And I could kick your scrawny fuckin ass!
Just saying that in case y’all were getting pissed or something. And this chapter is meant to be funny, because the Gerard I have in my head for this entire story is from the Revenge era i.e. when he had longer hair and wore the red eyeshadow and stuff. Before you bitch at me with ‘HE WAS DEPRESSED AND SUICIDAL THEN Y U NO PICK RED-HAIRED, HAPPY GERARD?!’ Well, it’s my story. If I say Gerard Way is gonna be a ruthless, homosexual leader of the Italian-American Mafia in the 1930’s, then fuck it, Gerard Way is gonna be a ruthless, homosexual leader of the Italian-American Mafia in the 1930’s.
That’s the wonderful thing about fan fiction-it’s fiction.
So, anyway, yeah, Helena video Gerard is the one in my mind, and then Frank is like Revenge/BP era. Kinda more Black Parade though.
OH MY GOD LORNAIGH YOU’RE FUCKING RAMBLING.
So...title is from Hole (I changed the lyrics a little for the summary) and is a bit of a joke because I keep being a complete bitch and saying that Gerard’s fat in the story. Basically, it’s the 2004 Gerard but taller and really strong (oh and no leg and a fucked up eye, btw) so yeah. He wasn’t fat back then but just bigger than he is now, or so I think. As we all know, Frank is like basically like a teenage girl in stature and well...I don’t intend on changing that.
The start is cute, the middle is (meant to be) funny and the last bit is meant to be creepy/cool as well. Something pretty horrible (that doesn’t split Gerard and Frank up or kill them-I’m too much of a wuss to split them up now, I think they are just the sweetest couple) but yeah.
And can I just say I am so proud of what Frank said at the end-the very last sentence-
First of the Gang to Die
Skinny Little Bitch
“But I’m on a diet! It’s gonna be so hard satisfying myself if we buy all that fatty stuff-“
“TWO PER CENT MILK IS NOT ENTERING MY HOUSE, DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT, BRIAN?”
“IF I COME BACK AND THERE IS A BOTTLE OF THAT PIECE OF SHIT WHITE WATER IN MY FRIDGE I WILL DESTROY YOU WITH MY OWN BARE HANDS-“
“Gerard, calm down-“
“IS THAT UNDERSTOOD? DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND ME?!”
“Yes, alright, alright, I’ll get full fat.”
“You bet your ass you will.”
“Gerard...someone wants to talk to you.”
“Alright then. Put them on.”
Brian handed the phone to the boy, who was nearly ripping off his bottom lip in anticipation. It was the second day of Gerard’s absence, the Tuesday. Frank had woken up alone again, and had been crying this morning as well, still in shock from his husband’s leaving and upset from the lack of love he had experienced over the past day and a half. He was now sitting in their bedroom with Brian, who was informing Gerard off the goings on in the previous twenty four hours and had taken over an hour in doing so. This varied from arguing (rather one-sidedly) about milk to quietly notifying Way about Frank’s growing anxiety and vulnerability without the gangster.
On top of that, the morning of the phone call, Frank had stared at the spot of the black walls where he had been raped nine months ago. It had opened a door to him, frightened him beyond anything else; that had happened when Gerard was gone, when he wasn’t with the boy. Gerard wasn’t here now, and the twenty four year old was more on show, more defenceless and in danger than ever. He had nearly thrown up when he thought about that horrible night, when he had been battered and bruised, and then his trousers yanked down and that laugh, that horrible, fucking disgusting laugh-
Iero took the phone from him shakily and smiled gratefully as Molko left the room and the twenty four year old sat on Gerard’s side of the four-poster, his legs brushing half-way down the mattress. He brought the thick, black, chunky telephone to his ear and heard his husband speak on the end of the line.
“Sí? Chi é questo?”
The strong tone made Frank melt, nearly making him cry and buckle apart again.
“Gee?” He whispered, twisting the cord with his fingers. “It’s me. Frankie.”
A sigh of relieved happiness gushed through the receiver.
“Oh baby, oh darling,” he murmured, and for some reason Iero began to tear up again, the fact that he was so far away, that they would have to wait for ninety six hours until they could be together again. “Hello gorgeous, how are you? Are you doing okay? Is everything alright?”
“It’s awful,” Frank replied, sucking on his lip and trembling. The other man, hundreds of miles away in the capital of Italy, felt his heart sink in his chest when he heard his rabbit shaking and scared and hurt. “I m-m-miss you s-so muh-much...”
