Fic: Not a Pretty Girl - Grand Statements 1/2 (Girl!Bob) PG13
Image by Itsy
Title: Not a Pretty Girl - Grand Statements
Fandom: Bandom: MCR
Characters: Girl!Bob, My Chem
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 2062
Summary: "A cunt," Bob says. She lifts her head and looks at Gerard. "He called me a cunt."
*
It takes some time before it becomes widely known that Bob's a woman and not a guy. She's at the back of the stage, and Gerard introduces her simply as Bob Bryar during shows, and the information creeps through the audience and fanbase slowly. It's refreshingly low-key and she owes Brian a thank you for being really fucking smart and knowing her really fucking well.
By the time the first real interview hits after Bob joins the band, her gender is already known but My Chem's audience seems to care about as much as Gerard chooses to mention it while on stage, which is not at all.
The problem is, they don't just play to My Chem's audience or fans.
*
One of Gerard's best traits is that he will damn well call people on their bullshit when he's on stage. It's also his most annoying trait.
"Wait, wait, what?" Bob mumbles, confused and groggy. Gerard is standing between her and the coffee--sweet blessed coffee--and Bob has only been up for about ninety seconds. She can't even comprehend what the hell Gerard is saying at his super fast East Coast speed, with his accent twisting things up even more because he's excited.
Gerard starts talking again, apparently taking it from the top. There's a lot of hand waving and cursing, and Bob listens as well as she can given that she's swaying on her feet and ready to sacrifice small children for caffeine. Then what Gerard's saying actually filters through and Bob is suddenly more awake and not a little horrified.
"--statement against fucking bullshit misogyny--"
"Oh my god," Bob says flatly. "I can't. I literally cannot deal with this right now." She pushes Gerard out of the way and makes a beeline for the coffee.
"I mean, I'm not going to fucking stand by and let shit like that go on with out fucking saying something," Gerard continues.
Bob takes her cup of coffee to the table and sits across from Mikey, who looks awake enough that he's probably been listening to Gerard conceive and practice whatever lecture he wants to make at their next show. She pulls her cigarettes out of the front pocket of her t-shit and lights one, inhaling deeper than usual because she sort of needs it in her system right now.
Gerard keeps talking. He doesn't shut up. At all. Bob tunes him out while she finishes the coffee and cigarette, then leans over the table and presses her forehead against it. Hard.
There have been a couple of things that have happened, most of which Bob's managed to shrug off and get everyone else to shrug off, too: a few names screamed at her during and after shows; a music blog entry or two; a comment here and there in a write-up or article. The guys have so far seemed determined to follow her lead, but it looks like Gerard has reached critical mass.
"--gender has nothing to do with--"
"Is this about the guy?" Bob asks the table.
Gerard breaks off and sounds really exasperated when he answers her. "Yes, Bob, it's about the guy. With the fucking shirt. Who spit at you. And called you...that."
At the time, Bob didn't notice the guy, the shirt, or the spitting. One second she was talking with Ray at a signing table, and the next second security was dragging some dude away. Gerard was red-faced and furious, and Mikey--tight-lipped and also pissed--was keeping a really angry Frank from flying over the table.
The t-shirt, she's been told, was homemade and said something like Music: No Pussy Allowed or Pussy Go Home or Pussy Not Welcome--reports have varied but the general gist of it is clear enough. Bob did actually see the blob of spit on the table in front of her, and she definitely heard what the guy screamed as he was being carted away.
"A cunt," Bob says. She lifts her head and looks at Gerard. "He called me a cunt."
Gerard nods primly, a gesture at odds with the fierce narrowing of his eyes. "I know, but I'm not saying it."
Mikey rolls his eyes and sips from his mug. "Gerard's added that to the banned word list."
Bob looks over at the list tacked to the wall and, yeah, cunt has been written in right under festering come dump, which is directly under Braaaaaiiinnss.
"But I like that word," Bob says with a frown. "It's one of my favorites."
It is. Bob loves using that word, if only for the shock value and stopping power it has.
Mikey slips out of the booth, coffee in hand. "I'm going back to my bunk."
Bob looks after him longingly but she knows that if she retreats Gerard will just follow her. He takes Mikey's place and stares at her intently. "I think we need to make it clear that that kind of shit isn't fucking right."
"Gee, people already know it's not right, and anyone who's read a fucking article about you guys--"
"Us," Gerard interrupts, scowling at her.
"--us, or seen one of our shows, knows that we're not down with it." She scratches at the corner of her eye, where the stage make-up always irritates her skin. "The guy was a jackass. Let it go."
But of course, letting things go and not making a Grand Statement isn't really in Gerard's nature so it's not that simple.
Things just go down hill from there.
*
Three hours later, Frank comes into the lounge and gives Bob a noogie. "Aw, your first fight with Gerard! Our little girl's all--"
Bob twists a handful of skin at his ribs and smiles meanly when he yelps in pain.
*
Ray finds Bob twenty minutes after she flees the bus upon arrival at the venue. She's hiding out with the techs and he sits next to her on the ground. Bob has managed to smoke eight cigarettes in the short amount of time she's been here and her throat feels about as raw as the rest of her.
