The Wrong Way - Part I
The Wrong Way
Gerard didn’t want to move. He’d just found the perfect spot on the couch. The one where everything was soft and cosy and yeah, he could totally fall asleep like this. Unfortunately the universe didn’t want him to enjoy his perfect couch spot - someone kept knocking on his door rather persistently. Mikey never knocked and Gerard hardly ever got any other visitors, so he was fairly certain it was either Jehovah’s Witnesses or Avon lurking outside his door, waiting for a sign of life from inside to latch onto. Gerard sighed and slouched lower. He closed his eyes and started to hum, trying to relax.
Eventually the knocking stopped.
~
Hours later Gerard shoved his feet into his worn Converse and grabbed his wallet from the kitchen table. A cigarette emergency had eventually forced him to abandon the perfect couch spot.
On the way to the door he wrapped his overly long scarf around his neck several times until it covered him up to the tip of his nose, hoping it would provide some protection from the freezing January cold.
When Gerard opened the door he almost tripped. There was someone sitting in front of his door.
Before Gerard got a chance to make a hasty retreat and slam the door in the guy’s face (seriously, how persistent were door-to-door salesman and religious cults these days?) the other man scrambled to his feet. Gerard noticed the backpack he’d been sitting on and the suitcase leaning against the wall. It didn’t look like the kind of suitcase salesman carted around.
“I’m looking for Gerard Way?”
The man eyed Gerard suspiciously from behind his dark fringe. His voice was heavily accented and Gerard had never heard his name pronounced so strangely and with so many rolled ‘r’s.
“Um.”
The guy huffed and narrowed his eyes. “I knocked on your door. You didn’t open,” he waved one hand at the door accusingly.
“Um,” Gerard said again.
“I’m Frank Iero.”
Frank…Frank. Frank Iero. Gerard’s mind raced through a catalogue of names, but came up with nothing. He didn’t know a Frank Iero. Was he one of Mikey’s friends? He had fucking told his brother that he didn’t want any of his friends crashing on his couch anymore. Not after the Urie kid had practically built a fort in Gerard's living room.
“Hi, Frank Iero.” Gerard waved awkwardly.
Frank gave him another long look before he hoisted his backpack over his shoulder and gripped the handle of his suitcase, stepping forward.
“Woah, um, hey.” Gerard remained in the middle of the doorway, blocking Frank’s way in. “Why exactly are you here? I’m sorry, I just really . . . don’t know who you are.” Gerard scratched his head before he pushed dirty strands of hair out of his face.
The look Frank gave him made Gerard shift uncomfortably.
“You don’t. . .How can you not. . .That’s. . .” Frank seemed at a loss for words and looked so utterly lost that Gerard started to feel bad for him. “I’m Frank. From Italy.”
Gerard stared back blankly. Frank pulled his shoulders up even higher. He’d let go of his suitcase and was nervously fiddling with the strap of his backpack.
“You. Uh. You ordered me?”
Gerard had ordered a lot of stupid, useless, ridiculous stuff online. Like a bird skull. Or an owl cage for the owl he wanted to buy. On one memorable occasion even a steam cleaner. But despite his habit of late-night online shopping, Gerard was absolutely certain that he had never ordered another person on the Internet. Was that even legal? Couldn’t eBay ban you for something like that? And what did you click on the PayPal transaction? Private - Gift? Business Transaction?
“I most definitely didn’t. I’m sorry, this is a misunderstanding, really. Or. . .Oh.” Gerard’s eyes grew wide before he pressed his lips together and crossed his arms in front of his chest, hips cocked.
“My brother got you to do this, didn’t he? Him and the morons I call my friends. Well ha fucking ha.”
Gerard stepped out into the hallway and looked left, then right. “All right, you can come out now! We’ve all had a lot of fun, ha ha!”
Silence followed Gerard’s statement. There was no movement, nobody jumping out of a corner yelling ‘Gotcha!’ Instead Frank was looking at Gerard like he was crazy. Which, all things considered, was a fair assumption.
