idek. fic.
TITLE: I'm not okay (I promise).
AUTHOR: not0-fuckin-kay
PAIRING: Past implied Gerard/Frank
RATING: PG-13 I suppose. A few swears.
SUMMARY: Gerard struggles to cope with the days following Frank's death, and his funeral.
DISCLAIMER: Not real. All are alive and well, so, never happened.
WARNING: Character death. Not seen, but implied.
Gerard sits there, glossy paper in hand. Stares. The TV screen's been blank for almost an hour but he hasn't noticed, he wasn't really watching it, anyway. He knows it all by heart. If asked, he'd probably say he's seen it fifteen times already in the last four days. If he'd talk at all. Not that looking at the screen would do any good; his vision is so blurry he wouldn't be able to focus.
His mind plays it out instead. The happy times.
The phone rings but Gerard doesn't even blink. It clicks over to the answerphone and he doesn't exactly listen to the words, but can't help hearing them anyway.
"Gee? Are you...no. I didn't think you'd pick up."
It's Mikey. Gerard screws his eyes shut and balls his fists as the voice continues.
"I got your suit, okay? I'm on my way over now, and I'll go with you in the... in the car, if you want. Just you and me. I'll be there soon."
A soft click, and there's silence again. Gerard slowly opens his eyes and the tears cascade down his cheeks, drip quickly one by one onto his hands. And then he's on the floor, on his knees. No words, just silent pleas as he desperately tries to flatten out the photo in his hands. No, please. I'm sorry, sorry. I wasn't thinking.
There are creases all over it, tears now, too, and for a split second he thinks of tearing it up completely. But he doesn't, he folds it gently and places it on the floor next to him, refusing to look at it anymore.
Mikey will be coming soon. Gerard needs to shower and make himself look presentable. He hasn't showered in days. Four days, but he could tell you the exact period of time right down to the minute if you asked, if he'd talk.
His last shower was with Frank, that morning. That morning he keeps replaying at night (really, each time he closes his eyes), with a million different endings that have him gasping for breath as he wakes and it hits him they were all false. He smells like stale nicotine and badly made coffee now. Old clothes. Frank's clothes. The hoodie and jeans don't smell like Frank anymore now that Gerard's slept in them, lived in them. No, existed in, not lived in. He doesn't feel alive enough to be living. He's just... there, like air; not doing anything, merely being present.
It doesn't really matter though, he doesn't have a heart anymore. Feels like it barely even beats. It's not broken, it's torn, jagged with shredded threads of everything that was him and Frank. Everything that made it so whole and strong.
Really, it's lucky Mikey has keys; Frank's keys, because Gerard doesn't move when Mikey knocks to let him know he's arrived before he walks in. He's still there, on the floor, staring at nothing, TV still blank because the connection at the back is dodgy and he hasn't kicked it to get it going again. Frank would throw his slippers at it but Gerard doesn't want to throw anything of Frank's anywhere. It's stupid, but he can't do it.
"Gerard," Mikey says softly, a light touch to his shoulder. "Come on, we need to leave soon." Gerard stands up slowly, only because Mikey helps him when it seems Gerard's limbs don't want to participate. "Talk to me, please. You have no idea how much I've been worrying about you." Gerard wants to apologize. He would, if he'd talk at all. Mikey keeps going regardless as he leads Gerard to the bathroom, "Have you been drinking?" drags the plastic covered suit behind him, "eating?" and hangs it on the door. "I'm gonna make you coffee before we go. You can have it while your hair dries." Gerard stands in the middle of the room, still staring into space. "I'll wait out there, yeah? Call me if you need me." He's not expecting a response though, and leaves Gerard there.
Gerard turns on the shower, cautiously, hesitant. He remembers being in there the last time, having Frank press him against the tiles and it doesn't make him smile or cry now, he's just numb. He gets in and immediately sinks to the floor, curls up in the corner, water splashing over him. It's ten minutes before Mikey comes back.
