The Light from Our Bodies Precedes Us (NASAverse), Part 2
The Light from Our Bodies Precedes Us
by fleurdeliser and mxtape
Frank/Gerard
~18,100 words
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. These characters are based on people of the same name, but that's pretty much where reality ends here.
Warnings: Everything we know about NASA came from the internets, and some of it is probably wrong.
Notes: Written for periodbandom.
Part 1
Part 2
NASAverse Mix
Gerard stares after Frank for several moments as he disappears over the dune, shocked into silence, then bites his lip sharply and turns away from Mikey's still figure, toward the water. He pulls his knees up to his chest, hugging his arms around them, jaw clenched.
Mikey toes off his shoes and crouches down in the sand, joining him silently. "I fucked up, huh?" he says tonelessly after a moment. "Sorry. I just got worried after awhile."
Gerard takes a deep, shaky breath and admits, "It's not your fault. This probably would've happened anyway. Even if you hadn't come." He leans against his brother and they sit staring at the waves for a few minutes before Mikey gets up, pulling Gerard with him.
"C'mon. Let's go tell Bob and Ray and Wentz goodbye and go home."
Gerard nods in agreement and rubs his hands over his face. He runs the heel of his hand under his eye and then glances back over at the place where his and Frank's shoes are sitting, a few yards away. Sighing, he trudges over and scoops them up, Frank's socks still tucked neatly inside his sneakers where Gerard left them an hour ago. "Right, well," he says uselessly. "I guess he'll want these back."
Mikey makes a comforting noise, but doesn't touch Gerard, hangs back a little.
"Yeah, let's head out," Gerard says, nodding a few times, fingers tracing over the stitching.
They turn and slowly make their way back up through the scrubby beach grass, up into Wentz's backyard. Gerard pastes a smile on his face and when Bob and Ray ask where Frank is, he smoothly answers that Frank had started feeling really sick, so he'd gone home. Mikey makes up a story about how they have to get up early the next morning so their landlord can change a lock, and then they finally, finally say their goodbyes and get in the car.
Gerard puts Frank's shoes on the floor and slumps down in the seat, closing his eyes. All he wants to do is crawl into bed, but he doubts he'll be able to sleep. His throat feels tight and he keeps replaying it in his mind--the moment when Frank wanted him--because he's got a heavy feeling that it was the only time, that Frank's guard was down and he'll never let Gerard see him like that again. He slides his head downward against the car window as Mikey speeds around the curves of the shore, back into town, and nudges the worn sneakers on the floor sadly. He guesses he'll see what's what on Monday when he goes to return them.
When they get home, Gerard goes straight to his room and tries to fall sleep, but he just keeps tossing and turning, so eventually he sits up in bed, grabs his sketchbook off the bedside table, and draws until he passes out, just as the sky is turning gray.
He wakes up with his cheek pressed to his open sketchbook. There's probably graphite all over his face, but he doesn't really care. He stumbles to the kitchen and sets the coffee percolating, sinking into a chair at the table and resting his head on his elbow. He closes his eyes and listens to the coffee bubble and hiss and takes deep breaths.
It's the thought that he was just getting to know Frank, the real Frank, that makes him so sad. Frank's got this shell that hides everything he cares about and why and how he came to be that way, and charming as it is, Gerard needs to get back underneath it, to see that light and passion across Frank's face again. It was beautiful. He can't think of a better word. Now that he knows it's there, he feels sick at the thought of never seeing it again. He really hadn't meant to let himself care this deeply, but it was impossible not to last night and he can't imagine ever forgetting it.
Mikey comes into the kitchen just as the coffee is finishing up. He seems to have a sixth sense that tells him when coffee is ready to be consumed. It's kind of freaky how many times he's walked into the house after being out for hours, just as there's a pot of coffee percolating on the stove.
He pats Gerard on the shoulder, then makes his way over to the cupboard, pulling two mugs out and pouring coffee into each. He sets one in front of Gerard and sits across from him. They drink their coffee in silence for a few minutes until Gerard says, "I think I'm gonna go to the park. Fresh air might be nice."
"You have pencil all over your face," Mikey informs him. "You might want to wash it before you go out. Otherwise you'll get accused of being a bum and taken down to the police station and I'll have to bail you out. Again."
Gerard's lips crook into a half smile. "I'll wash my face before I go. Promise."
Once he's managed a scrub at the offending graphite and a slapdash shave, it's nearing noon, and he calls to Mikey that he'll bring back sandwiches from the deli they like on his way home. Mikey makes appreciative noises from the couch, where he's sprawled on the phone with Alicia, who, he informs Gerard, says hi and feel better. Gerard smiles slightly and grabs his wallet from the table by the front door.
It's quiet on the street, just before all the church services let out, and Gerard is glad for the time alone. Sometimes it's hard to think inside and he needs a good long walk to sort out what's going on in his head. The park five blocks over is a pretty good place for this, with the tree-lined boulevard that winds through it and back around the other side.
When Gerard reaches the park, he walks along the boulevard, taking in the trees. He feels a vague itching in his fingers, wanting to draw what he's seeing, but he didn't bring his sketchbook with him and he probably wouldn't be able to concentrate on it, anyway. Eventually, he finds a bench hidden in a little corner just off the boulevard, near a duck pond, and sits down with a sigh.
For once, the humidity isn't stifling and there's a nice breeze blowing. There's the barest hint of fall in the air and Gerard takes a deep breath and just sits quietly for a few minutes. He can hear children shrieking and laughing in the distance and there's a dog barking. Actually, the barking is getting closer and it makes him smile. Maybe he can convince Mikey that he needs a dog with a sad, sad tale of woe and heartbreak. It'd even be true.
Gerard watches for the dog, even though he's far enough off the boulevard that he probably won't see it go by. After a moment, though, around the corner bounds a bundle of excited spaniel who darts right up to Gerard and begs for attention, scuffling at his shins. Gerard reaches out, smiling and leaning over to ruffle the dog's ears and stroke down its back. He gets a lick up the cheek for his trouble and he can't help the laugh that escapes him.
"Hey, there," he enthuses, scruffing up around the dog's neck roughly and coming up with a shower of fur.
"Nikola!" a voice calls around the corner, followed by a sharp whistle, and the dog's ears perk up, tags jangling as it trots in a circle, torn between obeying its owner and the promise of a good scritching about the collar. Gerard leans forward, elbows on his knees, and offers his palm forward for licking. Nikola sniffs it briefly, then, intrigued by whatever remains of coffee and shaving cream there may be, snuffles and licks industriously. Gerard watches with a fond smile, chin in his other hand, until the sound of footsteps stops dead to the left of the bench.
"Sorry," he says, smiling amusedly and glancing up, "I--"
Frank is standing there frozen, a funny, almost pained look on his face, leash wound around one wrist. "Nikola," he calls again after a silent moment, then more sharply, "Nikola!"
Gerard gives Nikola one last pat, then says, "Go on. You've got a walk to finish."
Nikola gives a happy little yip and trots up to Frank, who promptly clips the leash back on. He starts to walk away, stops for a split second, back tense, and then grips the leash tightly and keeps going.
Gerard looks over at the pond. He hunches forward, elbows on his knees, forehead in his hands.
"Look," says Frank, when Gerard steps into his office on Monday morning, "can you just--not be everywhere?"
Gerard glances out into the hallway and then, with a bit of reluctance, closes the door softly behind them. He doesn't want to be overheard, but at the same time, crowding into Frank's small office is... stressful. "I brought your shoes," he shrugs apologetically, laying them on the desk. "And your socks," he adds, when the silence stretches.
Frank is behind his desk, half-standing awkwardly, like he doesn't know if he wants to go up or down. "Thanks," he finally says shortly, eyes darting over the sneakers like he almost doesn't recognize them. "Did you need anything else?"
Gerard huffs out a frustrated breath. "I guess I just... wanted to know what happened, there. With you, on Saturday."
Frank stares at him blankly, barely visible tenseness around his eyes. "Nothing happened on Saturday," he replies firmly.
"Frank," Gerard says quietly, moving closer to the desk, fingers tapping on the toes of the shoes.
Frank sags. "I need you to--to just forget about it, okay?" he begs, then purses his lips in a tight line and straightens up. "This is not something I'm willing to do. I'm not going to, so just don't try. If that's why you were hanging around all this time, then--then you can stop. I'm not interested."
"Frank, I liked you as a person long before I liked you as anything more than that," Gerard murmurs. "I--you're a friend, Frank."
Frank looks down at his desk very steadily for long minutes, then he nods and says, "Okay, that's--that's good, then. That's fine. Because I'm not going to--to risk my job--risk everything I ever wanted to do, just for, you know. Something that's really just friendship with, um, benefits."
Gerard stares. "It's not like that, either," he tries to explain, scruffing a hand through his hair exasperatedly. "It's--I care about you, Frank. I don't know what you feel for me--if it's anything--and I get that it's a risk, I do. It is for me, too, but I'm here, and... and I'm sorry. I--you said you wanted me to stop."
Letting go of the edge of Frank's desk, he turns abruptly around, opens the door, and walks quickly back to his own office. He closes the door firmly and leans against it, head thumping against the wood.
"So I take it things didn't go well?"
Gerard jumps. "Shit, Mikey, what the hell?"