“I . . . really don’t understand this," Gerard admitted.
Frank huffed and rolled his eyes. “Can I come in?”
Gerard briefly considered the possibility of Frank being an axe murderer before he shrugged and stepped aside.
“I s’pose.”
~
“How could you possibly think this was a good idea?”
Mikey hummed in reply, unfazed by his brother’s agitation. “We just didn’t want you to die old and alone and be eaten by cats.”
“I . . . What?” Gerard blinked stupidly and his grip on the phone tightened. “You . . .What the fuck, Mikey? Are you gonna be too cool to hang out with your brother when I’m old? And not even check up on me often enough to make sure I’m not a rotting corpse?”
“No,” Mikey replied, a long-suffering sigh swinging in his voice. “That’s not what I said. 'sides, all we wanted to do was help things along a little. And you do like Italian, so we thought Frank would be a good choice.”
It was Gerard’s turn to huff and sigh as he poured himself a cup of coffee.
“You thought because I happen to like Italian food it would be a good idea to order me a fucking . . . a . . . a . . . bride . . . groom . . . whatever, illegal thing from Italy?!”
For a few seconds there was silence on the other end of the line.
“It made sense at the time,” Mikey finally replied, sounding just a little guilty.
“Not to mention that I told you I have a boyfriend.”
“A boyfriend nobody has ever seen. We don’t even know his name. I don’t even know his name.” Gerard had learned a long time ago that if he didn't explicitly tell Mikey about something, Mikey treated it like it didn't exist.
“Are you saying I’m lying? Fucks sake, Mikey, I wouldn’t lie to you. You know I wouldn’t.”
“Well, no. But it’s a little like when I was five and had a pet unicorn.”
Gerard opened his mouth only to close it again with an audible snap. There was really no point in explaining how it wasn't like that at all. Mikey had loved that unicorn.
“Anyway. Where’s Frank?”
“Um.” Gerard was saying that an awful lot today. He should make it his official word of the day.
“Gee . . .”
“I kind of sent him away. Because, you know. I have a boyfriend. What . . . what am I supposed to do with him? 'sides, I don’t support human trafficking!”
“This isn’t human trafficking, Gee.” Mikey sounded exasperated. “You sent him away? Are you actually stupid?”
“What? Hey don’t be li-“
“Think, Gerard. That guy’s just come over to America. He has no idea where to go. Most likely no money. Because, you know, you were supposed to be his saviour and whatnot.”
The word ‘saviour’ and the mention of ‘saving’ generally worked well with Gerard. “Oh.” Things definitely looked different from that perspective. “Fuck. Fuck Mikey, what have I done?”
Mikey sighed. “I’ll call Ray. Meet you outside yours in fifteen.”
~
Frank had never been so cold in his life. Cold down to the bone didn’t even begin to describe it. His fucking bones were icicles. There were no words for the state of coldness he was in. And he was lost. Or, as lost as somebody could be when they had nowhere to go to begin with. He had no money to his name, except for a few crumpled dollar bills that were, quite possibly, fake. He had nowhere to stay and he couldn’t go home. This, Frank concluded, was as lost as a person could possibly be.
Sniffling, he rubbed the tip of his nose before he continued to struggle against the crowd, wheeling his suitcase behind him. He was surrounded by grim faces, jostling him around because he’d become an obstacle within a smoothly moving human wave. Frank tried not to think about home and how he would’ve been sitting outside in the sun, wasting away the last hour before work. A woman bumped into him and gave him a nasty glare. Frank glared right back and barely kept himself from flipping her off. That attitude had gotten him into trouble with his bosses in the first place. It was kind of his fault that he was freezing to death in America. He shouldn't have jumped over the bar and punched that guy in the face, but he'd been a motherfucking asshole, molesting the female staff.
This Gerard guy being a wacko douchebag with douchebag friends totally wasn't his fault though.
Looking around Frank saw nothing but grey. Grey buildings, grey sky, grey faces. New York, the city where dreams were supposed to come true, was highly overrated. All it had to offer was a single, depressing colour.
