:
soulsdisband
POV: Third
Summary: Gerard and Bert haven't spoken in a while. They play phone tag before catching up.
Disclaimer: Not real. Don't own them. Don't sue me.
Author Notes: For
bert_and_gerard prompt 2.Vision and we_are_cities March 31 07
Gerard turned on his phone for the first time all day and it buzzed instantly, chirping a sickening rendition of The Smiths’ ‘Panic‘. There were two voicemail messages, both from Bert. The first was casual and warming, as if they had been speaking for the past few months. It unnerved Gerard so much that he had to run his fingers through his shorter hair to remind himself that time had passed, that he’d been on tour and had a haircut and survived without Bert. He was surprised, at first, to hear the softness of his old friend until he realised that the tone in Bert’s voice was longing.
The second was poles apart, terse and patronising, to the point where Gerard began to wonder how he had survived without Bert for so long. There was a need that buried itself in the pit of his stomach, slowly churning his insides until he was wound so tight his voice emulated Bert’s message. He would play the messages over and over again, hoping to hear the slur of words, or a hint of intoxication but it wasn’t there in either. He didn’t know which message was Bert. He couldn’t remember which one was the Bert he had known.
~~
It’s four am and Gerard is standing at the reception of a hotel somewhere in London. It’s cold, even inside, so he clings to himself like someone with a hopeful heart. He’s twisting the phone cord around in his fingers, and it reminds him of high school Mikey, all knock-knees and shy smiles. The woman at reception tries to pretend she isn’t watching his face contort with each held breath and heavy sigh. It’s in time with the dial tone, but only Gerard knows this and he wants to smile at the simple things but he’s too busy being so-fucking-angry at Bert for the way they were.
He lets it ring out and click over to voicemail, all anger disintegrating when he hears that voice. It’s cigarettes and smooth liquor that burns your throat just as it’s too late to spit out. “Hey pretties. Leave me a message, and maybe we’ll-” the beep cuts in, as if censoring Bert but Gerard knows it’s all a ploy to make whoever’s on the line laugh and forget how much they got fucked over. It’s all a game to help Bert get what he wants.
Gerard leaves a short message - impersonal, polite - but as he is hanging up the phone he pauses, about to say I miss you. He waits too long and the moment passes when the receptionist asks “Done with that, sir?”.
~~
There’s a not-quite-numb pain in Bert’s side which is really pissing him off. He can’t feel his fingers and his arm is getting pins and needles - his favourite thing about the nervous system. Sun shines just under his eyes creating a hazy glare which really doesn’t help the hang over.
It’s a great morning for snide voicemail messages left by annoying, narcissistic front-men.
“Hey Bert, just returning your calls. Haven’t heard from you in a while. It’s, uh, Gerard…”
The pause at the end feels empty, and he can’t help but picture Gerard sitting alone, moping about not saying what he wanted to at the end of the message. It’s ok though, because the empathy he feels doesn’t quite blip on his radar of things to do today. Jerry Springer is on, and he has to fill his daily white trash quota - vicariously or not.
~~
It’s later that night when he’s lying awake thinking about how to waste his next pay check that the message flashes into his mind. It’s a non sequitur if ever there was one, and he kind of hates the Gerard for the disruption. He considers the possibility of returning the phone call, and whether or not it’s worth it. If he’s at all honest with himself he has to admit that it’d be nice to talk to Gerard again, like they used to - hot nights on an open road in the middle of nowhere, blanketed by the thick drone of insects in the distance. Then again, he thinks, it would never be the same. All the time that had passed had changed them both - for better or worse.
It’s a restless night with tormenting dreams of Gerard on his skin, so he calls and there’s a lick of hunger in his voice. “Hey Gee, pick up your phone. I’m in LA right now, call me and we’ll see if our schedules match up. I’d-” He hesitates before using the word. “I’d love to see you again.”
Then he gets out of bed and grabs the bottle of Jack Daniels he’d been saving for a week. Slamming a shot back he relishes the hard burn in his throat and he feels like himself again, reckless and passionate, almost like a man in love.
~~
Gerard’s always been the reigning drama queen of the band, but today Mikey is coming pretty close. He’s been screeching at Frank all day to shut the fuck up and has already broken that big blue mug they bought in Philly. It was Franks favourite, but no one is willing to ask if it was an accident or not.