Mikey sighs long-sufferingly and folds his arms across his chest, legs curled under him in Gerard's desk chair.
Gerard sinks into his guest chair across from Mikey and shakes his head, slouching down so it rests on the back of the chair. "No, I think it's safe to say it didn't go well at all."
Mikey taps one of Gerard's drafting pencils against his blotter in random Morse code patterns they used to use when they were kids stuck in Sunday school. "Listen," he offers after a little while, "maybe I could say something to him."
Gerard grimaces in horror. "Don't you dare," he warns. "He'd never speak to me again if you did something that fucking stupid, you idiot."
Mikey holds up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. Jesus," he says. "I like him, though. He's a good guy."
Gerard rolls his head to the right and gives Mikey an amused look. "You do a good job of showing your fondness, really."
"Hey," Mikey defends, "I'm not the one who's all... tied up about him! I'm just saying, I think you guys would be, y'know..." he shrugs a little awkwardly, "good."
"Yeah," Gerard agrees, staring up at the acoustic ceiling tile. "Me, too. Fuck."
"So, how about you bring your stupid notebook downstairs and we drink coffee and pretend like we're kids again doing our studying together," Mikey offers with a slight smile.
"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I don't think... I should make myself scarce for the rest of the day. Maybe it'll do us both some good." Gerard heaves a heavy sigh and sits up, rolling his head back and forth a couple of times for the crick in his neck.
Mikey shrugs, mouth quirking down at the corners like it does when he's concerned and doesn't want to show it. "Whatever you think," is all he says, though.
Gerard pushes on the arms of the chair and stands up. He grabs his notes and gestures for Mikey get up. "C'mon, then. Let's go get some work done."
By 2:00 AM on Wednesday morning, Frank has spent the past four hours tossing and turning. Down by the foot of his bed, Nikola whines as Frank's feet shift yet again, and he props himself up against his pillows, reaching down to pet distractedly at Nikola's head. He sits there, lost in thought, while Nikola whuffles and rearranges himself at Frank's knee, snuffling comfortingly in his ear when Frank gives in and leans forward for a cuddle. There's little else to do as his clock radio clicks inexorably on and on.
By 2:30, he decides to just go to the office, where he might actually be able to accomplish something. The guard, Jeremy--whom everyone calls Worm, for reasons Frank has yet to discover--recently switched from the day shift and Frank feels a little cheered at seeing a familiar face. They chat for a few minutes amiably in the entryway and Worm mentions that Frank's not the only engineer in tonight.
Frank's brow furrows. He's relatively certain that he's the only one with any kind of pressing project, and the deadline for that is still weeks away. "Oh? Who?"
"New guy. Weird. Crazy hair." Worm gestures illustratively.
"Dr. Way?" Frank asks.
"Him, yeah! Asked me to call him Gerard. Nice fellow. Weird, but nice."
Frank nods absently and says goodnight, wandering off toward the bank of elevators.
Up on the fourth floor, he finds himself drifting toward the Robotics wing. The closer Frank gets, the stealthier he tries to be, until he's completely silent, peering through the doorway to Gerard's office. He realizes after a moment, though, that he probably could've been as loud as he wanted, because Gerard is completely engrossed in what he's doing, bent over his desk.
Frank's never seen Gerard like this before, never dropped by to catch him at work. He's got books and note cards and paper scattered all around him, his slide rule in front of him, and he's taking notes and muttering to himself. "No, that won't work... dammit... where did I put the--" Every once in a while he gets up and paces to the wall to scribble something on his chalkboard or erase another thing and add more to another part. It's fascinating.
Frank watches him for a while and then creeps away just as quietly as he came and goes straight back home. He crawls in between his cold sheets and falls right to sleep. Two hours later, his alarm goes off and he stumbles into work, feeling like hell, and makes a bee-line to the lounge for coffee.
He finds Gerard there, stirring an ungodly amount of sugar and cream into his mug. Franks stares for a moment, then blurts, "You're killing it."
"What?" Gerard looks up, then down again, hiding his expression for a moment. "The coffee? No, I'm just giving it a little extra oomph. I didn't sleep last night, I need all the oomph I can get," he counters, glancing up finally, remarkably bright-eyed for not having slept.
"D'you want a cup?" Gerard offers, gesturing with the carafe, and some coffee spills on the table. "Damn!" he exclaims, pulling a hanky from his pocket to wipe at the mess, carafe still in hand, spilling a little more with every swipe.
Maybe it's the early hour and the fact that he's more asleep than awake, but Frank can't help the small giggle that escapes him as he takes the carafe from Gerard's hand and sets it back on the burner. He pats around his pockets for his own hanky and then joins in the rescue effort.
Gerard grins at him and Frank finds himself beginning to smile back when a throat clears behind them. Frank jumps about a mile and whirls around to find Wentz staring in amusement.
"Nice to see you two getting along," he comments with a smirk, reaching for the carafe and hefting it in a salute to Gerard.
Frank takes several steps away instinctively, needing to get some distance between him and Gerard. "We weren't--" he starts defensively, then realizes how that'll sound. "We get along fine," he amends, casting a nervous glance at Gerard, who's watching him with a thoughtful expression.
"Dr. Iero is very professional," Gerard nods in agreement. "It's not his fault I'm an irresponsible wretch." He turns to Wentz with a self-deprecating smile. "Careful with that coffee; I make it strong enough to fuel those rockets out there."
Wentz snorts a laugh and Frank grabs the carafe, fills his mug quickly, and makes his escape while Gerard's distracted by Wentz's complaints about his secretary Greta and her strict policy of making him get his own coffee.
He walks down the hallway, listening to Gerard's voice as he informs Wentz that Greta is clearly a smart girl and that he's glad she realizes she doesn't have to get coffee for anybody but herself, let alone a bunch of rocket scientists who should be able to do it themselves.
It's Thursday, late in the afternoon, when Frank ducks into the men's room to avoid Mikey coming down the hall. He's probably coming to bug Gerard or bring him coffee or something, and Frank just... doesn't want to have to talk to him, even in passing. Mikey saw what happened on the beach and Frank's trying not to think about that and sort of succeeding. During the day. While he's buried in calculations and specs. He can't talk to Mikey, is the bottom line, and as soon as he spies that lanky lope coming around the corner, he shoulders through the bathroom door and paces the white tiles for thirty seconds or so, waiting for the footsteps to pass. Instead, the door swings open and Mikey ambles in, glances at Frank briefly, and then ducks down, craning his neck to check under the stall doors before rising and leaning against the sinks.
"Hey," he says, nodding.
"Um--hi, Mikey." Frank stares at the door over Mikey's shoulder, wishing he could magically transport himself to the other side.
"So, here's the thing, you should know that Gerard will probably kill me when he finds out I did this. I kind of promised him I wouldn't. But some promises need to be broken." Mikey's voice carries more conviction than Frank's ever heard from him. "So you can't be mad at him for this, okay? This is all me."
Frank glances away and nods, eyes wide in the mirror above the sinks. "Sure, okay," he promises worriedly. "What is it?"
Mikey pins him with a look, crossing his arms. "Frank. Don't even try that. Gerard lets you play dumb because he's just that gone about you, but I'm not." He takes a breath, then adds, less stridently, "I do think you're a good guy, though, and that's why I'm still talking to you at all, considering how fucking miserable you're making my brother. He doesn't need that shit. He deserves better than that."
Frank forces himself to look Mikey in the eye. If they're going to have this conversation, he may as well do it right. He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. "I don't know what you want me to do. I--the government pays our salaries. I've worked too hard to get here to lose this."
"And, what, you think Gerard hasn't? Or you just think he doesn't care," Mikey asserts, raising his eyebrows.
"No, I--" Frank thinks of yesterday, when he saw Gerard working through the night on his project. Thinks even more of their conversation on the beach, how passionate and visionary Gerard is, really. "I know that. I do. It's--he's different, though. He's not scared of losing it--it wouldn't be the end for him, if he did. This job--this is all I have. I can't lose it." Frank falls silent, picking awkwardly at the fraying cuff of his shirt. He can't believe he just admitted that.
Mikey stares at him, tilting his head, and says, surprisingly gently, "It's the only thing you have because it's the only thing you've worked for, taken risks for. Frank... everything is like that. Relationships are like that. You just have to try."
"I--if it were that simple, that'd be great, but do you have any idea how terrified I've been since--hell, since that night at Alfonzo's?" Frank drops his eyes and fidgets with his cuffs. "Even though I knew the only person he'd tell was you, I still had a moment of panic every goddamn time Wentz asked to speak with me. What if that was it--the end?" Frank looks back up at Mikey, who seems completely confused.
"Alfonzo's? What are you talking about? You saw each other at Alfonzo's?" Mikey asks.
Frank blinks, momentarily set back. "Uh, yeah? That night you sent him there? Did--he didn't tell you that?"
Mikey's nose wrinkles and he shakes his head. "Why would he?"
"I--I don't know. I just figured... since you knew about him... and me..." Frank trails off, a bit lost.
Mikey laughs, then glances back at the door, which remains closed, the hallway silent. "I knew about you a long time ago, kid," he says. "Growing up with Gerard fine-tunes the senses."
