take off your mask
Gerard/Bert (implied)
Standalone
PG
written May-June 2008.
Notes: Lyric credit to Jagger/Richards.
1. Nocturne
For someone who lies so often, Bert's not very good at it.
He's a master of changing the subject, of giggling wildly at something that isn't funny, of cursing randomly, of stating the obvious, of mocking himself and others to defuse tension, of writing the most brutally personal lyrics imaginable, then shrugging when someone compliments them. But there's something else about Bert, something hidden -- and Dan can't quite figure it out.
He's known it from the first time he met Bert -- when Bert screamed at him, swept him up in one of those spontaneous hugs and kissed him on the lips after a show at a crowded club in Salt Lake City. He can't even remember who'd been playing, not that it matters. Hell, it might have been him. But back then, of course, Bert's hidden side didn't really matter; it was something that lingered in Dan's mind, something he planned to talk to Quinn about someday.
These days it's far more important. Because now he's in the band.
Dan's figured out a lot of things in a short period of time. He watches the other three, watches the way they interact, the way they work, the way they think. Dan doesn't look like the type of guy who'd sit back and observe, but hell, he's a drummer; sometimes there ain't much else to do. He already knows he was only their second choice -- if Bob Bryar hadn't hooked up with My Chemical Romance, he'd be sitting behind The Used's kit right now. He knows he'll never have the creative input that Branden had; the others won't risk another battle for control of the band and its direction.
Quinn, he's discovered, will almost always side with Bert -- even if he and Bert aren't speaking or are actively trying to beat the shit out of each other. They're in tune musically, if not temperamentally. Jeph is the peacemaker, willing to compromise as long as the end result is good. Logic tells him that Branden must have been the polar opposite of Bert and Quinn, with Jeph halfway between the two extremes. A tight-rope walker with arms outstretched and eyes screwed shut. Two screaming little punks to his left, one sullen drummer to his right ...
Yeah, Dan knows they're relieved to have him around, because he just plays the fucking drums. That's all he wants to do, and he's happy to do it. He's in the band, but it's not his band -- not the way it was Branden's band, and that's what made it so tough. Making Branden leave was like taking a newborn baby from its mother in the hospital.
Bert still feels guilty about that, but he pretends he doesn't.
Hell, Dan thinks, watching the scruffy-haired singer banging out his frustrations at the piano, Bert pretends about a lot of things.
2. Sonata
The piano keys are cool and smooth in black and white, the notes clear and pure, piercing the silence. If the sound could make holes in the sky, they'd look like stars, he thinks. Letting the light through.
Letting the pain out ...
Dan's staring at him again, but Bert pretends not to notice, focusing instead on the keyboard in front of him. He frowns slightly, but the music has its usual effect on him, draining the emotion away until he can smile. After a while, he stops playing the original piece he's working on and switches to one of the first pop songs he learned on piano.
Angie, I still love you baby
Everywhere I look I see your eyes
There ain't a woman that comes close to you
Come on baby, dry your eyes
His voice, gravelly as ever, is on the verge of breaking as he sings, his hands moving smoothly across the keys. The slow, bluesy melody is calming but heartbreaking; it makes pain and emptiness churn in his stomach as he struggles to get the words out. He needs this. It's necessary, and he hates that. This, he thinks, his fingers banging on the keys, his head bent over the piano, his voice rasping against the silence, this is real. This is my truth.
This is all I have.
Angie, Angie, ain't it good to be alive?
Angie, Angie, you can't say we never tried
When he finishes, Bert looks up with a washed-out half-smile, his face wet with tears. Dan's still there, but he doesn't see him at first; he just stares straight ahead for a moment, then shrugs his shoulders and seems to realise where he is. Messily, he wipes his face with the back of one hand and sniffles, tossing his head until his hair falls behind his shoulders. He closes his eyes again and stands up, pushing the chair close to the instrument.
"Time to go, Dan," he says, making no move to leave.
"You comin'?"
"Yeah. In a sec."
Dan nods, even if Bert can't see it, and walks across the studio to find his bag. He grabs it and slings it over one shoulder, taking a deep breath as he glances towards the small figure by the piano.
"I love that song, man," he says quietly.
Bert's only response is a small smile. "Me too."
Dan knows there's something important about that song. He doesn't know what it is, but he's determined to figure it out. Sure, it's a sad song, but that shouldn't be enough to make Bert cry.
Should it?
It takes him a moment to realise that Bert hadn't been singing the first syllable of the word Angie.
It takes a little longer to work out what (or who) "Gie" is.
More lies. And another piece of the puzzle that is Bert slides into place in Dan's mind.