"Hey," Ray says. Bob lifts a hand to wave, then grabs at the back of her neck where her muscles have locked up with tension. Ray spreads his legs and pats the ground between them. "Come here."
Ray's hands are fucking amazing, and Bob almost cries in relief when he starts working on her neck and shoulders.
"He means well, you know."
"Yeah, I know," Bob replies, her voice losing and gaining octaves as Ray rubs a knot at the base of her skull. "I just..."
Ray makes a noise when she doesn't say anything else. "I think that's the problem. You keep telling him not to do it and threatening to shove your sticks up his ass if he does it anyway." He shudders and sighs. "Thanks for that image by the way."
Bob laughs because it is kind of funny that she managed to traumatize Ray.
He pokes his head around Bob's shoulder and looks at her. "But you're not saying why. He's not unreasonable. He'll listen. Just give him something."
Bob leans into Ray's hands, which are pushing at that stubborn spot beneath her right shoulder blade, and sighs. "He just talks so much. Like, every thought in his head just fucking comes shooting out of his mouth and he expects everyone to be right there and ready to do the same. I'm not--I need time. To, like, fucking figure out my reason and how to say it."
"But he's right in your face," Ray finishes. "Yeah."
When Ray's reduced every muscle in Bob's back to putty he pulls her closer to him and hooks his chin over her shoulder. "What happened yesterday really sucked and you didn't deserve that. I'm sorry."
Bob spits out a chunk of Ray's hair that's already wormed its way into her mouth. "Thanks."
*
It's not really easy for Bob to figure out why her gut reaction to Gerard making a whole big deal about her gender on stage and telling people off is an immediate and angry, No!
What makes it so fucking confusing is that, really, one of the things she's loved about My Chem from day one are the anti-misogyny statements Gerard makes. She's seen more bands and more shows than she can fucking count, but she barely needs both hands to count the number of times an all male band has spoken up like that. For her. For every woman in the audience. For every woman who might hear about it.
She spends half the day sorting it all out and pulls Gerard into the bus lounge an hour before they have to do soundcheck.
"Ray says I'm an ass who doesn't give people room to think," Gerard says, sounding apologetic.
Bob shrugs. "Yeah, well, I get a little angry and defensive when I'm caught off guard. So, you know, that doesn't help." She takes a breath and rolls her shoulders, trying not to tense up again. "It's not that I don't appreciate it. Really. Because I do. It...means a lot."
Gerard frowns. "But you don't want me to do it."
Bob makes a face. "I really really don't want you to do it, actually." She thinks about it and shrugs helplessly. "I mean, you should be as pro-woman as you've always been, the way you've always been. I'm not asking you to change that. I wouldn't. I just--I don't want anything to be about me specifically."
"Okay, but why not? Because it makes no fucking sense from where I'm sitting."
It wouldn't. It never does to men. Bob's used to that now.
"First of all, I'm not really a Grand Gesture kind of person," she says uncomfortably. "Like, they're not me, you know? And what you want to say, that's a Grand Gesture. Or, like, a Grand Statement."
Gerard's eyes are focused to the side, which means he's actually listening to and processing what Bob has to say, which is already better than their earlier conversation. "Right. I get that. But this is important! I mean, as a woman, you totally know it's important."
Sometimes, Bob wishes she had a stick that she could hit people with to make them get it, in full detail, because that would be a lot easier than explaining it. She closes her eyes briefly and then says, with forced patience, "Yes, and that's why I don't want you to stop the pro-woman rhetoric. That? I'm totally on board with. Do more. Do it all the time." She shakes a set of imaginary pom-poms. "Rah rah, go anti-misogyny!"
Gerard looks more confused than ever. Probably by the pom-poms. Bob should have known better than to bring any levity into it yet.
"It's not just that I hate Grand Statements," Bob sighs, as frustrated as Gerard is confused. "It's not even mostly that. It's--look, I don't want to be judged by how often you have to lecture people about me, or stick up for me."
It's like a light goes on inside Gerard's head, so sudden and bright that Bob can practically see it shining in his eyes. She quirks her lips and her shoulders lose the small bit of tension they've accumulated.
"I want my drumming to speak for me," she continues, and Gerard starts nodding emphatically, communicating his understanding. "The rest? Isn't really about me. It's larger. So keep your statements broad, and let me do my thing. That's what I'm saying."
"Okay, okay, yeah, I get it." Bob doesn't think he does, not entirely, but it's close enough. As close as possible. "I wasn't trying to--" He waves a hand, vague and oblique. "--like, fucking take away from you, or make you less."
Right, so maybe he gets it more than she thought. She's not sure why she's surprised; Gerard's good for that most of the time.
She drags him into a hug. "You're sort of fucking awesome," she says into his neck. "Just so you know."
She can feel Gerard's grin against the side of her head, wide and beaming and dorky. He tightens his arms around her, restricting and crushing.
"So are you," he replies.
*
Before they leave for soundcheck, Bob crosses cunt off the banned word list.
.End
Continued here
14Valentines Day 4 - Reproductive Rights