Frank glances swiftly down, away. He really doesn't want to think about that, about people knowing just from looking at him. "He really didn't tell you? I mean, I asked him not to tell anyone, but I just figured he'd tell you," he asks, still incredulous.
"No, he didn't even hint. He knows how to be discreet, Frank. He may not like the fact that he has to be and he'll never hide anything in a place he feels safe, but he also knows exactly what happens when you get caught." Mikey's tone implies knowledge that's more than just second-hand.
"Did--did he get caught?" Frank's afraid of the answer.
"No. But a couple of his friends did. He knows what's at stake, Frank," Mikey insists.
Frank nods, biting the inside of his cheek to try to stem the fear in his throat at just the thought.
Mikey exhales and taps his fingers on the counter for a bit. "So, listen," he picks up again, "you should at least give him the courtesy of talking to him. It's really shitty to just keep shutting him out, when you say you want to be his friend."
Frank shrugs, but really he's known that all along, part of the guilt eating at him.
"I'm gonna tell him to be at Alfonzo's tomorrow night at nine, and if you stand him up, I'm gonna--fucking sabotage your next draft or something, I don't know," Mikey says fiercely. "So be there."
Frank glares at Mikey. "You don't have to threaten me. I'll be there. I--you're right. I've been--I haven't been fair to him."
Mikey nods, placated. "He's my brother, Frank. I've stood by and watched him get his heart broken and see his friends get their chance at happiness--hell, see me get my chance, and I can't just stand back and watch that anymore. He deserves something good, too. And so do you."
Frank glances away awkwardly. It's--Gerard deserves someone, he does, but he's not so sure about the other thing. "Yeah, okay," he agrees quietly anyway.
Mikey pushes off the counter and turns toward the door, repeats, "Nine o'clock," and then shoulders his way out.
Frank runs a hand over his hair and down his face. He leans over, turns on a faucet and cups his hands under the stream, and gulps down a couple swallows of water. He turns off the water and puts his hands on the sink, leans on them, staring at himself in the mirror for a moment, then straightens and walks back to his office, shutting and locking the door behind him. He needs to think.
Frank's fingers seem to have become one with his steering wheel. He knows he's doing the right thing, but he's never felt more nervous about anything in his life. He glances across the street at the bar, the windows painted over in chipped black and the non-descript entrance. It's not a place he feels happy going to, no matter what brings him, but tonight is especially bad. He thinks briefly about what his mother would think if she saw him here, idling outside a place like this on a trash-strewn street, and lets go of the steering wheel, fumbling for his pack of cigarettes. He flicks his Zippo unsteadily, and then there's a short moment of silence in his mind while the nicotine soothes him out a little. It doesn't bear thinking about, he decides, because it's not her business and she'll never find out.
After a few more deep drags, he turns off the engine, cutting the radio off mid-verse, and reaches for the door latch. He climbs out of the car and shuts the door, leaning against it while he finishes off his cigarette. Then he takes a deep breath, makes his way across the street, and enters the bar.
Frank orders his gin and tonic and then turns, looking around for Gerard, and spots him at a small round table in the far corner of the room. He's got a drink in his hands, and he's staring into space, and even in the dim light of the bar Frank can see that Gerard looks exhausted. Frank feels a wave of guilt pass over him. He takes one last deep breath, a sip of his drink, and then walks over, pulls out the chair across from Gerard, and sits down.
Gerard looks up, smiles wanly, and says, "Mikey got you over here, huh? What'd he do, threaten to stomp your slide rule?"
Frank flinches, eyes skittering away from the self-deprecating expression on Gerard's face. "No! No, he--I came because... because look," Frank's head clears a little, along with his tone, "I owe you an apology."
Gerard's nose scrunches and he thumbs some moisture off his glass idly. "No you don't," he says. "I get that this isn't what you're looking for, and that's fine." He huffs a laugh, eyes painfully honest when they meet Frank's. "It is what I'm looking for... hoping for... and I won't lie and say I don't wish you were, too, but... I respect your choices, Frank." He gestures around the bar expansively, at the patrons chatting and dancing and sneaking out of the bathroom. "We all have to make hard choices, given circumstances."
Frank's throat feels stuck shut, like there's a lump blocking his airway, and he clears it several times before taking a sip of his drink. "That's what I need to talk to you about," he finally manages. His heart must be going triple time, judging by how shaky he feels. "It's not that I don't want that, Gerard. That's not--I just never thought it was an option. You know? And I don't know how to... I've never... how this feels..." he trails off helplessly.
Gerard's eyes look, if anything, even sadder. He takes a drink and licks his lips thoughtfully, nodding. "Yeah, I get that. I do." He reaches over and tentatively squeezes Frank's hand, sending a spark of relief through him, then pulls away and continues, "So I guess the question is, is your choice still the same, then."
Frank's hand itches to touch Gerard's again, but it's all the way on the other side of the table and he doesn't know what his answer is and can't just do that to Gerard. He sort of wants to cry, and that is so humiliating. Instead, he takes another drink and a moment to compose himself. Finally he admits, "I'm--I'm willing to consider it. I want to consider it. It's--a big choice and I want to be fair to you. You deserve someone who's fair to you."
Gerard looks at him, eyes troubled and earnest, and says, "Don't do this for me. I want to try this, but you need to do it for you, if it's what you want to have. If it's worth the risk. Because we might make it or we might get caught."
Frank's stomach swoops and his breath catches because that is his exact fear, and it's so frightening to think of losing everything to just have this one thing.
Gerard watches him for a moment, and then gets up from his chair and kisses Frank gently on the cheek. "Let me know," he concludes softly, and then turns and walks out of the bar.
Frank blinks, stunned by how intensely he feels the loss of Gerard's presence, warm and comforting, near him. It aches a little, echoes of shock pulsing in his chest. He breathes out and then in and then out, in, out.
He sits there for nearly an hour, nursing his drink and thinking about everything he's worked for since he was a geeky, space-obsessed teenager, wondering how he's seriously considering jeopardizing all that. He is, though; Gerard is under his skin and he feels more inspired with him than he has since he was a little kid, staring up at the sky through the telescope in his bedroom window.
He looks around at the couples dancing--how happy they look just to have this small space together, no matter how tenuous and fragile and temporary it is. He thinks about how he wanted to be an astronaut when he was a kid, just like he read about in Amazing Stories, before he realized he'd have to settle for engineer instead, and how he wanted that feeling--of just being in space, out there, no matter how fleeting and impossible it seemed at the time.
And then, just like that, he sets down his drink and gets up and walks toward the front door, searching his pockets for coins so he can call Gerard from the phone booth outside. Except Gerard is right there, just out front, smoking a cigarette, leaning against the brick and waiting patiently. When Frank stops in front of him, his expression is tense, like he wasn't sure Frank would come at all, no matter how long he waited there.
Gerard takes a drag and tips his head back to look up at the stars, exhaling a steady stream of smoke.
Frank glances up and down the street, but it's pretty quiet. He follows Gerard's gaze up for a moment, digs his hands into his pockets to keep from grabbing Gerard's arm and says quietly, "C'mon, let's get this show on the road, then, all right?" He shrugs his shoulders in the direction of his car, unsure how to verbalize what he wants.
Gerard's brows draw together in confusion. "What? Show? I..." he trails off, shaking his head. "Frank. I can't..."
Frank's stomach drops; he's messing this up again. "You--I thought you wanted..." he trails off, jingling his keys nervously. Then he breathes out forcefully and looks up again. He wants this. "It's--I'm willing--I want--" he stutters a little, moves in closer so he can whisper it against Gerard's ear. "I want you. This. Come home with me?" His heart is beating so fast; he's never risked anything so huge in his life. This feels like everything, up in the air, no idea what'll happen next. "Please?"
Gerard's hand reaches out and touches Frank's shoulder fleetingly, expression clearing. "Yes. Yes, definitely." He beams at Frank and throws his cigarette to the ground, grinding it underneath his toe to put it out.
To anyone watching, Frank knows, it probably looks like one more clandestine hook-up outside the bar, two men desperate for some small measure of affection and relief. But he knows, as Gerard follows close behind him to the car, that he's not going to let go, not like the times before. He slides into the driver's seat, leans over to pop the passenger side lock, and watches as Gerard slips in.
Gerard glances over at him and smiles, reaches a hand to clasp reassuringly at Frank's knee. Frank breathes, nods, starts up the engine and the radio comes on, warbling late night Sinatra. Gerard hums along and watches Frank, fidgeting occasionally, smiling.
Frank concentrates so hard on just driving--not over-thinking this--that he nearly misses his turn and the wheels protest as he whips the car to the right, pulling up in front of his apartment building. He finally looks over at Gerard, sitting there and smiling at him, face gentle and open, and he wants so badly to just lean in and kiss him again, like the night on the beach. His eyes must give him away because Gerard breathes out sharply and turns away, fumbling open the door and watching from the sidewalk as Frank makes his way around the car, reaching for his keys.
"Your neighbors?" Gerard asks lowly as they mount the front steps.
Frank glances up, but the front windows of the apartment block are all dark. "Should be okay," he murmurs, fitting his key into the lock and letting them into the entryway. "Just--keep it down."
"I think I can manage that," Gerard whispers. He follows Frank up the stairs to the third floor and stands by as Frank tries to get the door to his apartment open.
"Damn thing always sticks," he mutters, exasperated.