Standalone
PG
written May-June 2008.
Notes: Lyric credit to Jagger/Richards.
1. Nocturne
For someone who lies so often, Bert's not very good at it.
He's a master of changing the subject, of giggling wildly at something that isn't funny, of cursing randomly, of stating the obvious, of mocking himself and others to defuse tension, of writing the most brutally personal lyrics imaginable, then shrugging when someone compliments them. But there's something else about Bert, something hidden -- and Dan can't quite figure it out.
He's known it from the first time he met Bert -- when Bert screamed at him, swept him up in one of those spontaneous hugs and kissed him on the lips after a show at a crowded club in Salt Lake City. He can't even remember who'd been playing, not that it matters. Hell, it might have been him. But back then, of course, Bert's hidden side didn't really matter; it was something that lingered in Dan's mind, something he planned to talk to Quinn about someday.
These days it's far more important. Because now he's in the band.
Dan's figured out a lot of things in a short period of time. He watches the other three, watches the way they interact, the way they work, the way they think. Dan doesn't look like the type of guy who'd sit back and observe, but hell, he's a drummer; sometimes there ain't much else to do. He already knows he was only their second choice -- if Bob Bryar hadn't hooked up with My Chemical Romance, he'd be sitting behind The Used's kit right now. He knows he'll never have the creative input that Branden had; the others won't risk another battle for control of the band and its direction.
Quinn, he's discovered, will almost always side with Bert -- even if he and Bert aren't speaking or are actively trying to beat the shit out of each other. They're in tune musically, if not temperamentally. Jeph is the peacemaker, willing to compromise as long as the end result is good. Logic tells him that Branden must have been the polar opposite of Bert and Quinn, with Jeph halfway between the two extremes. A tight-rope walker with arms outstretched and eyes screwed shut. Two screaming little punks to his left, one sullen drummer to his right ...
Yeah, Dan knows they're relieved to have him around, because he just plays the fucking drums. That's all he wants to do, and he's happy to do it. He's in the band, but it's not his band -- not the way it was Branden's band, and that's what made it so tough. Making Branden leave was like taking a newborn baby from its mother in the hospital.
Bert still feels guilty about that, but he pretends he doesn't.
Hell, Dan thinks, watching the scruffy-haired singer banging out his frustrations at the piano, Bert pretends about a lot of things.
2. Sonata
The piano keys are cool and smooth in black and white, the notes clear and pure, piercing the silence. If the sound could make holes in the sky, they'd look like stars, he thinks. Letting the light through.
Letting the pain out ...
Dan's staring at him again, but Bert pretends not to notice, focusing instead on the keyboard in front of him. He frowns slightly, but the music has its usual effect on him, draining the emotion away until he can smile. After a while, he stops playing the original piece he's working on and switches to one of the first pop songs he learned on piano.
Angie, I still love you baby
Everywhere I look I see your eyes
There ain't a woman that comes close to you
Come on baby, dry your eyes
His voice, gravelly as ever, is on the verge of breaking as he sings, his hands moving smoothly across the keys. The slow, bluesy melody is calming but heartbreaking; it makes pain and emptiness churn in his stomach as he struggles to get the words out. He needs this. It's necessary, and he hates that. This, he thinks, his fingers banging on the keys, his head bent over the piano, his voice rasping against the silence, this is real. This is my truth.
This is all I have.
Angie, Angie, ain't it good to be alive?
Angie, Angie, you can't say we never tried
When he finishes, Bert looks up with a washed-out half-smile, his face wet with tears. Dan's still there, but he doesn't see him at first; he just stares straight ahead for a moment, then shrugs his shoulders and seems to realise where he is. Messily, he wipes his face with the back of one hand and sniffles, tossing his head until his hair falls behind his shoulders. He closes his eyes again and stands up, pushing the chair close to the instrument.
"Time to go, Dan," he says, making no move to leave.
"You comin'?"
"Yeah. In a sec."
Dan nods, even if Bert can't see it, and walks across the studio to find his bag. He grabs it and slings it over one shoulder, taking a deep breath as he glances towards the small figure by the piano.
"I love that song, man," he says quietly.
Bert's only response is a small smile. "Me too."
Dan knows there's something important about that song. He doesn't know what it is, but he's determined to figure it out. Sure, it's a sad song, but that shouldn't be enough to make Bert cry.
Should it?
It takes him a moment to realise that Bert hadn't been singing the first syllable of the word Angie.
It takes a little longer to work out what (or who) "Gie" is.
More lies. And another piece of the puzzle that is Bert slides into place in Dan's mind.