Frank pulled his shoulders up higher in a futile attempt to shield himself from the cold and walked on. That's what you did when you were lost. You kept walking.
~
“Okay. If I were an Italian in a foreign city I would go . . .” Gerard bit his bottom lip and looked around.
“He probably hasn't gone too far.” Ray tugged his beanie further down over his ears as another gust of wind raced down the street.
“Food court, maybe?” Mikey suggested.
It seemed reasonable enough, so the three started walking down the street. Gerard fumbled nervously with his lighter and had to attempt to light his cigarette several times before he succeeded. His fingertips were red from the cold. It was a freezing day in late January and the crowds were moving fast, everyone eager to get home. Gerard took another nervous drag from his cigarette, the nicotine doing nothing to calm his nerves.
“Hey . . . is that him?”
Gerard’s head snapped up and he followed Ray’s gaze.
“Yeah.” It came out almost breathless. Frank was on the other side of the street in front of a store, gesturing wildly as he talked to two unimpressed looking policemen.
Gerard dropped his cigarette without a second thought and followed Ray and Mikey across the street.
“Kingston, Hardy.” Ray nodded at the two policemen, his ‘professional’ face in place. “What a coincidence. Seems like you found my friend.”
“Officer Toro?” Kingston looked from Frank to Ray and back again, eyebrows raised.
“We got called because he was loitering around the stores. Worried the shopkeepers, ya know.”
Gerard was about to launch into a speech about stereotypes and how Frank's visible tattoos were no reason to judge him, but Mikey reached out and squeezed his wrist in warning.
“Really? I’m sorry about that. He’s a friend visiting and we got the pick up times confused. A stupid misunderstanding, really.” Ray patted Frank’s back, ignoring his bewildered expression.
“I’ll take it from here. Sorry for any trouble, guys.”
Kingston and Hardy seemed convinced enough, but nobody spoke until they had walked away and rounded the corner.
“What is this about?” Frank had his arms crossed in front of his chest and bounced on the balls of his feet as his teeth chattered audibly. He wasn't wearing a coat.
“I’m sorry, Frank. I’m so, so sorry,” Gerard almost stumbled over his words in his haste to get them out. “I shouldn’t have sent you away and all of this is just one big misunderstanding.” He froze for a second before he turned to Mikey. “This is all your fault.”
“Guys,” Ray interrupted. “It doesn’t matter, okay? We found him and now we should take him back to your place.” He rubbed his gloved hands together for warmth, then looked guiltily at Frank’s shivering frame. “Yes. Back to your place. Now.” Ray grabbed the handle of Frank’s suitcase and started walking back to Gerard’s.
Frank hesitated for a moment. Part of him just wanted to grab the suitcase back from big-hair-guy and tell all of them to fuck the fuck off. He didn’t need them, he was perfectly fine on his own and they had screwed up in the first place. Another shiver wracking his body sent Frank scuttling after the man, who was presumably a friend of Gerard’s and not a sneaky suitcase thief.
Pulling the sleeves of his hoodie down to cover his bright red fingers, Frank followed Gerard, who walked awfully close to him and kept looking sideways at him strangely. Like he was about to hug him or cry or something completely stupid. What Frank really wanted was a cigarette, not a hug.
“Why aren't you wearing a coat?” The tall guy drawled, looking down at Frank with raised eyebrows. Frank wanted to kick him. Especially since he suspected that this was the mysterious brother who had been involved in getting him into this situation.
“I’m from Italy,” he huffed. The guy stared blankly at him for a second before he nodded.
“Ah.”
Frank snorted. Seriously, of all the people in New York, America even, he got stuck with a bunch of idiots.
Gerard’s apartment was wonderfully warm and Frank barely managed not to make a beeline for the couch and curl up under a mountain of blankets. Instead he stood awkwardly in the doorway while hair-guy hoisted his suitcase into the room, skinny guy texted on his phone and Gerard bit his nails, then took a step towards the kitchen.
“Would you . . . uh . . . like some tea?”
Frank hated tea. His mother made tea for him when he was sick.