Gerard has his hands clasped behind his back, like he's trying hard to maintain that public distance. He's still smiling, though, and when the door finally opens and they get inside, he walks Frank back against the wall of the entryway. "Frankie," he says quietly and reaches out a hand to cup his cheek.
Frank shivers against the touch, pushing with his foot to make sure the door is closed and blindly fumbling with the lock. He reaches for Gerard's waist, settling his trembling fingers against the warm fabric of his oxford shirt and leaning forward, forehead against Gerard's shoulder.
"Bedroom's just down the hall," he manages, walking them backward, face still hidden, breathing in the smoky sandalwood scent. Gerard's arms close around his back, keeping him near, cheek pressed up against Frank's hair. Frank thinks, wildly, as he leads Gerard through the doorway, that he's never brought a man back here before--never dared and never really wanted to--and it's so overwhelming, the sense of rightness and exhilaration when he finally raises his head and meets Gerard's eyes, here.
He leans up, presses his dry lips tentatively to Gerard's, shaking from the gentleness and quietness of the moment. It's not a good kiss--breathy and brief, nearly chaste, lips brushing and parting as Frank's breath stutters--but it sends shocks and tingles through him, nonetheless. They're here.
"Do you--" begins Gerard, warm against Frank's lips, "I don't know what you want."
Frank tightens his grip on Gerard's shirt, opening his eyes. He's not exactly sure, either, here in his dim bedroom, streetlight blocking out the night sky. "What do you want?" he asks.
Gerard sighs. "You," he admits, "I want you. I want you to be happy. I like that."
Frank shivers again, uncontrollably. He's never felt something like this for anyone before and it never ceases to shock him when Gerard says things like that. "Okay," he manages. He slides his palms up Gerard's sides, across his warm chest, over his beating heart, and fingers the top button of his shirt for a moment before pressing his mouth up to Gerard's, catching his lower lip and inadvertently opening up their kiss.
Gerard's palm comes up to cradle the back of Frank's neck and his tongue plays tentatively over the seam of Frank's teeth, teasing at them until Frank understands, manages to unlock his tense jaw and relax into it. It's so intimate, Gerard's tongue in his mouth, their faces tilted into each other, much more so than anything Frank's ever done on any bathroom floor. It makes it hard to breathe, even, and he has to pull away for a brief moment, chest heaving, before he can try again, can remember to breathe through his nose, and that part is hilariously similar, actually. Frank giggles, considering it, and Gerard makes a brief noise in his throat, kissing at Frank's upper lip.
"You okay?" he asks, smoothing Frank's hair back off his face gently.
Frank nods, smiling a little, and remembers his fingers again, still poised at Gerard's throat. "Can we...?" he asks, fiddling with the button, and Gerard presses a kiss to the side of his nose.
"Yes," he answers, and leans his cheek against Frank's, stills as Frank's fingers work their way down his buttons, and then lets go of him for a moment to pull the tail out and toss his shirt over the chair near the door. His undershirt is worn and thin, holey in places near the hems, and Frank stares for a moment before reaching out a few fingers to brush over the white cotton, the pale skin that shows through here and there, the peak of Gerard's left nipple. It's wonderful. He really wants to press himself against all that solid warmth, so he pulls away, fumbling with his own buttons while Gerard's husky laughter whispers through the room.
Gerard helps him, pulling his shirt untucked and starting from the bottom, light touches against Frank's stomach as he works. Their hands meet in the middle briefly, fingers sliding together before Frank drops his shirt at the foot of his bed behind him.
Gerard blinks, sliding his thumb back and forth over the slope of Frank's neck until Frank's skin is buzzing and he almost forgets to feel self-conscious about how scrawny he is. He hitches his shoulders up a little, crossing his arms over his chest and watching cautiously as Gerard steps forward again, fingers trailing down Frank's back and then up, underneath, against his hot skin. Their gazes meet and Frank wishes his glasses didn't make him feel so clumsy, up close like this. Gerard is asking something with his eyes and his hands, swirling small circles over Frank's shoulder blades. Frank slowly relaxes into the soothing touch, lowers his shoulders and raises his arms, allowing Gerard to sweep the undershirt over his head. His hair falls into his eyes, and Frank reaches compulsively to straighten his cowlicks, but Gerard just slides one hand through it, tousling it a bit, murmuring, "It's nice. Don't worry."
Frank nods, rubs a little nervously over his chest, fingertips catching against the chain that hides there, the St Christopher medal his mother gave him when he left for Rutgers at sixteen. Gerard watches the movement, follows it with his fingers, but doesn't touch the medal, just strokes his knuckles over the slopes of Frank's skin.
Frank leans forward, old floorboards creaking underneath his sockfeet, and starts to draw Gerard's undershirt up, inch by inch, watching as each new bit of skin appears. When he gets it up underneath Gerard's armpits, he ducks his head close and traces a kiss in the middle of his chest, palm flat against the thrum of his heartbeat. Gerard raises his arms and pulls the shirt off before stroking one hand lightly up and down Frank's spine and opening his mouth against Frank's, softly pushing in and groaning, fingers fisting against Frank's waistband.
After long moments, Frank breaks away panting, grabs Gerard's shoulders and turns, pressing him down on the foot of the narrow bed before kneeling, fingers scrabbling at Gerard's belt buckle while he licks his flushed lips. Gerard's hips hitch a little, stomach tensing, and then he reaches down, thumb pressing against the arm of Frank's glasses, and asks, "Would you--I want you with me, up here. Is that all right?"
Frank looks up at Gerard's pink cheeks and hopeful eyes, breathing heavily. He can feel underneath his fingers that it's not that Gerard doesn't want him, just, maybe wants him a different way. "Sure," he manages to say, pushing up off the floor and pressing one knee into the bedspread, wondering what he's supposed to do, then. Gerard reaches up, scooting backward, and pulls him into his lap, and Frank's knees settle right up against Gerard's hips. He feels a little strange about it; it seems sort of girly, not something he should be comfortable with, but he tries, because Gerard is smiling at him and urging him closer, tight against his skin and that feels...
Frank slides his arms around Gerard's back, restless with the prickly friction as they move against each other, breathe in each other's ears, overheated. He quickly reaches between them, tugging at their zippers, and Gerard gasps, brings a hand around to help, just pushing haphazardly at the fabric of their trousers until it's enough.
"God," Frank moans, and blushes, and Gerard chokes a laugh.
"Yeah," he agrees, palm tight against the small of Frank's back, other hand braced behind them, leading them backward and down. "Come with me."
Frank nods, shifting away for a painful moment before rearranging his knees, lowering himself after, down on top. He hisses quietly, almost biting into Gerard's shoulder at the sensation, and from the sound Gerard makes, he doesn't seem to mind Frank's teeth there.
Gerard props up one knee, making a space for Frank to get some traction, and Frank pushes up a little, hovering over Gerard, who raises his hand, tracing over Frank's eyebrows wonderingly. "You're here," he says, eyes smiling, tiny dimples in his cheeks that Frank's never seen before.
"I guess," Frank says, and feels dumb. What a thing to say, jeez. He's so single-minded, though, gazing down at Gerard, whose hips are still moving in a tight kind of shimmy that Frank can't really duplicate with his hitches and jerks. He closes his eyes briefly, biting his lip, arms already aching from holding himself up for two minutes. He can hear the clink of the chain against his medal, but he can't feel it, caught and heated between their chests, and he's just as glad. His mother is not something he wants to consider at this moment, not when Gerard's hands are sliding down his back, under his belt, clutching at his ass, making his own breath turn to wet gasps and stuttering moans, "God, I--you--"
When he opens his eyes again, glasses slipping damply down his nose, he can see Gerard, his mouth slack, flushed all the way up his neck and high on his cheeks. "Mmm-hmm," Gerard agrees, tilting his head back, pressing up against Frank so tightly that Frank can feel the sweat being wrung out of him.
The burn in his arms is kind of unbearable but Frank just clenches his fingernails into his palms as this intense jolt moves through him. "Fuck," he strangles out, and Gerard's eyes shoot open, staring at him for a beat and then grinding up against him desperately, like he won't be left behind.
Frank collapses down over him, gasping for breath, arms limp. Gerard stifles a groan against Frank's neck, body tensing, and Frank pets a hand through his pillow-snarled hair, twitching just a little as he feels the pulses against his belly. "Sorry, 'm sorry," he mumbles, glasses sticking to his cheekbone, partly misted over.
"Mmm," Gerard shakes his head, hand heavy on Frank's lower back. "'S good, 's fine."
They lie there panting, touching each other lightly, and Frank drifts for a bit, turning his head on Gerard's shoulder and staring distantly out the window screen, dark and light spots in his eyes. He's not sure if it's in his head or if it's the lights outside, but he doesn't think it matters much, heaving a sigh.
When he comes back to himself, Gerard is out cold, snoring lightly in Frank's hair, and the sweat on Frank's back is cooling, chilling him in the occasional breeze. He's not sure what to think--what do you think about in these situations, he wonders sleepily. Maybe about Gerard, how he feels comfortable and familiar, but also kind of sticky and strange. Maybe about the fuel injection model he needs to work on Sunday night, after he takes Nikola for a run and calls his mother. Maybe about the lights he can see out his window now, the streetlight flickering unreliably, showing him the stars just beyond.
by fleurdeliser and mxtape
Frank/Gerard
~18,100 words
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. These characters are based on people of the same name, but that's pretty much where reality ends here.