"Are you okay? I thought you'd - Gee, what the hell?" Gerard's not listening though. Not to that, or anything else Mikey says as he struggles to pull off Gerard's soggy clothes. "Why didn't you... you can't do this, Gerard. You can't. Not today. Fall apart tomorrow, I'll do it with you," Mikey's voice cracks as he peels the t-shirt from his brother's skin. He's getting wet as well, but it's the t-shirt covered in love notes from Frank to Gerard, that hits him with more impact than the cold running water. "Oh, God. I'm so sorry, Gerard. I'm so fucking sorry," he sobs, folding the t-shirt neatly and leaving it next to Gerard. It's already wet anyway.
The jeans are more difficult; getting Gerard to stand isn't an easy task but Mikey manages somehow. Gerard's sits in the bottom of the shower again, blank and motionless as Mikey washes him while crying, talking the whole time. Soon Mikey's hauling Gerard out of the shower and wrapping a towel around him, "You'll be alright to get changed now, won't you? I'm just gonna go change too. Then I'll make some fresh coffee."
Gerard doesn't talk, but he lifts his eyes to Mikey's and that's enough acknowledgement. It's all Mikey was really expecting.
Gerard does change. It's just about the only thing he's put effort into recently, besides smoking a good way through the eight packs of cigarettes he bought the day... that day. He can't even think it.
He has on his shirt and tie (the thin one that Frank gave him, with the graveyard scene at the bottom), his pants and jacket. All freshly laundered and clean. Too clean. Gerard starts on cigarette pack number seven as Mikey attempts to shine his shoes. "You sure you wanna wear that one? The tie, I mean. I can get you another one, it's just, y'know..." Mikey reaches up to loosen it but Gerard stops him with one hand gently pressed on his wrist. "Okay," Mikey breathes deeply, "whatever you want. Can I? I'm gonna just have one too before we go," he sighs, reaching for Gerard's cigarettes and lighting one for the first time in a while. "You want me to turn that off?" he points to the TV, still blank, and Gerard takes the cigarette pack, lobs it at the cabinet.
The TV flicks back to life, to a still of the last frame where it's stopped at the end of the DVD. It's Frank and Gerard, sitting on their bed with Frank holding the video camera above their heads as they look up at it, grinning.
"I'm turning it off," Mikey whispers, and Gerard doesn't stop him.
The knock on the door makes Mikey jump, but not Gerard; he's been waiting for it. He let's Mikey answer it and slowly follows.
The light outside is blinding for Gerard. He's been in near total darkness as much as possible, but Mikey holds his arm and shows him where to go. His vision is sharp for the briefest of moments before shuffling into the seat by the far window, and he lets out one of the saddest of cries he ever has when he spots the vehicle behind them, which only starts Mikey off again.
When they reach their destination Gerard doesn't get out. He sits in the back of the car, smokes, cries into his knees and wishes he could drink everything away. Eventually he creeps in, where everyone else is, up the side so nobody sees. He doesn't want to be noticed. If he could he'd have done this with only himself present, but it wouldn't be fair on Frank's family to insist on that. They loved him, too. And if he could actually do anything, he wouldn't be here at all. Nobody would.
Gerard doesn't care that people are wondering where he is. Mikey's spotted him and told their parents, so at least they know where he is. Everyone else can go fuck themselves as far as Gerard's concerned. He doesn't give a shit anymore.
He was supposed to say something. Mikey helped him write it out, but he can't. He just can't. So when the time comes and he's called, and the family and close friends all look to the spot Gerard should be at, it's empty. Mikey has to take the crumpled paper pad and do it for him, because Gerard just can't make it past the coffin. He knew it would be open, but he still isn't prepared for the reality of seeing Frank's body, his eyes shut gently, so deceptively asleep looking that Gerard wants to scream and wake him up.
His mother comes over when Gerard all but climbs in, leans as far as he can to lay his cheek against Frank's as the tears fall again. Gerard glares at her, angry and broken and she pats his back softly as her lips tremble and she says, "I know, baby, I know," and Mikey's still talking, voice scratchy, and people are shuffling and Gerard can hear it all; every movement anyone makes, every cough, sigh, condolence, breath, even, and it's suddenly all so loud he can't deal with it anymore.
