What Frank Said
Title: What Frank Said
Pairing:Gerard/Frank
Rating:PG-13
Summary:So who's gonna watch you die?
Disclaimer: If I owned My Chemical Romance, do you really think I would be sitting in my room writting this false story?
You had been fighting an on-going battle with your body for almost two months, and it looked like you were finally losing. You had always been the strongest person I knew, until cancer had struck you so young. In the doctor's office you didn't even cry, you waited until we were in the car, five miles away, when reality sunk in. You crumbled into pieces, and I pulled over on the highway to hold you. I told you, I wasn't going any where. I was going to stick by you, no matter how bad this got.
So here I am, next to your hospital bed, and the tears are once again threatening to fall. Your icy fingers are intertwined in mine, and I can only hope it's enough heat to warm yours up. You squeeze my hand, and slowly reach the other one up to pull the oxygen from your face. Your heavy lidded eyes reach mine as you whisper, "Love is watching someone die." Your unsteady fingers place the oxygen back on. I lower my head until my lips reach your limp, pale hand and a single tear slips down my cheek. The beeping of your heart monitor, and the rhythmic wheeze of your oxygen mask invade the deafening silence of the room. The curtains are a ghastly print from 1970 and the walls are the same sickening white as your crisp bed sheets. I look up at your stunning face, and remember how much you cried when we shaved your head. You told me it would be easier to lose it all now, than to watch it fall out it chunks. You sat on top of the bathroom toilet, and watched as the chocolate brown locks fell to the tile floor. And I watched you break.
Your heart monitor starts to beep irregularly and the nurses rush into the tiny room. They rip your hand from mine, and request that I leave the room. My eyes scan your face for some sort of answer, and all you can do is nod. I slip out of your room and drag my feet into the waiting room, and collapse into the cold plastic chair. I imagine I look similar to the other faces in here waiting. They all have vacant, distant eyes as they brace for devastating news. I use to believe so strongly that you would make it through this, that we could make it through this. But my mind is starting to have its doubts. I lean over and place my elbows on my knees, and rest my face inside of my palms. My greasy black hair falls into my eyes. I've been here for 67 hours and 43 minutes. I have not showered, or even gone to change clothes. I couldn't stand the thought of losing you, and me not being here. My nostrils are invaded with stale disinfectant and urine. The smell of hospitals has always made me uncomfortable, but I will do anything for you Frankie.
The television sits abandoned in the corner of the waiting room, and it plays the five o'clock news. I stood up and paced the tiny room, before deciding to journey to the vending machines. I slipped a dollar into the soda machine, and pushed the worn button. The can clunked and banged into the cut-out square and I popped it open. I walked back into the waiting area and all ten heads sprung up, expecting the worst. When they saw it was me, their sad eyes averted back to the cold floor tiles. I sat back down on the royal blue chair and picked up a magazine from December of last year. No articles caught my attention, so I placed it back down on the wooden side table and sighed heavily. My eyes slipped shut as I rested my weary head on the wall. A grieving wife stood outside the glass door, twirling her wedding ring around her finger. Tears cascaded down her sorrowful face, as she was told the news that her husband didn't make it. Were you going to make it Frankie?
I remember when you first started the Chemotherapy. You sat at the kitchen table with you head in your hands, and a full bowl of cereal in front of you. You were paler than usual, which caused your tattoos to radiate, and pop out in color. Your eyes were deeply sunken in, with purple, bruise-like circles around them. Startling me, you jumped from your chair and sprinted into the bathroom and threw your head into the toilet. The food you never ate was rejected from your body, and you didn't stop until you were dry heaving. My tears decided to show themselves as I rubbed small circles on your back. You laid your head on the seat of the toilet, not caring about the germs and bacteria that infested it. Your heavy sobs reached for me, about the same time you did. Your weak hands clutched the front of my shirt as i rocked you back and forth. Your body shook uncontrollably with each tear that fell. I wrapped my arms tighter around you, and made promises I knew I could never keep.
The clear door lightly swung open, and a beautiful young nurse walked in. She had honey blond hair that fell across her shoulders in loose curls, and sparkling blue eyes full of innocence. She had never been through something like the rest of us. We all share something in common, some one we love is in another room around the corner fighting for their life. She holds a clear green clipboard as she calls out a name. My name.
"Mr. Gerard Way?" I slowly pull myself up, my back aching from so many sleepless nights. I mosey my way over to her, as a genuine smile stretches across her lips. I cannot bring myself to smile back. "The doctors would like to speak with you. They're standing right over there, outside Frank's door."
The millions of pessimistic situations flood my mind before i can stop them. I try to reason with myself, saying that maybe the news is good. Maybe you're pulling through after all. I approach your door, and your two doctors are stand there waiting. Dr. Roberts is short in stature, and has thinning gray hair. He's quite pudgy and he always has bifocal glasses perched on the end of his nose. Dr. Geary is much taller, and lanky. He has sandy blond hair that falls right above his eyes brows, and the prettiest green eyes. If i hadn't been so secure in our relationship, I would have worried you would be crushing on him. We've gotten to know them really well over the past two months, and I know they have only wanted what's best for us. When I glance at their eyes, I get scared shitless. I am no longer trying to reason with myself, because it is quite clear something terrible is going to happen.