Warnings: Everything we know about NASA came from the internets, and some of it is probably wrong.
Notes: Written for periodbandom.
Part 1
Part 2
NASAverse Mix
Gerard stares after Frank for several moments as he disappears over the dune, shocked into silence, then bites his lip sharply and turns away from Mikey's still figure, toward the water. He pulls his knees up to his chest, hugging his arms around them, jaw clenched.
Mikey toes off his shoes and crouches down in the sand, joining him silently. "I fucked up, huh?" he says tonelessly after a moment. "Sorry. I just got worried after awhile."
Gerard takes a deep, shaky breath and admits, "It's not your fault. This probably would've happened anyway. Even if you hadn't come." He leans against his brother and they sit staring at the waves for a few minutes before Mikey gets up, pulling Gerard with him.
"C'mon. Let's go tell Bob and Ray and Wentz goodbye and go home."
Gerard nods in agreement and rubs his hands over his face. He runs the heel of his hand under his eye and then glances back over at the place where his and Frank's shoes are sitting, a few yards away. Sighing, he trudges over and scoops them up, Frank's socks still tucked neatly inside his sneakers where Gerard left them an hour ago. "Right, well," he says uselessly. "I guess he'll want these back."
Mikey makes a comforting noise, but doesn't touch Gerard, hangs back a little.
"Yeah, let's head out," Gerard says, nodding a few times, fingers tracing over the stitching.
They turn and slowly make their way back up through the scrubby beach grass, up into Wentz's backyard. Gerard pastes a smile on his face and when Bob and Ray ask where Frank is, he smoothly answers that Frank had started feeling really sick, so he'd gone home. Mikey makes up a story about how they have to get up early the next morning so their landlord can change a lock, and then they finally, finally say their goodbyes and get in the car.
Gerard puts Frank's shoes on the floor and slumps down in the seat, closing his eyes. All he wants to do is crawl into bed, but he doubts he'll be able to sleep. His throat feels tight and he keeps replaying it in his mind--the moment when Frank wanted him--because he's got a heavy feeling that it was the only time, that Frank's guard was down and he'll never let Gerard see him like that again. He slides his head downward against the car window as Mikey speeds around the curves of the shore, back into town, and nudges the worn sneakers on the floor sadly. He guesses he'll see what's what on Monday when he goes to return them.
When they get home, Gerard goes straight to his room and tries to fall sleep, but he just keeps tossing and turning, so eventually he sits up in bed, grabs his sketchbook off the bedside table, and draws until he passes out, just as the sky is turning gray.
He wakes up with his cheek pressed to his open sketchbook. There's probably graphite all over his face, but he doesn't really care. He stumbles to the kitchen and sets the coffee percolating, sinking into a chair at the table and resting his head on his elbow. He closes his eyes and listens to the coffee bubble and hiss and takes deep breaths.
It's the thought that he was just getting to know Frank, the real Frank, that makes him so sad. Frank's got this shell that hides everything he cares about and why and how he came to be that way, and charming as it is, Gerard needs to get back underneath it, to see that light and passion across Frank's face again. It was beautiful. He can't think of a better word. Now that he knows it's there, he feels sick at the thought of never seeing it again. He really hadn't meant to let himself care this deeply, but it was impossible not to last night and he can't imagine ever forgetting it.
Mikey comes into the kitchen just as the coffee is finishing up. He seems to have a sixth sense that tells him when coffee is ready to be consumed. It's kind of freaky how many times he's walked into the house after being out for hours, just as there's a pot of coffee percolating on the stove.
He pats Gerard on the shoulder, then makes his way over to the cupboard, pulling two mugs out and pouring coffee into each. He sets one in front of Gerard and sits across from him. They drink their coffee in silence for a few minutes until Gerard says, "I think I'm gonna go to the park. Fresh air might be nice."
"You have pencil all over your face," Mikey informs him. "You might want to wash it before you go out. Otherwise you'll get accused of being a bum and taken down to the police station and I'll have to bail you out. Again."
Gerard's lips crook into a half smile. "I'll wash my face before I go. Promise."
Once he's managed a scrub at the offending graphite and a slapdash shave, it's nearing noon, and he calls to Mikey that he'll bring back sandwiches from the deli they like on his way home. Mikey makes appreciative noises from the couch, where he's sprawled on the phone with Alicia, who, he informs Gerard, says hi and feel better. Gerard smiles slightly and grabs his wallet from the table by the front door.
It's quiet on the street, just before all the church services let out, and Gerard is glad for the time alone. Sometimes it's hard to think inside and he needs a good long walk to sort out what's going on in his head. The park five blocks over is a pretty good place for this, with the tree-lined boulevard that winds through it and back around the other side.
When Gerard reaches the park, he walks along the boulevard, taking in the trees. He feels a vague itching in his fingers, wanting to draw what he's seeing, but he didn't bring his sketchbook with him and he probably wouldn't be able to concentrate on it, anyway. Eventually, he finds a bench hidden in a little corner just off the boulevard, near a duck pond, and sits down with a sigh.
For once, the humidity isn't stifling and there's a nice breeze blowing. There's the barest hint of fall in the air and Gerard takes a deep breath and just sits quietly for a few minutes. He can hear children shrieking and laughing in the distance and there's a dog barking. Actually, the barking is getting closer and it makes him smile. Maybe he can convince Mikey that he needs a dog with a sad, sad tale of woe and heartbreak. It'd even be true.
Gerard watches for the dog, even though he's far enough off the boulevard that he probably won't see it go by. After a moment, though, around the corner bounds a bundle of excited spaniel who darts right up to Gerard and begs for attention, scuffling at his shins. Gerard reaches out, smiling and leaning over to ruffle the dog's ears and stroke down its back. He gets a lick up the cheek for his trouble and he can't help the laugh that escapes him.
"Hey, there," he enthuses, scruffing up around the dog's neck roughly and coming up with a shower of fur.
"Nikola!" a voice calls around the corner, followed by a sharp whistle, and the dog's ears perk up, tags jangling as it trots in a circle, torn between obeying its owner and the promise of a good scritching about the collar. Gerard leans forward, elbows on his knees, and offers his palm forward for licking. Nikola sniffs it briefly, then, intrigued by whatever remains of coffee and shaving cream there may be, snuffles and licks industriously. Gerard watches with a fond smile, chin in his other hand, until the sound of footsteps stops dead to the left of the bench.
"Sorry," he says, smiling amusedly and glancing up, "I--"
Frank is standing there frozen, a funny, almost pained look on his face, leash wound around one wrist. "Nikola," he calls again after a silent moment, then more sharply, "Nikola!"
Gerard gives Nikola one last pat, then says, "Go on. You've got a walk to finish."
Nikola gives a happy little yip and trots up to Frank, who promptly clips the leash back on. He starts to walk away, stops for a split second, back tense, and then grips the leash tightly and keeps going.
Gerard looks over at the pond. He hunches forward, elbows on his knees, forehead in his hands.
"Look," says Frank, when Gerard steps into his office on Monday morning, "can you just--not be everywhere?"
Gerard glances out into the hallway and then, with a bit of reluctance, closes the door softly behind them. He doesn't want to be overheard, but at the same time, crowding into Frank's small office is... stressful. "I brought your shoes," he shrugs apologetically, laying them on the desk. "And your socks," he adds, when the silence stretches.
Frank is behind his desk, half-standing awkwardly, like he doesn't know if he wants to go up or down. "Thanks," he finally says shortly, eyes darting over the sneakers like he almost doesn't recognize them. "Did you need anything else?"
Gerard huffs out a frustrated breath. "I guess I just... wanted to know what happened, there. With you, on Saturday."
Frank stares at him blankly, barely visible tenseness around his eyes. "Nothing happened on Saturday," he replies firmly.
"Frank," Gerard says quietly, moving closer to the desk, fingers tapping on the toes of the shoes.
Frank sags. "I need you to--to just forget about it, okay?" he begs, then purses his lips in a tight line and straightens up. "This is not something I'm willing to do. I'm not going to, so just don't try. If that's why you were hanging around all this time, then--then you can stop. I'm not interested."
"Frank, I liked you as a person long before I liked you as anything more than that," Gerard murmurs. "I--you're a friend, Frank."
Frank looks down at his desk very steadily for long minutes, then he nods and says, "Okay, that's--that's good, then. That's fine. Because I'm not going to--to risk my job--risk everything I ever wanted to do, just for, you know. Something that's really just friendship with, um, benefits."
Gerard stares. "It's not like that, either," he tries to explain, scruffing a hand through his hair exasperatedly. "It's--I care about you, Frank. I don't know what you feel for me--if it's anything--and I get that it's a risk, I do. It is for me, too, but I'm here, and... and I'm sorry. I--you said you wanted me to stop."
Letting go of the edge of Frank's desk, he turns abruptly around, opens the door, and walks quickly back to his own office. He closes the door firmly and leans against it, head thumping against the wood.
"So I take it things didn't go well?"
Gerard jumps. "Shit, Mikey, what the hell?"
Mikey sighs long-sufferingly and folds his arms across his chest, legs curled under him in Gerard's desk chair.