Ray has locked himself in the back, playing around with some new riffs and Bob has been AWOL since nine when he left “For coffee”. So, Gerard creeps away from the heightening tension as Frank starts humming ‘I know a song that will get on your nerves’ with a capsicum and a pack of cigarettes. He finds a table a couple of metres away from the bus and awkwardly slips himself onto the splintering bench. He listens to Bert’s latest message again and can feel an ache somewhere below his hips as the words, slow and intense, are echoed in his mind.
The capsicum is moist, dripping down his arm and generally being annoying, so he gives up on it, using it as an ashtray instead. Mikey arrives just as he’s pressed the ‘call’ button and reaches for the red fruit, stopping as his thumb smears in the ash.
“Fuck Gerard. That’s disgusting”
Gerard motions to the phone, which is still ringing, and pretends like he can’t hear his brother.
“Who are you calling?”
Gerard looks away before replying. “Bert”
There’s a pause as Mikey tries to look Gerard in the eye. “You say that like you’re ashamed.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“Well, you should be.”
And Bert picks up. “Gee?”
He swallows hard as Mikey glares at him, ready to explode because of Frank’s stupid song, and the damn ash on his thumb which won’t come off, and his stupid brother who is doing nothing to help himself right now. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“How. How’ve you been?”
“Ok, you?”
In the background Bert hears Mikey saying “You’re such a dick, Gerard.”
“Yeah, Gerard, you’re a dick.” Suddenly it’s like old times and Mikey’s voice is numbed while Gerard sinks into the playful insults and silences which aren’t awkward enough to be between friends.
“Well, if I’m a dick you’re a dick.”
Bert adopts a high pitched, quivering voice which is way too endearing and quotes “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.”
“It’s Ryan Gosling who says that, ass.”
And then at the same time, Mikey and Bert both laugh. “Is he quoting The Notebook?”; “God, how do you know that? Queer.”
~~
After five minutes of being ignored, Mikey storms off, supposedly to torment Ray, and Gerard feels like there’s only Bert and himself left in the world. He cuts in while Bert is going on about how he was on the same plane as Joaquin Phoenix, and even though he wasn’t his type, he’d totally fuck him just to join the mile high club - again. “Bert, shut up. I don’t want to think about you and Joaquin Phoenix.”
There’s a pause, this time all too awkward not to mean something. “Sorry.”
“I just. I’ve hated not seeing you.”
“Where are you?”
“London, it‘s three here”
“Fuck you, it‘s just past 7am here.”
“Well, we’ll be there in a month.”
“What dates? I want to see you.”
Gerard sighs, heavy with desire and relief from the loneliness he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I want to see you too.”
~~
In LA three and a half weeks later, they sit across from each other in silence. The booth they’ve been put in closes them of from the world and Bert wishes for people to watch to get the conversation going. The waitress watches them, and Gerard feels like he’s back at the hotel reception - clumsy and transparent.
There is a fight over who will pay the bill, and then Gerard spits “God, it’s not a date, we’ll just pay half each.” and Bert gets quiet until they‘re standing in the hallway of his hotel.
Gerard starts, eager to leave before he does something he would regret. “Well, it was good seeing you. I’ve missed having you around. It’s nice to talk to an unbiased friend.”
“Yeah. Yeah” Bert replies emphatically, but he’s crushed. He’s just a friend. Gerard had always known he was gay, but he wasn’t so sure if Gerard knew Gerard was gay. And you can’t make someone come out if they don’t want to believe it. So, he sticks to the friend angle, but it’s hard not to desperately scream “Fuck me!” as Gerard is turning away.
“Gee?” He says. “Maybe we could go for a drive tonight, to the middle of nowhere. Like we used to.”
Gerard nods and steps closer to Bert. “Sure.” He says, then rocks back on his feet before diving in. “Or maybe we could do this, like we never used to.” Then he cautiously presses his lips to Bert’s and brings his hand up to his cheek. He smiles wryly before lightly dragging his fingers over Bert’s skin and walking away.
“See you tonight fucker.” Gerard calls. “Unless you don’t like the sound of my plans.”
Bert swallows hard. “No. Tonight. That’s fine.”
He stands stock still, trying to hold himself together and as he watches that amazing ass swagger away he thinks thank god I made that phone call.