“Oh please, bunny,” he breathed, “please don’t cry, Frankie, I hate hearing my little rabbit so upset when I’m not there to make you feel better.” He sounded regretful and pitying. “I miss you too, sweetheart, I miss you so much. It’s so hard being away, I know, honey, I know. But I’ll be back really soon, okay, pet? I’ll be home to you in a few days time and everything will be alright, I promise.” The boy seemed to be calming down; just small snuffles and hiccups. “I can’t wait to be back with you, sugar, time’ll fly, I promise you.”
The boy nodded even thought it went unnoticed, sniffing.
“I love you, Gerard.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.” He paused, and then said something in Italian quietly and curtly, like he was talking to someone else. “Sorry about that, baby, someone was at my door.”
“Oh,” he mumbled, burying his face in the black shirt once again. “Do you have to go?”
“Of course not, I’ll talk to him when I want to. I told them I wanted to talk to my husband and they told me I’d have to wait until I had Il Duce’s permission.” He sounded amused and vindictively pleased, cackling to himself. “So I told these teenage idiots-fucking fifteen years old, you believe that shit? Some goddamn kid telling me what to do-that when I want something, I usually get it.” Frank couldn’t see him, but he could tell Gerard was shrugging. “And when a Mafia leader is telling you he wants to talk to his husband, you allow him to talk to his husband, you know what I’m sayin?”
Frank giggled at his lover’s arrogant loyalty and continued to twist the black chord in his fingers.
“So we can talk?”
“We can talk for as long as you want, babe.”
“Okay,” he responded happily. “I think I should tell you that I’m wearing your shirt right now.”
Way laughed loudly.
“Really? Which one?”
“All your shirts are the same, Gee, they’re just black.”
“I resent that, there are a few white ones in there.” A small, uncertain pause. “I think...”
“Well, I’m wearing a black one. You have much nicer shirts than I do, they’re so soft and stuff.”
“Silk, darling. It must be like a duvet on you, since I’m like eight times your size or whatever.”
“I-stop-what-you are NOT fat!”
“What? I just got ‘curves’, that it, precious?”
“No!” The boss was laughing at him again. “No, you’re skinny-“
“YO, RAY!” Gerard called his defender in his room; Frank heard a faithful ‘YEAH?’ in return. “DO YOU THINK I’M SKINNY?”
Only a cackling laugh in return, and gasps of breath were being snatched by the man on the phone. Frank tried to fight a smile.
“Yeah, sir, maybe you should go on a diet-“
“Watch my fat intake-“
“Do you know how many calories are in this?”
“Do you know how fucks I give?”
More shaking laughter and someone even let out a yelp.
“Hi Ray,” the boy returned, laughing a little to himself.
“Shut up,” Gerard snapped childishly to his main man. “He’s my husband, he only wants to talk to me.”
“Real mature, sir, real fucking mature-“
“See this sword? Longer than your goddamn legs, Toro-“
“Did you take that out of your ass when we left the US, sir?”
“Maybe I did, Toro, maybe I fucking did, and-THINKFAST!”
“OW! Man, what the fuck-“
“Go fuck yourself, man-“
“Gee?” Frank asked tentatively, a little worried. “Can I talk to you about something?”
“Of course you can, pet.” To Ray: “Put some goddamn pants on, Jesus Christ...”
“Um...”tears stung his eyes and he squeezed them shut. “Privately?”
“Oh. Of course, darling.” To Ray again: “Get out.”
“I’m sleeping here!”
“I said. Sleep. The fuck. Outside.”
“I wish to talk to him alone.”
“John fucking Wayne, Ray, who the fuck do you think?”
“You know John Wayne?!”
“FRANK! MY HUSBAND, YOU FUCKING IGNAT!”
“Oh-right-of course-I’ll just get the blankets-“
“No blankets. Sleep on the ground.”
“I’ll be cold, il mio Coro!”
“You’ll be cold?” A scoff. “You’ve been in the Mafia for over ten years, and you’ll be cold? No freaking way. Now get out.”
After some reluctant grumblings and some shifting by Way, a door shut and silence was on the other end of the line. Frank heard his lover’s deep breathing and asked again.
“Gerard? Are you there?”
“Yes, darling, it’s me. What do you want to talk about? Are you worse?”
“Oh, no. Brian and me went for a walk yesterday and I wore a coat and scarf and stuff.”
“And you’re eating, baby?”
“Uh huh. I had tofu yesterday and it was awesome.”