“Si, that would be nice.” The words felt all wrong on his tongue, like too much chewing gum. Frank understood English well enough, but that didn’t mean that he was comfortable speaking it.
Gerard took his cue to escape to the kitchen and Frank decided that manners were highly overrated, so he curled up on the couch, still burrowed into his hoodie. It was warm inside, but he could still feel the cold sitting deep in his bones.
“So.” Hair-guy sat down in one of the chairs, obviously meaning business. He seemed to be the only one around here who actually had some sort of plan to what he was doing.
“Gerard isn’t the best at introductions, or any social interactions, really. I’m Ray and this is Mikey.” Ray pointed at the other man who was seemingly still completely fascinated by the world behind the screen of his phone.
Frank just looked at Ray. Was he supposed to say something? Or introduce himself? They should fucking know who he was.
“Ahm . . . I guess Gerard kind of . . . flipped out on you earlier. We should’ve planned this better.” Ray rubbed the back of his neck, then glared at Mikey and kicked his leg, which eventually made him look up from his phone.
“Yeah,” Mikey echoed.
Frank continued to blink slowly at Ray. He really, really wanted to curl up and sleep. They could sort this out in the meantime.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” Ray hissed at Mikey. His glare was seriously impressive, and Frank had seen a lot of glares in his time, so he knew what he was talking about. Mikey, on the other hand, remained completely unfazed.
“A very bad idea,” Gerard agreed and put a cup down on the table in front of Frank before he sat down next to him on the couch, giving his brother a disapproving look. Frank knew those as well. Usually he got them from his mother. Which, yeah, he wasn’t going to think about now.
Frank took the mug from the table and curled up, holding it in both hands. Steam was rising from it and the hot ceramic felt amazing against his cold hands.
“I was just trying to help,” Mikey finally said and Frank barely kept himself from cracking up when Mikey looked at his brother with wide eyes. Gerard was so obviously being played, but judging by his softening expression he was utterly clueless.
“You should’ve talked to me about it. Before doing something like . . . this.” Gerard’s eyes darted over to Frank.
“I should’ve.” Mikey knew his game well, Frank had to give him that. He sipped his tea slowly as he watched the scene with the tiniest bit of amusement blooming in his stomach. Life, lemons, make lemonade, all that shit. He could at least have a laugh here, right?
Gerard nodded, satisfied. If this was what arguments between them looked like, Frank couldn’t wait to witness a full on fight. "Because, you know, I got a boyfriend and all," Gerard added, sounding petulant. "And even if I hadn't, I'm totally capable of finding a partner. I don't need you to order me people."
Way to make Frank feel appreciated and welcome. Seriously.
“Well, awesome, glad you guys talked that one out,” Ray chimed in. “That still doesn’t solve, you know.”
All of a sudden everyone was looking at Frank. He shifted uncomfortably and pressed his back into the couch. The damn thing refused to swallow him up.
Gerard scratched his head. “We could buy you a plane ticket back?” he suggested, sounding hopeful. Yep, Frank definitely felt appreciated. He shook his head, but before he could reply Ray was talking again.
“No, I don’t think that’ll work. I fucking told Mikey we have a lot of trouble with cases like this at work. Like, most of the time people can’t go back 'cause they’ll just get . . . sold off again.” Ray avoided looking at Frank, but didn’t manage to blank over his guilty expression. “It’s all pretty organized, so the higher up people will just see him coming back as a way to make more money. Right, Frank?”
Frank rewarded Ray with a glare over the rim of his mug before he shrugged, then nodded. Why should he say something when Mister-Know-It-All had given them the complete summary?
Ray’s description was accurate enough and earlier he had talked to these policemen and . . . Oh. Frank choked on his tea. Ray was a fucking policeman. Frank was so, so screwed. Granted, he had been nice so far, but generally the police were never nice. You did everything you could to avoid them in San Luca and Frank’s instincts told him to get out of here. Right.Now. A louder voice in his brain pointed out that it was fucking freezing outside. He might as well stay for a little bit. Just to warm up. The damage was done already, so as long as he was careful around Ray things were going to be just fine, right?