"Mr. Way, We are so sorry. There is nothing else we can do for Frank. He's fading fast, and there isn't much time left. You're going to have to say good bye." Dr. Geary's eyes that were once warm, we're drowning in sorrow and pity. His voice was soft, as if it would take away some of the blow. My heart is constricted, and my breathing becomes shallow. This is it, I'm losing you Frankie.
"Love is watching someone die."
I shut your door quietly behind me, and tip-toe to your bed side. I sit next to you, and for the first time since you were diagnosed, i find it necessary to cry. Your oxygen mask is gone for good, and tears soak your face as well. It takes every ounce of your strength, but you pull yourself up to my level and cling to my waist. I kiss every centimeter of your face, and whisper incoherent sentences in your ears. Your empty, hazel eyes connect with mine, and your shaky hand rest upon my stained cheek.
"This is not the end, Gerard. This is only the beginning for you. You are going to live a fantastic life, and meet so many new people. And one day, we...we will meet again. and I will embrace you with so much love and compassion. The same kind you have shown me through all of this. This will never be the end. You got that?" Your whispered words echo through my head, and I nod against your shoulder.
"I love you so much, Frank. I love you." My body is shaken by the sobs I am emitting and you shush me, and attempt to console me. "I have always loved you Gerard. and I will never stop." We cling to each other on the stiff hospital bed, as your breaths begin to slow. I place my lips on yours, and the kiss is bittersweet. I don't want to let go, because I know this is the last kiss we will share. I count the seconds in between each inhale and exhale, noticing as the time increases. With our limbs wrapped tightly around each other, you take in your last breath, and you go limp in my arms. The heart monitor beeps on last time, before a string of infinite high-pitched noise fills the room. My sobs become uncontrollable as i hold you tightly to me. The nurses stand at the door, their hands covering their mouths. Two security guards shuffle in, and pull our entanglements apart. My screams fill the room, as they take you from me. I fight against two of them as they try to carry me out of your room. You're gone Frankie. You are actually gone.
My throat is raw, and the veins bulge from my neck as I protest. The tears cloud my vision as the guards drag me down the hall and into the waiting room. The ten heads pop up, and their eyes fill with pity as they glance my way. The guards place me onto a chair as I finally collapse and weep into my hands.
I knew that you were a truth I would rather lose than to have never lain beside at all.
A/N: okaayy. This was seriously, SO hard to write. when I first started I was like, eh this is gonna be alright. and then by the end I was sobbing like a baby. :)
Pairing:Gerard/Frank
Rating:PG-13
Summary:So who's gonna watch you die?
Disclaimer: If I owned My Chemical Romance, do you really think I would be sitting in my room writting this false story?
You had been fighting an on-going battle with your body for almost two months, and it looked like you were finally losing. You had always been the strongest person I knew, until cancer had struck you so young. In the doctor's office you didn't even cry, you waited until we were in the car, five miles away, when reality sunk in. You crumbled into pieces, and I pulled over on the highway to hold you. I told you, I wasn't going any where. I was going to stick by you, no matter how bad this got.
So here I am, next to your hospital bed, and the tears are once again threatening to fall. Your icy fingers are intertwined in mine, and I can only hope it's enough heat to warm yours up. You squeeze my hand, and slowly reach the other one up to pull the oxygen from your face. Your heavy lidded eyes reach mine as you whisper, "Love is watching someone die." Your unsteady fingers place the oxygen back on. I lower my head until my lips reach your limp, pale hand and a single tear slips down my cheek. The beeping of your heart monitor, and the rhythmic wheeze of your oxygen mask invade the deafening silence of the room. The curtains are a ghastly print from 1970 and the walls are the same sickening white as your crisp bed sheets. I look up at your stunning face, and remember how much you cried when we shaved your head. You told me it would be easier to lose it all now, than to watch it fall out it chunks. You sat on top of the bathroom toilet, and watched as the chocolate brown locks fell to the tile floor. And I watched you break.
Your heart monitor starts to beep irregularly and the nurses rush into the tiny room. They rip your hand from mine, and request that I leave the room. My eyes scan your face for some sort of answer, and all you can do is nod. I slip out of your room and drag my feet into the waiting room, and collapse into the cold plastic chair. I imagine I look similar to the other faces in here waiting. They all have vacant, distant eyes as they brace for devastating news. I use to believe so strongly that you would make it through this, that we could make it through this. But my mind is starting to have its doubts. I lean over and place my elbows on my knees, and rest my face inside of my palms. My greasy black hair falls into my eyes. I've been here for 67 hours and 43 minutes. I have not showered, or even gone to change clothes. I couldn't stand the thought of losing you, and me not being here. My nostrils are invaded with stale disinfectant and urine. The smell of hospitals has always made me uncomfortable, but I will do anything for you Frankie.