“Tofu? What's that?”
“It’s like...like I don’t eat meat so they replace it with tofu. It’s made of vegetables.” He smiled warmly. “You wouldn’t like it.”
“Yeah, sounds kinda gross. I hope you had something decent after that. And by decent I mean real food, not tofuck or something.”
“Go on, darling.”
“Anyway, then I had chocolate and some of your wine, Gee, I’m sorry.”
“That’s fine, honey, it’s nice to know I’m not the alcoholic of the couple, as I’m already the obese one.”
“You aren’t fat-“
“Bunny,” he said quietly, and for a moment it felt like he was right in Frank’s ear, “I don’t think my weight was what you wanted to discuss in private, was it?”
Frank trembled a little more and closed his eyes again. He looked over to make the door was closed and then carried on.
“It’s...it’s just between us, right?” Tears streaked down his face and into his collar. “No one else has to know?” He squeaked.
“Of course,” Gerard soothed, “it’s just our business, darling, you’re talking to me.”
“Okay,” he whimpered. “You know...remember what happened...with de Luca...in our bathroom?”
Gerard breathed deeply and tried to block out the image of his husband sobbing in their bed, confessing to him he’d been raped.
“Yes, darling, I do.”
The sniffing and weak squeaking spoke for themselves. The boss’s stomach churned and twisted with concern.
“Memories really bad today, sweetie?”
“Mmmhmm,” he bleated painfully, rubbing at his eyes. He tried to think of everything he wanted to say but he wasn’t able to say them; put them into words, express his feelings. It was easy for Gerard-he had the vocabulary, the wit, the ease; cool and collected. Frank wasn’t. “I wish you were here with me.”
“I wish I was too, darling. I don’t want to be here anymore, I want to be back with you in America.”
“Is Italy different?” He wondered quietly. “Where are you?”
“Rome, babe. The capital. After I get off the phone with you I have to have a meeting with the Leader or whatever, and all his men, his squadistri.”
“Is he scary?”
“Depends how you see as scary. He’s pretty short, and a little fat-I think he sees that as being manly, I suppose. He briefed me last night on my schedule here just before giving a speech to his men or whatever.” He yawned and something cracked in the background-probably his back. “God, I’m so fucking tired.”
“Ohh,” the boy soothed breathily, “poor Gee.”
“Mmm,” the gangster purred back, low and deep. “I’m going to Syracuse tomorrow, gonna be hot as hell.”
“Are you gonna get your tan back?” Iero asked quickly, and the mobster had to laugh at how excited and apprehensive the question was.
A small hush came over the conversation as the lovers paused to reflect on their situation. Then Fran said something a little out of the normality of their everyday speech.
“I wanna sleep with you,” he said softly.
“What?” Gerard tittered again. “Baby, I’m a little shocked, I usually start off the dirty-“
“Not like that,” the boy murmured, feeling truly alone. “Just...I want to go to sleep with you, when we can feel our hearts beating together and you have your arms around my waist and my hands are on your chest and it’s really quiet in the house and...and it-it’s so nice,” he finished, barely audibly, voice cracking at the end. “I wanna be in your arms and for you to kiss me and make me feel safe. It’s different for you; you’re used to this, and you like a lot of people-you love some people in your family, all your men think you’re the best, and you loved your husband before all of that. You’re the first person I’ve ever loved, Gerard,” he squeaked, cracking, feeling weak from lovesickness and general illness. “And I just can’t stand being away from you like this.” He rubbed at his eyes and tried not to gasp with sobbing. "It hurts."
“Oh honey,” he answered, voice choked a little. “Oh sweetie, please, you’re breaking my heart talking like that. It must be so hard for you, when I’m in the industry I’m in, babe, but I won’t be leaving for anywhere else without you after this, okay? I’ll take time off if you want me to, Frankie, we can go to Mexico for a week or something, or England or-fuck it, we can go to fuckin Australia if you want to-but I have to finish this, pet. I told you something the night before our wedding, when I showed you that gun. Do you remember what I said to you?”
“I hope that shows you who you’re marrying,” Frank mumbled.
“That’s right, honey. And I know that this is gonna be hard because of my work, but I’ll be home quicker than you know it and then we can just fuck all this Mafia shit and do something semi-conventionally romantic, ya know?” The five four giggled feebly. “Now do me a few favours, okay baby? Dry your eyes, babe, and breathe real deep, ‘kay, you know your fuckin lungs like to shit you up a lot-but make sure you don’t rub those gorgeous eyes with your hands of they’ll get sore. And I really can’t wait to come home and see your pretty hazel glass orbs.”