Gerard sinks into his guest chair across from Mikey and shakes his head, slouching down so it rests on the back of the chair. "No, I think it's safe to say it didn't go well at all."
Mikey taps one of Gerard's drafting pencils against his blotter in random Morse code patterns they used to use when they were kids stuck in Sunday school. "Listen," he offers after a little while, "maybe I could say something to him."
Gerard grimaces in horror. "Don't you dare," he warns. "He'd never speak to me again if you did something that fucking stupid, you idiot."
Mikey holds up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. Jesus," he says. "I like him, though. He's a good guy."
Gerard rolls his head to the right and gives Mikey an amused look. "You do a good job of showing your fondness, really."
"Hey," Mikey defends, "I'm not the one who's all... tied up about him! I'm just saying, I think you guys would be, y'know..." he shrugs a little awkwardly, "good."
"Yeah," Gerard agrees, staring up at the acoustic ceiling tile. "Me, too. Fuck."
"So, how about you bring your stupid notebook downstairs and we drink coffee and pretend like we're kids again doing our studying together," Mikey offers with a slight smile.
"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. I don't think... I should make myself scarce for the rest of the day. Maybe it'll do us both some good." Gerard heaves a heavy sigh and sits up, rolling his head back and forth a couple of times for the crick in his neck.
Mikey shrugs, mouth quirking down at the corners like it does when he's concerned and doesn't want to show it. "Whatever you think," is all he says, though.
Gerard pushes on the arms of the chair and stands up. He grabs his notes and gestures for Mikey get up. "C'mon, then. Let's go get some work done."
By 2:00 AM on Wednesday morning, Frank has spent the past four hours tossing and turning. Down by the foot of his bed, Nikola whines as Frank's feet shift yet again, and he props himself up against his pillows, reaching down to pet distractedly at Nikola's head. He sits there, lost in thought, while Nikola whuffles and rearranges himself at Frank's knee, snuffling comfortingly in his ear when Frank gives in and leans forward for a cuddle. There's little else to do as his clock radio clicks inexorably on and on.
By 2:30, he decides to just go to the office, where he might actually be able to accomplish something. The guard, Jeremy--whom everyone calls Worm, for reasons Frank has yet to discover--recently switched from the day shift and Frank feels a little cheered at seeing a familiar face. They chat for a few minutes amiably in the entryway and Worm mentions that Frank's not the only engineer in tonight.
Frank's brow furrows. He's relatively certain that he's the only one with any kind of pressing project, and the deadline for that is still weeks away. "Oh? Who?"
"New guy. Weird. Crazy hair." Worm gestures illustratively.
"Dr. Way?" Frank asks.
"Him, yeah! Asked me to call him Gerard. Nice fellow. Weird, but nice."
Frank nods absently and says goodnight, wandering off toward the bank of elevators.
Up on the fourth floor, he finds himself drifting toward the Robotics wing. The closer Frank gets, the stealthier he tries to be, until he's completely silent, peering through the doorway to Gerard's office. He realizes after a moment, though, that he probably could've been as loud as he wanted, because Gerard is completely engrossed in what he's doing, bent over his desk.
Frank's never seen Gerard like this before, never dropped by to catch him at work. He's got books and note cards and paper scattered all around him, his slide rule in front of him, and he's taking notes and muttering to himself. "No, that won't work... dammit... where did I put the--" Every once in a while he gets up and paces to the wall to scribble something on his chalkboard or erase another thing and add more to another part. It's fascinating.
Frank watches him for a while and then creeps away just as quietly as he came and goes straight back home. He crawls in between his cold sheets and falls right to sleep. Two hours later, his alarm goes off and he stumbles into work, feeling like hell, and makes a bee-line to the lounge for coffee.
He finds Gerard there, stirring an ungodly amount of sugar and cream into his mug. Franks stares for a moment, then blurts, "You're killing it."
"What?" Gerard looks up, then down again, hiding his expression for a moment. "The coffee? No, I'm just giving it a little extra oomph. I didn't sleep last night, I need all the oomph I can get," he counters, glancing up finally, remarkably bright-eyed for not having slept.
"D'you want a cup?" Gerard offers, gesturing with the carafe, and some coffee spills on the table. "Damn!" he exclaims, pulling a hanky from his pocket to wipe at the mess, carafe still in hand, spilling a little more with every swipe.
Maybe it's the early hour and the fact that he's more asleep than awake, but Frank can't help the small giggle that escapes him as he takes the carafe from Gerard's hand and sets it back on the burner. He pats around his pockets for his own hanky and then joins in the rescue effort.
Gerard grins at him and Frank finds himself beginning to smile back when a throat clears behind them. Frank jumps about a mile and whirls around to find Wentz staring in amusement.
"Nice to see you two getting along," he comments with a smirk, reaching for the carafe and hefting it in a salute to Gerard.
Frank takes several steps away instinctively, needing to get some distance between him and Gerard. "We weren't--" he starts defensively, then realizes how that'll sound. "We get along fine," he amends, casting a nervous glance at Gerard, who's watching him with a thoughtful expression.
"Dr. Iero is very professional," Gerard nods in agreement. "It's not his fault I'm an irresponsible wretch." He turns to Wentz with a self-deprecating smile. "Careful with that coffee; I make it strong enough to fuel those rockets out there."
Wentz snorts a laugh and Frank grabs the carafe, fills his mug quickly, and makes his escape while Gerard's distracted by Wentz's complaints about his secretary Greta and her strict policy of making him get his own coffee.
He walks down the hallway, listening to Gerard's voice as he informs Wentz that Greta is clearly a smart girl and that he's glad she realizes she doesn't have to get coffee for anybody but herself, let alone a bunch of rocket scientists who should be able to do it themselves.
It's Thursday, late in the afternoon, when Frank ducks into the men's room to avoid Mikey coming down the hall. He's probably coming to bug Gerard or bring him coffee or something, and Frank just... doesn't want to have to talk to him, even in passing. Mikey saw what happened on the beach and Frank's trying not to think about that and sort of succeeding. During the day. While he's buried in calculations and specs. He can't talk to Mikey, is the bottom line, and as soon as he spies that lanky lope coming around the corner, he shoulders through the bathroom door and paces the white tiles for thirty seconds or so, waiting for the footsteps to pass. Instead, the door swings open and Mikey ambles in, glances at Frank briefly, and then ducks down, craning his neck to check under the stall doors before rising and leaning against the sinks.
"Hey," he says, nodding.
"Um--hi, Mikey." Frank stares at the door over Mikey's shoulder, wishing he could magically transport himself to the other side.
"So, here's the thing, you should know that Gerard will probably kill me when he finds out I did this. I kind of promised him I wouldn't. But some promises need to be broken." Mikey's voice carries more conviction than Frank's ever heard from him. "So you can't be mad at him for this, okay? This is all me."
Frank glances away and nods, eyes wide in the mirror above the sinks. "Sure, okay," he promises worriedly. "What is it?"
Mikey pins him with a look, crossing his arms. "Frank. Don't even try that. Gerard lets you play dumb because he's just that gone about you, but I'm not." He takes a breath, then adds, less stridently, "I do think you're a good guy, though, and that's why I'm still talking to you at all, considering how fucking miserable you're making my brother. He doesn't need that shit. He deserves better than that."
Frank forces himself to look Mikey in the eye. If they're going to have this conversation, he may as well do it right. He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. "I don't know what you want me to do. I--the government pays our salaries. I've worked too hard to get here to lose this."
"And, what, you think Gerard hasn't? Or you just think he doesn't care," Mikey asserts, raising his eyebrows.
"No, I--" Frank thinks of yesterday, when he saw Gerard working through the night on his project. Thinks even more of their conversation on the beach, how passionate and visionary Gerard is, really. "I know that. I do. It's--he's different, though. He's not scared of losing it--it wouldn't be the end for him, if he did. This job--this is all I have. I can't lose it." Frank falls silent, picking awkwardly at the fraying cuff of his shirt. He can't believe he just admitted that.
Mikey stares at him, tilting his head, and says, surprisingly gently, "It's the only thing you have because it's the only thing you've worked for, taken risks for. Frank... everything is like that. Relationships are like that. You just have to try."
"I--if it were that simple, that'd be great, but do you have any idea how terrified I've been since--hell, since that night at Alfonzo's?" Frank drops his eyes and fidgets with his cuffs. "Even though I knew the only person he'd tell was you, I still had a moment of panic every goddamn time Wentz asked to speak with me. What if that was it--the end?" Frank looks back up at Mikey, who seems completely confused.
"Alfonzo's? What are you talking about? You saw each other at Alfonzo's?" Mikey asks.
Frank blinks, momentarily set back. "Uh, yeah? That night you sent him there? Did--he didn't tell you that?"
Mikey's nose wrinkles and he shakes his head. "Why would he?"
"I--I don't know. I just figured... since you knew about him... and me..." Frank trails off, a bit lost.
Mikey laughs, then glances back at the door, which remains closed, the hallway silent. "I knew about you a long time ago, kid," he says. "Growing up with Gerard fine-tunes the senses."
Frank glances swiftly down, away. He really doesn't want to think about that, about people knowing just from looking at him. "He really didn't tell you? I mean, I asked him not to tell anyone, but I just figured he'd tell you," he asks, still incredulous.