“Oh. So . . . you can’t go home?” Gerard looked so guilty that Frank started to feel bad for him. Which was totally wrong. Everybody should feel bad for Frank, including Frank. He shouldn’t feel bad for anyone else.
“No. Not for a few months.” Frank shrugged. He came from a small town; there was no going back without everybody knowing. Without the wrong people knowing, which would make it impossible to get a job.
“Well I guess, I mean, you could stay here then?” Gerard suggested. “On a totally platonic level and all!” he added hastily. “But I guess we could . . . work it out?”
Frank was starting to feel like his major contribution to this conversation was shrugging. What else was there to say?
“I guess.”
~
Frank felt like his head had been stuffed into a mutant cotton ball. It was a feeling he was painfully familiar with. A quick check confirmed what Frank subconsciously already knew: it was that time again. Sick time.
While Frank slept Wolverine had had a go at this throat, and just for the fun of it he’d stuffed cotton right up Frank’s nose too. Swallowing felt like shoving a sword down his throat and he couldn’t breathe. When he’d gone to sleep last night after Ray and Mikey had left there had already been the telltale tickle in the back of his throat. Frank had ignored it in hopes of it being gone by morning. He should’ve known better.
Frank winced and curled up into a ball. The springs of Gerard’s ratty couch were digging into his side and he was sweating, but he knew that if he threw the blanket off he’d be shivering in a matter of seconds. He was completely miserable and the worst thing about it was that Frank knew that this was just the beginning. It was going to get worse before it got better.
The fucking universe really had it in for him. It wasn't enough that he was sent away from home, no. He was staying with a guy who didn’t like him and was friends with a cop. He had no job, no money, no means and no prospects. Obviously the first thing to do in such a situation was to get sick.
Frank’s tongue felt swollen in his mouth and his throat was dryer than the Sahara. He really, really wanted tea. Or water. Anything liquid. Frank felt like his head was going to explode though if he moved, so acquiring any of the above in the near future seemed near impossible.
For a while Frank stayed curled up on the couch, breathing through his mouth and willing the miserable feeling to pass. It didn't and eventually he peeled his eyes open with a groan. Light was streaming in through the windows already, so at least it wasn’t the middle of the night. Gerard had to get up soon. Slightly comforted by that thought Frank closed his eyes again and waited for time to pass.
He didn’t fall asleep, but he started to drift after a few minutes, caught between sleep and wakefulness in that strange place where reality and imagination merged and you couldn’t exactly say what was real and what was just a projection of the mind.
Frank had no idea how much later it was - it could’ve been hours or it could’ve been minutes - when he heard a door open and footsteps down the hallway. Another door, then silence, then the sound of a toilet flushing. The door again, footsteps slowly walking in his direction. Frank uncurled and forced his eyes open. He couldn’t see Gerard over the back of the couch, but he could hear him in the kitchen, trying to be quiet and failing.
“Gerard?” Frank croaked and fuck, speaking hurt even more than swallowing. There was the sound of dishes clattering, eliciting another wince. Frank’s head was in serious danger of exploding.
“Frank, hey, good morning. Sleep all right?”
Frank pushed himself up so he could look over the back of the couch. Gerard was standing at the kitchen counter, looking over in Frank’s direction with the tiniest bit of dread etched into his features. His hair was sleep-mussed and all over the place, and for a second Frank thought that it looked like a red halo. Maybe people in hell did have halos, and they were just red instead of gold.
“Mh,” he hummed, swallowing hard. “Could you make me a cup of tea?”
“I . . . Sure. You okay?” Gerard frowned and took a step closer. “You don’t look too good. Jetlag?”
“No.” Frank shook his head. “Just a cold,” he mumbled, not wanting to scare Gerard by telling him all about his killer germs.