He takes the St. Christopher his Grandma gave him from around his neck, and slides the pendant into Frank's loose fist, the chain over his hand. It'll help him, watch over him on his travels, wherever that may be, even if Gerard does think it's a load of bull, deep down. Then he closes his eyes, bites down on both his lips to keep from letting out a sound as his body shakes with the force of his grief, and pets Frank's hair, just for a moment. He doesn't want this to be the last thing he remembers, the overwhelming last image of Frank that takes over his thoughts, so he makes it quick, and leans in for the last time to kiss Frank's forehead. His mind won't stop talking though; I love you. I fucking love you and I can't do this without you. I can't. I can't do it, Frankie, I can't. I just...
"I can't fucking do this!" he shouts, hands clutching at his own hair. And then he notices Mikey's stopped speaking, everyone's looking, and he runs from the Chapel and through the cemetary, to the furthest point he can and collapses onto the grass.
"Wish I could tell ya it gets easier, kid," someone says, and Gerard looks up. It's an old man, sitting by a small and weathered headstone, a newspaper in his hands. "My wife, she died twenty five years ago. You know what I do? I come here every damn day and read her a newspaper. Two o'clock sharp, 'cause that's the time she always read the paper." The man sighs and slowly stands, folds the paper and tucks it under his arm. "Don't do that. Whoever you lost, just talk to them, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, they'll hear you just fine. Because this is my life now; coming here, sitting here, talking to a stone. Your love? That lives in your heart and soul, you can't pin it down to a physical place. Me coming here means nothin'. It's just a routine I'm too old to get out of now."
"Thank you," Gerard whispers, holding back his tears and rubbing his sore eyes.
"Don't thank me. Go out and have a life. Anyone who honest to God loves you, won't wanna see you moping around for the rest of your days over something you can't change. You wanna make 'em proud? Be a good person, son, that's all I know," the man wanders off and Gerard breathes deeply, tries to calm himself.
He can do that stuff. Frank would want him to, he knows that. But right now it's too soon, far too soon. The most he can do right now is greet Mikey with a hug when he's eventually found, thank him and walk slowly with him to the hole in the ground, the physical place Frank's body will be laid to rest in, until he can pull his heart back together enough to talk to him there, instead.
AUTHOR: not0-fuckin-kay
PAIRING: Past implied Gerard/Frank
RATING: PG-13 I suppose. A few swears.
SUMMARY: Gerard struggles to cope with the days following Frank's death, and his funeral.
DISCLAIMER: Not real. All are alive and well, so, never happened.
WARNING: Character death. Not seen, but implied.
Gerard sits there, glossy paper in hand. Stares. The TV screen's been blank for almost an hour but he hasn't noticed, he wasn't really watching it, anyway. He knows it all by heart. If asked, he'd probably say he's seen it fifteen times already in the last four days. If he'd talk at all. Not that looking at the screen would do any good; his vision is so blurry he wouldn't be able to focus.
His mind plays it out instead. The happy times.
The phone rings but Gerard doesn't even blink. It clicks over to the answerphone and he doesn't exactly listen to the words, but can't help hearing them anyway.
"Gee? Are you...no. I didn't think you'd pick up."
It's Mikey. Gerard screws his eyes shut and balls his fists as the voice continues.
"I got your suit, okay? I'm on my way over now, and I'll go with you in the... in the car, if you want. Just you and me. I'll be there soon."
A soft click, and there's silence again. Gerard slowly opens his eyes and the tears cascade down his cheeks, drip quickly one by one onto his hands. And then he's on the floor, on his knees. No words, just silent pleas as he desperately tries to flatten out the photo in his hands. No, please. I'm sorry, sorry. I wasn't thinking.
There are creases all over it, tears now, too, and for a split second he thinks of tearing it up completely. But he doesn't, he folds it gently and places it on the floor next to him, refusing to look at it anymore.
Mikey will be coming soon. Gerard needs to shower and make himself look presentable. He hasn't showered in days. Four days, but he could tell you the exact period of time right down to the minute if you asked, if he'd talk.