The television sits abandoned in the corner of the waiting room, and it plays the five o'clock news. I stood up and paced the tiny room, before deciding to journey to the vending machines. I slipped a dollar into the soda machine, and pushed the worn button. The can clunked and banged into the cut-out square and I popped it open. I walked back into the waiting area and all ten heads sprung up, expecting the worst. When they saw it was me, their sad eyes averted back to the cold floor tiles. I sat back down on the royal blue chair and picked up a magazine from December of last year. No articles caught my attention, so I placed it back down on the wooden side table and sighed heavily. My eyes slipped shut as I rested my weary head on the wall. A grieving wife stood outside the glass door, twirling her wedding ring around her finger. Tears cascaded down her sorrowful face, as she was told the news that her husband didn't make it. Were you going to make it Frankie?
I remember when you first started the Chemotherapy. You sat at the kitchen table with you head in your hands, and a full bowl of cereal in front of you. You were paler than usual, which caused your tattoos to radiate, and pop out in color. Your eyes were deeply sunken in, with purple, bruise-like circles around them. Startling me, you jumped from your chair and sprinted into the bathroom and threw your head into the toilet. The food you never ate was rejected from your body, and you didn't stop until you were dry heaving. My tears decided to show themselves as I rubbed small circles on your back. You laid your head on the seat of the toilet, not caring about the germs and bacteria that infested it. Your heavy sobs reached for me, about the same time you did. Your weak hands clutched the front of my shirt as i rocked you back and forth. Your body shook uncontrollably with each tear that fell. I wrapped my arms tighter around you, and made promises I knew I could never keep.
The clear door lightly swung open, and a beautiful young nurse walked in. She had honey blond hair that fell across her shoulders in loose curls, and sparkling blue eyes full of innocence. She had never been through something like the rest of us. We all share something in common, some one we love is in another room around the corner fighting for their life. She holds a clear green clipboard as she calls out a name. My name.
"Mr. Gerard Way?" I slowly pull myself up, my back aching from so many sleepless nights. I mosey my way over to her, as a genuine smile stretches across her lips. I cannot bring myself to smile back. "The doctors would like to speak with you. They're standing right over there, outside Frank's door."
The millions of pessimistic situations flood my mind before i can stop them. I try to reason with myself, saying that maybe the news is good. Maybe you're pulling through after all. I approach your door, and your two doctors are stand there waiting. Dr. Roberts is short in stature, and has thinning gray hair. He's quite pudgy and he always has bifocal glasses perched on the end of his nose. Dr. Geary is much taller, and lanky. He has sandy blond hair that falls right above his eyes brows, and the prettiest green eyes. If i hadn't been so secure in our relationship, I would have worried you would be crushing on him. We've gotten to know them really well over the past two months, and I know they have only wanted what's best for us. When I glance at their eyes, I get scared shitless. I am no longer trying to reason with myself, because it is quite clear something terrible is going to happen.
"Mr. Way, We are so sorry. There is nothing else we can do for Frank. He's fading fast, and there isn't much time left. You're going to have to say good bye." Dr. Geary's eyes that were once warm, we're drowning in sorrow and pity. His voice was soft, as if it would take away some of the blow. My heart is constricted, and my breathing becomes shallow. This is it, I'm losing you Frankie.
"Love is watching someone die."
I shut your door quietly behind me, and tip-toe to your bed side. I sit next to you, and for the first time since you were diagnosed, i find it necessary to cry. Your oxygen mask is gone for good, and tears soak your face as well. It takes every ounce of your strength, but you pull yourself up to my level and cling to my waist. I kiss every centimeter of your face, and whisper incoherent sentences in your ears. Your empty, hazel eyes connect with mine, and your shaky hand rest upon my stained cheek.
"This is not the end, Gerard. This is only the beginning for you. You are going to live a fantastic life, and meet so many new people. And one day, we...we will meet again. and I will embrace you with so much love and compassion. The same kind you have shown me through all of this. This will never be the end. You got that?" Your whispered words echo through my head, and I nod against your shoulder.
"I love you so much, Frank. I love you." My body is shaken by the sobs I am emitting and you shush me, and attempt to console me. "I have always loved you Gerard. and I will never stop." We cling to each other on the stiff hospital bed, as your breaths begin to slow. I place my lips on yours, and the kiss is bittersweet. I don't want to let go, because I know this is the last kiss we will share. I count the seconds in between each inhale and exhale, noticing as the time increases. With our limbs wrapped tightly around each other, you take in your last breath, and you go limp in my arms. The heart monitor beeps on last time, before a string of infinite high-pitched noise fills the room. My sobs become uncontrollable as i hold you tightly to me. The nurses stand at the door, their hands covering their mouths. Two security guards shuffle in, and pull our entanglements apart. My screams fill the room, as they take you from me. I fight against two of them as they try to carry me out of your room. You're gone Frankie. You are actually gone.
My throat is raw, and the veins bulge from my neck as I protest. The tears cloud my vision as the guards drag me down the hall and into the waiting room. The ten heads pop up, and their eyes fill with pity as they glance my way. The guards place me onto a chair as I finally collapse and weep into my hands.
I knew that you were a truth I would rather lose than to have never lain beside at all.
A/N: okaayy. This was seriously, SO hard to write. when I first started I was like, eh this is gonna be alright. and then by the end I was sobbing like a baby. :)