Gerard looked like he wanted to say something else, but in the end he just turned around and a few seconds later Frank heard the kettle clicking on. Fuck yes. He sagged back into his pillow-and-blanket nest and closed his eyes. If the universe or God or aliens wanted to punish him for all the bad things he’d done in life so far, now would be the perfect moment to smite him. Smote him? Whatever. As long as something put him out of his misery Frank was down with it.
A mug clanking against the wooden surface of the table caused Frank to open his eyes. He stared at the chipped, blue mug and wished that it would grow wings, or develop magic powers and fly over to him, so he wouldn’t have to move.
“Thank you,” he croaked and heaved himself into a somewhat upright position. Gerard hovered at the edge of his vision but Frank ignored him, focused on the task of leaning forward and wrapping his hand around the mug without toppling over.
“Do you want something else? I think I have some Tylenol? That might help?”
Frank nodded. What he really needed was a doctor and antibiotics, but it wasn't like he could be picky. He'd have to take whatever was available. At home it had been easy. No matter what people thought, the Family took care of you. Unless you pissed them off and they sent you to America to go live with a random dude who had bought you online. Or, whose brother had bought you online for idiotic reasons.
Gerard went back to the kitchen and Frank took a sip of tea. It was strong and hot, slightly bitter. It was all wrong. His mother always put honey in his tea when he was sick. Frank sniffled and forced himself to sip it slowly anyway.
Frank felt like crying. It was ridiculous, he was a grown man and he was fucking tough. He didn’t cry. Except for how he was horribly far from home, from everything he knew, in a country where he wasn’t wanted and didn’t have a single friend. He was miserably sick and he didn’t care how much of a stereotype it made him, he wanted his mama.
Frank sniffed, then pursed his lips in disgust at the feeling of mucus in the back of his throat. He needed tissues. Lots of tissues. As if being sick and feeling like he’d been hit by a truck wasn't enough, no, it also always came with a lot of disgusting snot as the cherry on top.
“Here, I’ve only got a couple of those left, but I can go buy some more?” Gerard held out an orange pill bottle.
“Thanks.” Frank took the offered bottle and popped the cap open. “Do you have tissues?” he asked. He felt bad about it because he still wasn’t sure if he could even stay here and the last thing he wanted to do was give Gerard more reasons to send him away. It wasn’t that Frank was particularly attached to him, but a roof over his head and a ratty couch to sleep on were better than the streets.
“No,” Gerard replied slowly, scratching his head and squinting. “I’ve got toilet paper?”
“That’ll do,” Frank sighed before he popped two of the pills into his mouth and washed them down with tea. The mug was almost empty and Frank stared sorrowfully at it for a second. When he looked up again, Gerard was still standing there, looking like he’d rolled out of bed about five seconds ago. Frank looked back up at him for almost a minute before Gerard snapped out of it.
“I got work to do today and stuff, will you be all right on your own?”
Frank did the shrug-nod thing he was becoming really good at it. What was he supposed to say? ‘No, stay with me and put on a nurse uniform’?
“Kay. I’ll see you later, Frankie.”
~
The day didn't get better from there. Frank eventually forced his sore body to get up and shuffled his way to the bathroom. He was dizzy and unsteady on his feet; he had to actually sit down to take a piss. Afterwards he splashed cold water onto his face, which made him shiver but felt equally heavenly against his feverish skin. His eyes were burning.
Remembering Gerard’s poor suggestion for tissue substitutes Frank grabbed one of the rolls of toilet paper. After he’d blown his nose for ages he took the rest of it with him.
Frank wasn’t sure when he’d have the energy to get up again, so on the way back from the bathroom he stopped in the kitchen and put the kettle on. Gerard had left the pack of teabags out and Frank opened a couple of cupboards while he waited for the water to boil in a futile search for honey. Just tea would have to do then.
By the time he was back under the blankets his heart was pumping forcefully in his chest, his hands were shaking and he was exhausted. The tea he’d just made went cold as Frank fell into an exhausted sleep, lips slightly parted.
When Frank woke up again it was with the unsettling feeling of being watched. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he swallowed against the tightness in his throat. He slowly blinked his eyes open and waited for the blobs of colour to turn into actual shapes. In this case they took on the shape of Mikey, staring at him. Frank stared back. Then he sneezed.