“Okay,” he laughed a little shakily, in a better mood. “Thanks, Gerard.”
“I just got told by Molko that youse are goin shopping later, riiiiiight?”
“You better wrap up nice and warm, sugar. If I come back and you sneeze so adorably like you do you’re gonna spending a week in bed and your husband is gonna be there, givin out to you like shit.”
Frank laughed again at that, although it could possibly happen-his voice was thin and his chest tight.
“If I do get sick...would you look after me?”
“Course I would, bunny, although I ain’t as crafty as you are when it comes to nursin someone. My little medic,” he cooed.
“I’m not good-“
“Frank, please, accept the compliment.”
“Well, thank you,” he gushed. “I was gonna ask you something about when you come back.”
“Uh huh, baby, go ahead.”
“Well...”he wondered how to pose the question-he knew Gerard was smart (over 125 in IQ is considered genius standard-Way happened to be 163) but he wondered if his true talent lied within the murky depths of killing, and killing only. “Um...you said you went to private school.”
“Did you do math?”
“Uhh...yeah, sweetie, I did. Probably one of my best subjects.”
“Oh.” Fuck yes! The gangster knows math! “I was wondering since...y’know...I dropped out and all...and I never learned algebra, and you need to do it for medical journals...if you could...help me?”
“Oh gorgeous, of course I could,” he replied, “how precious, of course I’ll help you with arithmetic.”
“I’m not good at all, I can barely count-“
“Well then I’ll help you,” he purred. “I’ll make sure you’re the best damn medical journalist in the whole States, babe, you’ll be beating Einstein when I’m through with you.”
“FRANKIE!” Came the familiar gruff voice of Bob Bryar, right in the hallway of the Way manor. “WE’RE LEAVIN IN FIVE MINUTES!”
“Oh,” he said, desperately upset he’d have to say goodbye to Gerard. “I have to go, Gee.”
“Alright, sweetheart. Just remember that I love you, okay? I’ll be home soon.”
“Okay,” he whispered, not wanting to hang up.
“Oh yes; and Frank, darling?”
“I still haven’t heard you play guitar.” The smirk; even hundreds of miles away, the smirk was present on Gerard’s lips. “You keep it locked up in the common room and you never play it.”
“Oh, no, I played it for Ray last week.”
“And yet not for your own husband?” He put on a fake tone of misery and sadness, so authentic Frank actually believed it. “You’ll play for me, won’t you, bunny rabbit?”
The interested sexiness in Gerard’s voice made the rabbit’s breath hitch and catch.
“But I’m really bad!” He insisted quickly. “I’m so bad, Gee-“
“Raymond informed me you were excellent. He has played guitar since he was a teenager and said that you far exceeded him.” He was smirking again. “So it’s scheduled then? The night I return from Italy? Wonderful-“
“No no; no arguing, you must go. I’ll see you on Saturday, darling. Goodbye.”
He sniffed as the line went dead.
“Okay, okay...so we got the fruit, the vegetables, the pasta, the potatoes, the wine, a fucking bag load of cigarettes, shampoo-“
“You got the right one, didncha, Matt?” Bob asked warily, and more scared than the usual Chicago native radiated. “I don’t think tha Coro wants us to get it wrong...”
“How in God’s name do I know what the right one is? I don’t take baths with the man, Bryar, I don’t bloody well know which is specifically Gerard Way’s shampoo-“
“Shut up!” Bob hissed as other shoppers stared at the disguised three men and one woman who had just uttered the name equivalent to the Devil himself. “Don’t say that!”
“Why don’t you ask Frank? He probably knows.”
Frank blushed bright pink and pretended to be very interested by other items on the list.
“See, Bellamy? Youse makin the kid uncomfortable.”
“They share an en suit, you ignoramus, I’m sure that just because your boss doesn’t invite you round to have a little session in the tub that perhaps the boy has walked in on him.”
“What? You know what shampoo your wife uses?”
“Yes, of course. L’Oreal Paris, Blond Expressions, number eighteen, golden ash,” he recited effortlessly, shrugging. “I love Kate.”
“Just because I don’t know my wife’s shampoo doesn’t mean I’m some shitty husband-“
“Um, guys?” Frank interjected, and both quarrelling men turned to him. “It’s okay. He got the right one.” He shook the black bottle gently, trying not to inhale the smell that reminded him of Gerard. “See? It’s cool.”