His last shower was with Frank, that morning. That morning he keeps replaying at night (really, each time he closes his eyes), with a million different endings that have him gasping for breath as he wakes and it hits him they were all false. He smells like stale nicotine and badly made coffee now. Old clothes. Frank's clothes. The hoodie and jeans don't smell like Frank anymore now that Gerard's slept in them, lived in them. No, existed in, not lived in. He doesn't feel alive enough to be living. He's just... there, like air; not doing anything, merely being present.
It doesn't really matter though, he doesn't have a heart anymore. Feels like it barely even beats. It's not broken, it's torn, jagged with shredded threads of everything that was him and Frank. Everything that made it so whole and strong.
Really, it's lucky Mikey has keys; Frank's keys, because Gerard doesn't move when Mikey knocks to let him know he's arrived before he walks in. He's still there, on the floor, staring at nothing, TV still blank because the connection at the back is dodgy and he hasn't kicked it to get it going again. Frank would throw his slippers at it but Gerard doesn't want to throw anything of Frank's anywhere. It's stupid, but he can't do it.
"Gerard," Mikey says softly, a light touch to his shoulder. "Come on, we need to leave soon." Gerard stands up slowly, only because Mikey helps him when it seems Gerard's limbs don't want to participate. "Talk to me, please. You have no idea how much I've been worrying about you." Gerard wants to apologize. He would, if he'd talk at all. Mikey keeps going regardless as he leads Gerard to the bathroom, "Have you been drinking?" drags the plastic covered suit behind him, "eating?" and hangs it on the door. "I'm gonna make you coffee before we go. You can have it while your hair dries." Gerard stands in the middle of the room, still staring into space. "I'll wait out there, yeah? Call me if you need me." He's not expecting a response though, and leaves Gerard there.
Gerard turns on the shower, cautiously, hesitant. He remembers being in there the last time, having Frank press him against the tiles and it doesn't make him smile or cry now, he's just numb. He gets in and immediately sinks to the floor, curls up in the corner, water splashing over him. It's ten minutes before Mikey comes back.
"Are you okay? I thought you'd - Gee, what the hell?" Gerard's not listening though. Not to that, or anything else Mikey says as he struggles to pull off Gerard's soggy clothes. "Why didn't you... you can't do this, Gerard. You can't. Not today. Fall apart tomorrow, I'll do it with you," Mikey's voice cracks as he peels the t-shirt from his brother's skin. He's getting wet as well, but it's the t-shirt covered in love notes from Frank to Gerard, that hits him with more impact than the cold running water. "Oh, God. I'm so sorry, Gerard. I'm so fucking sorry," he sobs, folding the t-shirt neatly and leaving it next to Gerard. It's already wet anyway.
The jeans are more difficult; getting Gerard to stand isn't an easy task but Mikey manages somehow. Gerard's sits in the bottom of the shower again, blank and motionless as Mikey washes him while crying, talking the whole time. Soon Mikey's hauling Gerard out of the shower and wrapping a towel around him, "You'll be alright to get changed now, won't you? I'm just gonna go change too. Then I'll make some fresh coffee."
Gerard doesn't talk, but he lifts his eyes to Mikey's and that's enough acknowledgement. It's all Mikey was really expecting.
Gerard does change. It's just about the only thing he's put effort into recently, besides smoking a good way through the eight packs of cigarettes he bought the day... that day. He can't even think it.
He has on his shirt and tie (the thin one that Frank gave him, with the graveyard scene at the bottom), his pants and jacket. All freshly laundered and clean. Too clean. Gerard starts on cigarette pack number seven as Mikey attempts to shine his shoes. "You sure you wanna wear that one? The tie, I mean. I can get you another one, it's just, y'know..." Mikey reaches up to loosen it but Gerard stops him with one hand gently pressed on his wrist. "Okay," Mikey breathes deeply, "whatever you want. Can I? I'm gonna just have one too before we go," he sighs, reaching for Gerard's cigarettes and lighting one for the first time in a while. "You want me to turn that off?" he points to the TV, still blank, and Gerard takes the cigarette pack, lobs it at the cabinet.
The TV flicks back to life, to a still of the last frame where it's stopped at the end of the DVD. It's Frank and Gerard, sitting on their bed with Frank holding the video camera above their heads as they look up at it, grinning.
"I'm turning it off," Mikey whispers, and Gerard doesn't stop him.