Mikey handed him the roll of toilet paper and Frank took ages blowing his nose again. Afterwards he still couldn’t breathe and sat there with his mouth open, like some stupid fish.
“Where’s Gee?”
“Work,” Frank replied, voice thick and raspy. He had no idea where Gerard worked or what he did and, frankly, he didn’t care.
Mikey pursed his lips and made a displeased sound, glancing down at the display of his iPhone before he eyed Frank again.
“Flu?”
Shrug-nod. Damn, Frank had that one down to an art form by now.
“Kay.” Mikey got up from where he’d been crouching in front of the couch and left. Frank blinked at the empty spot in front of him. He’d expected a lot, but not this. Either all Americans had no manners, or the Way brothers in particular didn’t. Frank grunted and pulled the blanket up to his chin. His eyelids were heavy and he gave into the pull of sleep.
~
“-and I didn’t know it was this bad.”
“Did you try to find out how bad it was?”
Frank grumbled and pressed his face into the pillow. He didn’t want to wake up. Waking up meant dealing with the failure that was his body. But the voices kept penetrating his consciousness and Frank just wanted them to shut the fuck up.
“Well, no. I mean, I guess I should’ve.”
“Did you have coffee before you talked to him?”
“No. . .”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Someone sighed and then there was the loud, crinkling sound of plastic bags.
Frank groaned and rolled over. Really, he just wanted to go back to sleep. Hibernate until he was healthy again. Eventually everything faded into background noise and he drifted off again.
The next time Frank woke up it was to the sound of the TV in the background, something that sounded suspiciously like cartoons. Frank shifted and pulled a face when his cheek came to rest on a wet patch on the pillow. Great, he’d been drooling in his sleep.
Frank lifted his head, nose scrunched up in disgust. There was a lot less light this time, so he assumed that he had slept through a big portion of the day. The TV was on and the colourful images moving too fast on screen made Frank’s eyes hurt. Looking away he found Mikey slouched in a chair, watching the TV through half-lidded eyes. Frank opened his mouth, but before he could say anything he started coughing. By the time the fit was over, Frank’s chest hurt, his throat felt like it was nothing but open, raw flesh and Mikey was crouched in front of the couch with that unreadable expression of his. He held out a glass of water and Frank felt a little bit like hugging him.
“Thanks,” he croaked after he’d taken a few, careful sips (experience had taught him that drinking too fast when he was sick was only going to make him throw up).
Mikey nodded and took the glass back, putting it on the table for Frank. The table that was now littered with little boxes and bottles. “I bought medicine.”
In Mikey terms this apparently meant ‘I got everything the pharmacy had to offer’.
“I wasn’t sure what you needed,” Mikey added with a slight lift of his shoulders.
“Something strong,” Frank mumbled, causing Mikey’s lips to twitch into a tiny smile.
He turned and started to sort through all the medicine strewn around the table and then piled several brightly coloured packs on Frank’s legs.
“Those are all for, like, the flu and cold and stuff. And, I’ve got, like, three different kinds of cough syrup because apparently you need a specific one depending on what kind of cough it is.” Mikey seemed rather bewildered by this concept. “And decongestant.”
Frank wanted to cry. And kiss Mikey. Except for how he’d be spreading his mutant germs, and Mikey really didn’t deserve that.
“Grazie,” he croaked, looking through the different medicines and squinting at ingredients until he found things that sounded vaguely familiar to what his doctor at home would’ve given him.
“You should’ve told Gerard that you needed stuff.”
Frank washed the pills down with water before he shrugged. “It’s all right.” Frank hadn’t wanted to be a bother, not when he was on such unstable ground.
“He’s a bit oblivious at times,” Mikey continued, waving his hand slightly as if that was going to explain the very essence of Gerard. It kind of did.
“Si, I can see this.”
With a sigh Frank tried to get comfortable again, the pills taking effect and easing the worst of his symptoms and soon sending him back to sleep.
Part II