Bob nodded a little stiffly and Bellamy grinned, showing all his teeth. Both were wearing dark glasses and baseball caps in cognito in the local supermarket, changed from their heavy-duty tailored suits to sweats and shirts. Bryar was even wearing a Chicago Bears jersey and Nike sneakers. Dolores, the feisty woman from Limerick, was also running through the list with her employer’s boy.
“What left, Dolly?”
“Not mucha you’ll be left if you be callin me Dolly.”
“I’m very sorry.”
“Right then,” she nodded, giving the list to Bob. “We're just needin a few more things. I’ll get the eggs and the milk-“
“Full fat, Dolores-“
“Full fat, I know. Frankie, you wanna get yer whatever it is?”
“Tofu,” he replied, smiling-O’ Riordan suddenly found the meaning of when Gerard had contacted her eagerly in October of the previous year, telling her that the most adorable boy in the world! had agreed to marry him-and he nodded. “I’ll be back in a sec!”
He bounded off, Converse slapping the shining floor of the store.
“Okay, so Dolly’s getting me the eggs and the milk-“
“That’s not the only thing you’ll be getting from me if you be calling me Dolly.”
“Alright, okay, Matt, you can go to the checkout and I’ll be there in a-hey!” Bob said, jabbing a finger at the page onto which Gerard’s neat calligraphy was printed, and below the last item (the controversial shampoo) was a word in a fatter, more casual handwriting. “Why da hell do we need tampons?”
Matt also raised an eyebrow and leaned in over the shoulder of the taller man. Dolores flushed.
“I don’t need them, do you, Matt?”
“Why, no, Robert, I am well stocked up on them.”
“Oh yeah, me too, I have some in my bag if you want some-“
“Shut up!” Dolores snapped, whacking Bob around the head with a loaf of bread. “You know damn well who they’re for, you little shites!”
Frank, over in the meat section, giggled as he heard the outburst of rage and indignation. It was nearing six in the evening on the Tuesday, which was good in the boy’s eyes as it meant closer to the bosses return. Tomorrow would be Wednesday and then after that Thursday and then Friday-and then, Saturday! He would survive till then, he was sure. He hoped the house will still be standing though; they left Brian in charge of the manor while they went shopping-an activity which took the best of two hours-and Brian Molko and dangerous objects with a large, beautiful house isn’t the best of combinations.
He was scrolling his eyes down through the artificial meats when someone laughed in his ear. He turned around to see Warner, along with eight or nine of his guards, all with leering gapes and smirks, dark suits and unnatural features. The ringleader was standing right in front of Frank, breathing down his shirt.
“Frank,” he purred, “what a pleasant surprise.”
The boy trembled a little as the tall man pressed a hand to his cheek.
“I see our Gerard is not here today to make sure other people don’t even look at you,” he said lowly, his hand travelling lower until it reached Frank’s jutting collarbone. Iero was so scared he couldn’t move. “He has left you.”
“No he hasn’t,” the younger snarled, coming to his senses and slapping his hand away, staggering a little. “He had to go meet people and he’s back on Saturday, so shut the fuck up.”
Warner withdrew his hand and jerked his head like he had been smacked in the face.
“My my, I was not aware of the cheek you have. I thought Gerard would have...” he reached down, and Frank couldn’t see where his hand was-and suddenly he was being grabbed, his ass being squeezed by the demon. “Would have straightened that out by n-“
The rape. That was certainly not going to happen. He wasn't someone's disposable bitch anymore.
Frank pulled the small knife he always carried on him from the waist of his trousers and plunged it into the scrotum of the man with a hold on him, who groaned loudly and fell to the ground, grabbing his crotch and rolling on the floor. Guns were being withdrawn and pointed in Frank’s direction-he had to ask himself in this moment in time where the fuck shop employees disappear to whenever they’re needed.
“You don’t ever fucking touch me, you got that?” He hissed, pressing his foot down on the nether regions of the taller man, so that he bit back on his teeth in order to prevent his screams from escaping, and blood gushed onto the rubber sole of the sneaker. “I’m not one of your sluts you can just fuck around with, I belong to Gerard fucking Way and the minute he comes back Imma tell him what you just did to me and he’s gonna shove a sword far off your ass your ugly metal teeth’ll fall out and I’ll play FUCKING TIDDLYWINKS WITH THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS!”
With that, the boy giggled, stepped off of him and skipped back down the aisle.