"No, he didn't even hint. He knows how to be discreet, Frank. He may not like the fact that he has to be and he'll never hide anything in a place he feels safe, but he also knows exactly what happens when you get caught." Mikey's tone implies knowledge that's more than just second-hand.
"Did--did he get caught?" Frank's afraid of the answer.
"No. But a couple of his friends did. He knows what's at stake, Frank," Mikey insists.
Frank nods, biting the inside of his cheek to try to stem the fear in his throat at just the thought.
Mikey exhales and taps his fingers on the counter for a bit. "So, listen," he picks up again, "you should at least give him the courtesy of talking to him. It's really shitty to just keep shutting him out, when you say you want to be his friend."
Frank shrugs, but really he's known that all along, part of the guilt eating at him.
"I'm gonna tell him to be at Alfonzo's tomorrow night at nine, and if you stand him up, I'm gonna--fucking sabotage your next draft or something, I don't know," Mikey says fiercely. "So be there."
Frank glares at Mikey. "You don't have to threaten me. I'll be there. I--you're right. I've been--I haven't been fair to him."
Mikey nods, placated. "He's my brother, Frank. I've stood by and watched him get his heart broken and see his friends get their chance at happiness--hell, see me get my chance, and I can't just stand back and watch that anymore. He deserves something good, too. And so do you."
Frank glances away awkwardly. It's--Gerard deserves someone, he does, but he's not so sure about the other thing. "Yeah, okay," he agrees quietly anyway.
Mikey pushes off the counter and turns toward the door, repeats, "Nine o'clock," and then shoulders his way out.
Frank runs a hand over his hair and down his face. He leans over, turns on a faucet and cups his hands under the stream, and gulps down a couple swallows of water. He turns off the water and puts his hands on the sink, leans on them, staring at himself in the mirror for a moment, then straightens and walks back to his office, shutting and locking the door behind him. He needs to think.
Frank's fingers seem to have become one with his steering wheel. He knows he's doing the right thing, but he's never felt more nervous about anything in his life. He glances across the street at the bar, the windows painted over in chipped black and the non-descript entrance. It's not a place he feels happy going to, no matter what brings him, but tonight is especially bad. He thinks briefly about what his mother would think if she saw him here, idling outside a place like this on a trash-strewn street, and lets go of the steering wheel, fumbling for his pack of cigarettes. He flicks his Zippo unsteadily, and then there's a short moment of silence in his mind while the nicotine soothes him out a little. It doesn't bear thinking about, he decides, because it's not her business and she'll never find out.
After a few more deep drags, he turns off the engine, cutting the radio off mid-verse, and reaches for the door latch. He climbs out of the car and shuts the door, leaning against it while he finishes off his cigarette. Then he takes a deep breath, makes his way across the street, and enters the bar.
Frank orders his gin and tonic and then turns, looking around for Gerard, and spots him at a small round table in the far corner of the room. He's got a drink in his hands, and he's staring into space, and even in the dim light of the bar Frank can see that Gerard looks exhausted. Frank feels a wave of guilt pass over him. He takes one last deep breath, a sip of his drink, and then walks over, pulls out the chair across from Gerard, and sits down.
Gerard looks up, smiles wanly, and says, "Mikey got you over here, huh? What'd he do, threaten to stomp your slide rule?"
Frank flinches, eyes skittering away from the self-deprecating expression on Gerard's face. "No! No, he--I came because... because look," Frank's head clears a little, along with his tone, "I owe you an apology."
Gerard's nose scrunches and he thumbs some moisture off his glass idly. "No you don't," he says. "I get that this isn't what you're looking for, and that's fine." He huffs a laugh, eyes painfully honest when they meet Frank's. "It is what I'm looking for... hoping for... and I won't lie and say I don't wish you were, too, but... I respect your choices, Frank." He gestures around the bar expansively, at the patrons chatting and dancing and sneaking out of the bathroom. "We all have to make hard choices, given circumstances."
Frank's throat feels stuck shut, like there's a lump blocking his airway, and he clears it several times before taking a sip of his drink. "That's what I need to talk to you about," he finally manages. His heart must be going triple time, judging by how shaky he feels. "It's not that I don't want that, Gerard. That's not--I just never thought it was an option. You know? And I don't know how to... I've never... how this feels..." he trails off helplessly.
Gerard's eyes look, if anything, even sadder. He takes a drink and licks his lips thoughtfully, nodding. "Yeah, I get that. I do." He reaches over and tentatively squeezes Frank's hand, sending a spark of relief through him, then pulls away and continues, "So I guess the question is, is your choice still the same, then."
Frank's hand itches to touch Gerard's again, but it's all the way on the other side of the table and he doesn't know what his answer is and can't just do that to Gerard. He sort of wants to cry, and that is so humiliating. Instead, he takes another drink and a moment to compose himself. Finally he admits, "I'm--I'm willing to consider it. I want to consider it. It's--a big choice and I want to be fair to you. You deserve someone who's fair to you."
Gerard looks at him, eyes troubled and earnest, and says, "Don't do this for me. I want to try this, but you need to do it for you, if it's what you want to have. If it's worth the risk. Because we might make it or we might get caught."
Frank's stomach swoops and his breath catches because that is his exact fear, and it's so frightening to think of losing everything to just have this one thing.
Gerard watches him for a moment, and then gets up from his chair and kisses Frank gently on the cheek. "Let me know," he concludes softly, and then turns and walks out of the bar.
Frank blinks, stunned by how intensely he feels the loss of Gerard's presence, warm and comforting, near him. It aches a little, echoes of shock pulsing in his chest. He breathes out and then in and then out, in, out.
He sits there for nearly an hour, nursing his drink and thinking about everything he's worked for since he was a geeky, space-obsessed teenager, wondering how he's seriously considering jeopardizing all that. He is, though; Gerard is under his skin and he feels more inspired with him than he has since he was a little kid, staring up at the sky through the telescope in his bedroom window.
He looks around at the couples dancing--how happy they look just to have this small space together, no matter how tenuous and fragile and temporary it is. He thinks about how he wanted to be an astronaut when he was a kid, just like he read about in Amazing Stories, before he realized he'd have to settle for engineer instead, and how he wanted that feeling--of just being in space, out there, no matter how fleeting and impossible it seemed at the time.
And then, just like that, he sets down his drink and gets up and walks toward the front door, searching his pockets for coins so he can call Gerard from the phone booth outside. Except Gerard is right there, just out front, smoking a cigarette, leaning against the brick and waiting patiently. When Frank stops in front of him, his expression is tense, like he wasn't sure Frank would come at all, no matter how long he waited there.
Gerard takes a drag and tips his head back to look up at the stars, exhaling a steady stream of smoke.
Frank glances up and down the street, but it's pretty quiet. He follows Gerard's gaze up for a moment, digs his hands into his pockets to keep from grabbing Gerard's arm and says quietly, "C'mon, let's get this show on the road, then, all right?" He shrugs his shoulders in the direction of his car, unsure how to verbalize what he wants.
Gerard's brows draw together in confusion. "What? Show? I..." he trails off, shaking his head. "Frank. I can't..."
Frank's stomach drops; he's messing this up again. "You--I thought you wanted..." he trails off, jingling his keys nervously. Then he breathes out forcefully and looks up again. He wants this. "It's--I'm willing--I want--" he stutters a little, moves in closer so he can whisper it against Gerard's ear. "I want you. This. Come home with me?" His heart is beating so fast; he's never risked anything so huge in his life. This feels like everything, up in the air, no idea what'll happen next. "Please?"
Gerard's hand reaches out and touches Frank's shoulder fleetingly, expression clearing. "Yes. Yes, definitely." He beams at Frank and throws his cigarette to the ground, grinding it underneath his toe to put it out.
To anyone watching, Frank knows, it probably looks like one more clandestine hook-up outside the bar, two men desperate for some small measure of affection and relief. But he knows, as Gerard follows close behind him to the car, that he's not going to let go, not like the times before. He slides into the driver's seat, leans over to pop the passenger side lock, and watches as Gerard slips in.
Gerard glances over at him and smiles, reaches a hand to clasp reassuringly at Frank's knee. Frank breathes, nods, starts up the engine and the radio comes on, warbling late night Sinatra. Gerard hums along and watches Frank, fidgeting occasionally, smiling.
Frank concentrates so hard on just driving--not over-thinking this--that he nearly misses his turn and the wheels protest as he whips the car to the right, pulling up in front of his apartment building. He finally looks over at Gerard, sitting there and smiling at him, face gentle and open, and he wants so badly to just lean in and kiss him again, like the night on the beach. His eyes must give him away because Gerard breathes out sharply and turns away, fumbling open the door and watching from the sidewalk as Frank makes his way around the car, reaching for his keys.
"Your neighbors?" Gerard asks lowly as they mount the front steps.
Frank glances up, but the front windows of the apartment block are all dark. "Should be okay," he murmurs, fitting his key into the lock and letting them into the entryway. "Just--keep it down."
"I think I can manage that," Gerard whispers. He follows Frank up the stairs to the third floor and stands by as Frank tries to get the door to his apartment open.
"Damn thing always sticks," he mutters, exasperated.