The knock on the door makes Mikey jump, but not Gerard; he's been waiting for it. He let's Mikey answer it and slowly follows.
The light outside is blinding for Gerard. He's been in near total darkness as much as possible, but Mikey holds his arm and shows him where to go. His vision is sharp for the briefest of moments before shuffling into the seat by the far window, and he lets out one of the saddest of cries he ever has when he spots the vehicle behind them, which only starts Mikey off again.
When they reach their destination Gerard doesn't get out. He sits in the back of the car, smokes, cries into his knees and wishes he could drink everything away. Eventually he creeps in, where everyone else is, up the side so nobody sees. He doesn't want to be noticed. If he could he'd have done this with only himself present, but it wouldn't be fair on Frank's family to insist on that. They loved him, too. And if he could actually do anything, he wouldn't be here at all. Nobody would.
Gerard doesn't care that people are wondering where he is. Mikey's spotted him and told their parents, so at least they know where he is. Everyone else can go fuck themselves as far as Gerard's concerned. He doesn't give a shit anymore.
He was supposed to say something. Mikey helped him write it out, but he can't. He just can't. So when the time comes and he's called, and the family and close friends all look to the spot Gerard should be at, it's empty. Mikey has to take the crumpled paper pad and do it for him, because Gerard just can't make it past the coffin. He knew it would be open, but he still isn't prepared for the reality of seeing Frank's body, his eyes shut gently, so deceptively asleep looking that Gerard wants to scream and wake him up.
His mother comes over when Gerard all but climbs in, leans as far as he can to lay his cheek against Frank's as the tears fall again. Gerard glares at her, angry and broken and she pats his back softly as her lips tremble and she says, "I know, baby, I know," and Mikey's still talking, voice scratchy, and people are shuffling and Gerard can hear it all; every movement anyone makes, every cough, sigh, condolence, breath, even, and it's suddenly all so loud he can't deal with it anymore.
He takes the St. Christopher his Grandma gave him from around his neck, and slides the pendant into Frank's loose fist, the chain over his hand. It'll help him, watch over him on his travels, wherever that may be, even if Gerard does think it's a load of bull, deep down. Then he closes his eyes, bites down on both his lips to keep from letting out a sound as his body shakes with the force of his grief, and pets Frank's hair, just for a moment. He doesn't want this to be the last thing he remembers, the overwhelming last image of Frank that takes over his thoughts, so he makes it quick, and leans in for the last time to kiss Frank's forehead. His mind won't stop talking though; I love you. I fucking love you and I can't do this without you. I can't. I can't do it, Frankie, I can't. I just...
"I can't fucking do this!" he shouts, hands clutching at his own hair. And then he notices Mikey's stopped speaking, everyone's looking, and he runs from the Chapel and through the cemetary, to the furthest point he can and collapses onto the grass.
"Wish I could tell ya it gets easier, kid," someone says, and Gerard looks up. It's an old man, sitting by a small and weathered headstone, a newspaper in his hands. "My wife, she died twenty five years ago. You know what I do? I come here every damn day and read her a newspaper. Two o'clock sharp, 'cause that's the time she always read the paper." The man sighs and slowly stands, folds the paper and tucks it under his arm. "Don't do that. Whoever you lost, just talk to them, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, they'll hear you just fine. Because this is my life now; coming here, sitting here, talking to a stone. Your love? That lives in your heart and soul, you can't pin it down to a physical place. Me coming here means nothin'. It's just a routine I'm too old to get out of now."
"Thank you," Gerard whispers, holding back his tears and rubbing his sore eyes.
"Don't thank me. Go out and have a life. Anyone who honest to God loves you, won't wanna see you moping around for the rest of your days over something you can't change. You wanna make 'em proud? Be a good person, son, that's all I know," the man wanders off and Gerard breathes deeply, tries to calm himself.
He can do that stuff. Frank would want him to, he knows that. But right now it's too soon, far too soon. The most he can do right now is greet Mikey with a hug when he's eventually found, thank him and walk slowly with him to the hole in the ground, the physical place Frank's body will be laid to rest in, until he can pull his heart back together enough to talk to him there, instead.