Gerard has his hands clasped behind his back, like he's trying hard to maintain that public distance. He's still smiling, though, and when the door finally opens and they get inside, he walks Frank back against the wall of the entryway. "Frankie," he says quietly and reaches out a hand to cup his cheek.
Frank shivers against the touch, pushing with his foot to make sure the door is closed and blindly fumbling with the lock. He reaches for Gerard's waist, settling his trembling fingers against the warm fabric of his oxford shirt and leaning forward, forehead against Gerard's shoulder.
"Bedroom's just down the hall," he manages, walking them backward, face still hidden, breathing in the smoky sandalwood scent. Gerard's arms close around his back, keeping him near, cheek pressed up against Frank's hair. Frank thinks, wildly, as he leads Gerard through the doorway, that he's never brought a man back here before--never dared and never really wanted to--and it's so overwhelming, the sense of rightness and exhilaration when he finally raises his head and meets Gerard's eyes, here.
He leans up, presses his dry lips tentatively to Gerard's, shaking from the gentleness and quietness of the moment. It's not a good kiss--breathy and brief, nearly chaste, lips brushing and parting as Frank's breath stutters--but it sends shocks and tingles through him, nonetheless. They're here.
"Do you--" begins Gerard, warm against Frank's lips, "I don't know what you want."
Frank tightens his grip on Gerard's shirt, opening his eyes. He's not exactly sure, either, here in his dim bedroom, streetlight blocking out the night sky. "What do you want?" he asks.
Gerard sighs. "You," he admits, "I want you. I want you to be happy. I like that."
Frank shivers again, uncontrollably. He's never felt something like this for anyone before and it never ceases to shock him when Gerard says things like that. "Okay," he manages. He slides his palms up Gerard's sides, across his warm chest, over his beating heart, and fingers the top button of his shirt for a moment before pressing his mouth up to Gerard's, catching his lower lip and inadvertently opening up their kiss.
Gerard's palm comes up to cradle the back of Frank's neck and his tongue plays tentatively over the seam of Frank's teeth, teasing at them until Frank understands, manages to unlock his tense jaw and relax into it. It's so intimate, Gerard's tongue in his mouth, their faces tilted into each other, much more so than anything Frank's ever done on any bathroom floor. It makes it hard to breathe, even, and he has to pull away for a brief moment, chest heaving, before he can try again, can remember to breathe through his nose, and that part is hilariously similar, actually. Frank giggles, considering it, and Gerard makes a brief noise in his throat, kissing at Frank's upper lip.
"You okay?" he asks, smoothing Frank's hair back off his face gently.
Frank nods, smiling a little, and remembers his fingers again, still poised at Gerard's throat. "Can we...?" he asks, fiddling with the button, and Gerard presses a kiss to the side of his nose.
"Yes," he answers, and leans his cheek against Frank's, stills as Frank's fingers work their way down his buttons, and then lets go of him for a moment to pull the tail out and toss his shirt over the chair near the door. His undershirt is worn and thin, holey in places near the hems, and Frank stares for a moment before reaching out a few fingers to brush over the white cotton, the pale skin that shows through here and there, the peak of Gerard's left nipple. It's wonderful. He really wants to press himself against all that solid warmth, so he pulls away, fumbling with his own buttons while Gerard's husky laughter whispers through the room.
Gerard helps him, pulling his shirt untucked and starting from the bottom, light touches against Frank's stomach as he works. Their hands meet in the middle briefly, fingers sliding together before Frank drops his shirt at the foot of his bed behind him.
Gerard blinks, sliding his thumb back and forth over the slope of Frank's neck until Frank's skin is buzzing and he almost forgets to feel self-conscious about how scrawny he is. He hitches his shoulders up a little, crossing his arms over his chest and watching cautiously as Gerard steps forward again, fingers trailing down Frank's back and then up, underneath, against his hot skin. Their gazes meet and Frank wishes his glasses didn't make him feel so clumsy, up close like this. Gerard is asking something with his eyes and his hands, swirling small circles over Frank's shoulder blades. Frank slowly relaxes into the soothing touch, lowers his shoulders and raises his arms, allowing Gerard to sweep the undershirt over his head. His hair falls into his eyes, and Frank reaches compulsively to straighten his cowlicks, but Gerard just slides one hand through it, tousling it a bit, murmuring, "It's nice. Don't worry."
Frank nods, rubs a little nervously over his chest, fingertips catching against the chain that hides there, the St Christopher medal his mother gave him when he left for Rutgers at sixteen. Gerard watches the movement, follows it with his fingers, but doesn't touch the medal, just strokes his knuckles over the slopes of Frank's skin.
Frank leans forward, old floorboards creaking underneath his sockfeet, and starts to draw Gerard's undershirt up, inch by inch, watching as each new bit of skin appears. When he gets it up underneath Gerard's armpits, he ducks his head close and traces a kiss in the middle of his chest, palm flat against the thrum of his heartbeat. Gerard raises his arms and pulls the shirt off before stroking one hand lightly up and down Frank's spine and opening his mouth against Frank's, softly pushing in and groaning, fingers fisting against Frank's waistband.
After long moments, Frank breaks away panting, grabs Gerard's shoulders and turns, pressing him down on the foot of the narrow bed before kneeling, fingers scrabbling at Gerard's belt buckle while he licks his flushed lips. Gerard's hips hitch a little, stomach tensing, and then he reaches down, thumb pressing against the arm of Frank's glasses, and asks, "Would you--I want you with me, up here. Is that all right?"
Frank looks up at Gerard's pink cheeks and hopeful eyes, breathing heavily. He can feel underneath his fingers that it's not that Gerard doesn't want him, just, maybe wants him a different way. "Sure," he manages to say, pushing up off the floor and pressing one knee into the bedspread, wondering what he's supposed to do, then. Gerard reaches up, scooting backward, and pulls him into his lap, and Frank's knees settle right up against Gerard's hips. He feels a little strange about it; it seems sort of girly, not something he should be comfortable with, but he tries, because Gerard is smiling at him and urging him closer, tight against his skin and that feels...
Frank slides his arms around Gerard's back, restless with the prickly friction as they move against each other, breathe in each other's ears, overheated. He quickly reaches between them, tugging at their zippers, and Gerard gasps, brings a hand around to help, just pushing haphazardly at the fabric of their trousers until it's enough.
"God," Frank moans, and blushes, and Gerard chokes a laugh.
"Yeah," he agrees, palm tight against the small of Frank's back, other hand braced behind them, leading them backward and down. "Come with me."
Frank nods, shifting away for a painful moment before rearranging his knees, lowering himself after, down on top. He hisses quietly, almost biting into Gerard's shoulder at the sensation, and from the sound Gerard makes, he doesn't seem to mind Frank's teeth there.
Gerard props up one knee, making a space for Frank to get some traction, and Frank pushes up a little, hovering over Gerard, who raises his hand, tracing over Frank's eyebrows wonderingly. "You're here," he says, eyes smiling, tiny dimples in his cheeks that Frank's never seen before.
"I guess," Frank says, and feels dumb. What a thing to say, jeez. He's so single-minded, though, gazing down at Gerard, whose hips are still moving in a tight kind of shimmy that Frank can't really duplicate with his hitches and jerks. He closes his eyes briefly, biting his lip, arms already aching from holding himself up for two minutes. He can hear the clink of the chain against his medal, but he can't feel it, caught and heated between their chests, and he's just as glad. His mother is not something he wants to consider at this moment, not when Gerard's hands are sliding down his back, under his belt, clutching at his ass, making his own breath turn to wet gasps and stuttering moans, "God, I--you--"
When he opens his eyes again, glasses slipping damply down his nose, he can see Gerard, his mouth slack, flushed all the way up his neck and high on his cheeks. "Mmm-hmm," Gerard agrees, tilting his head back, pressing up against Frank so tightly that Frank can feel the sweat being wrung out of him.
The burn in his arms is kind of unbearable but Frank just clenches his fingernails into his palms as this intense jolt moves through him. "Fuck," he strangles out, and Gerard's eyes shoot open, staring at him for a beat and then grinding up against him desperately, like he won't be left behind.
Frank collapses down over him, gasping for breath, arms limp. Gerard stifles a groan against Frank's neck, body tensing, and Frank pets a hand through his pillow-snarled hair, twitching just a little as he feels the pulses against his belly. "Sorry, 'm sorry," he mumbles, glasses sticking to his cheekbone, partly misted over.
"Mmm," Gerard shakes his head, hand heavy on Frank's lower back. "'S good, 's fine."
They lie there panting, touching each other lightly, and Frank drifts for a bit, turning his head on Gerard's shoulder and staring distantly out the window screen, dark and light spots in his eyes. He's not sure if it's in his head or if it's the lights outside, but he doesn't think it matters much, heaving a sigh.
When he comes back to himself, Gerard is out cold, snoring lightly in Frank's hair, and the sweat on Frank's back is cooling, chilling him in the occasional breeze. He's not sure what to think--what do you think about in these situations, he wonders sleepily. Maybe about Gerard, how he feels comfortable and familiar, but also kind of sticky and strange. Maybe about the fuel injection model he needs to work on Sunday night, after he takes Nikola for a run and calls his mother. Maybe about the lights he can see out his window now, the streetlight flickering unreliably, showing him the stars just beyond.