Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > The Halo Files

Stamina

by benzedrine_barbie 9 reviews

Category: My Chemical Romance - Rating: R - Genres: Drama,Horror,Sci-fi - Characters: Frank Iero,Gerard Way,Mikey Way - Warnings: [V] [Y] - Published: 2012-04-29 - Updated: 2012-05-17 - 9172 words

5Exciting
4. Stamina

Gerard dreamed that night for the first time in weeks. It wasn’t something that often happened to him; he suspected the implant in his brain prevented it, but sometimes after a bad episode he would have long, lucid fantasies in a bloom of colors. It almost made the attacks worthwhile.

He was in the long white hallway of the house in New Jersey, leaning against the wall as he walked. He could feel the slight roughness of paint through his threadbare t-shirt. The rooms he passed were empty and echoing; they were in the messy process of moving to Nevada, and he’d been forced to part ways with many of his toys.

Mikey stuck his head out from around the corner, holding a finger to his lips. They’d left this house before he was born, but it didn’t strike Gerard as odd to see him there. Mikey wandered through his brother’s memories as he pleased, leaving doors open and boxes unlocked. He tried to change the facts, but he couldn’t.

“Shhh,” he hissed, his eyes bright with excitement. He was taller — much taller — than Gerard. He realized that while he was a little child again, stumbling with new legs, his brother must have been about thirteen.

“What is it?” His voice sounded high and piercing. Mikey stepped closer and covered his mouth, giggling.

“I’ll show you, but you have to be quiet. I found him, Gee.” He grabbed a fistful of shirt and led Gerard to his old room. Sun streamed in through white curtains. The old metal radiator crouched under the sill; his crib was the only piece of furniture left behind. The closet door stood open a crack, and Mikey led him right to it. He followed with mounting fear. “I brought him water and some carrots. He doesn’t much like the light.”

Gerard watched, wide-eyed and powerless, as his brother opened the door and crouched down, reaching out to whatever lay inside. A leathery gray hand closed around his — three fingers, he registered through his shock — and Mikey coaxed the creature out of the darkness.

The alien made a strange noise, a low, metallic clicking. Mikey smiled and bent to whisper something back. Gerard’s stomach was twisting in knots; every impulse screamed for him to run. His brother knelt down on the floor and wrapped his arms around it affectionately. The thing kept purring.

“Can we keep it?” he asked innocently. Those huge dark eyes that Gerard was so bewitched by as a child had turned to holes in his face. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth like he’d swallowed red paint.

“It’s going to hurt you,” he said, trying to keep the panic out of his face. “Mikes, they’re going to take you away and cut you open. They’re going to be chasing you forever.”

His brother didn’t respond, just kept purring in that strange language while more blood spattered onto the floor.

ʬ ʬ ʬ

Pioneer Park, Snowflake, Arizona 7:50 a.m.

Frank felt rumpled and vaguely grouchy as he approached the town square, clutching a large coffee. The sun was barely up, but already the temperature was stifling. The pilot had been kind enough to let him sleep for a few more hours while the plane refueled. He’d woken up at five to fabricate some paperwork, and had waited at the coffeehouse until it was almost time for the meeting.

The park was a rare green patch in a landscape of arid brown rock and scrubby bushes begging for water. Within that cool, lush ring of trees, the grass was soft and children ran to and fro, shrieking their joy. A group of teenagers had a battered old boombox tuned to the local station. A kindly, sunburned man was serving ice cream in the bandstand. Frank strained his eyes to catch a glimpse of the arsonist and murderer he’d heard so much about.

There, in the shade near the fountain — a tall man in a dark sweater. A can of iced tea sat untouched beside him. It didn’t match the exact description, but it was a start. Frank took one last scorching gulp of his drink and tossed it in the trash, then walked slowly around the perimeter of the park. He would have felt naked if not for the gun at his hip; he’d grown used to having FBI chatter in his ear on most missions, and the endless advice would have been a welcome distraction from the task at hand. He tried to get a better look at the man without giving away his interest.

He’d seen a few photos of Mikey Way in Gerard’s case file, but they were always grainy, taken from a ways off, and his brother had an uncanny knack for shielding him with his own body. He supposed the stranger before him looked similar to the pictures. That blond hair, the lanky frame and the strong set of his jaw — Frank walked a little more quickly. The stranger tapped his can of soda against the wooden bench, simultaneously bored and nervous. There was plenty of space, but he sat slumped, cornered, and chewed on his lip. His eyes locked with Frank’s from fifty feet away. Something in them reminded him of a hunted animal.

Frank was just as nervous as he reached the bench, but he was considerably more annoyed about it.

Since when does FBI work feel like a fucking blind date?

The irritation gave way a little when he saw that it really was him, Michael James Way. He was clearly scared out of his mind and trying not to show it, and Frank took pity on him. He straightened the wrinkled jacket of his dark gray suit and thanked god he was always outgoing in the company of nervous people.

“I’m Frank Iero,” he beamed. The coffee had worked wonders on his personality.

“Mikey,” the stranger managed in a soft voice. Close-up, Frank realized he was young, probably not even thirty. He had that deer-in-the-headlights look, overwhelmed and dirty and tired. He shook Frank’s hand warily, pressing a calloused palm against the detective’s own. “S’nice to meet you, I hope.” Dark slanting eyebrows drew together in confusion. He was slightly disheveled; his sweater was splashed with bleach. Hair blew haphazardly around his angular face. There was a lightness to him, like he could be lifted up by the wind at any moment. Frank was charmed.

“You sleep in your clothes too?” he asked, hiding a smile.

Mikey’s eyes darted over him, acknowledging a fellow traveler. He nodded vehemently after a moment. “Drove around all night; I couldn’t feel tired.” There was something endearingly childlike about him. His face was lined with worry, but it didn’t show in the set of his full mouth or the skin around those big, piercing eyes. “It’s nice here during the day, but it gets pretty quiet when it’s dark.” He shivered. “You work for the FBI, right?”

“Yes, I do,” Frank admitted, sitting down at a polite distance. “But I’m not here to hurt you or turn you in.”

“I know,” he murmured. “My brother told me you would come.”

“How—” Frank asked before he could stop himself. He faltered and gave up. None of it made any sense. He was half-expecting some perfectly reasonable lie, that Gerard had called, or sent a letter on a fucking messenger pigeon. But Mikey merely shook his head, and didn’t try to give an answer to something unexplainable.

“It’s not important.” He said it with great finality, cordoning off that line of inquiry forever. “I don’t mean to be standoffish, it’s just…private. So you’re…you’re interviewing Gerard? You get to speak with him for your work?”

Frank was mystified, but pleased by the attention. “I’m supposed to be working up a psychiatric profile of him, because someone out there has been committing copycat murders. It’s my job to figure out what kind of person would do something like that. I was lucky to get the case, actually; my boss knew I followed your brother’s trial as a kid, and let me be the one to talk to him.”

“You’ve done well so far. He speaks very highly of you.”

Frank glanced over at him, but he was spaced out, eyes blank. They were bottomless, almost black. But when the sun caught them the right way, when he looked upwards, the irises were shot through with streaks of green and brown. The family similarity was obvious then. Abruptly, Mikey came back to reality, running a hand through his hair to clear his head.

“Would you like some tea?” He gestured to the checkered can with one slender hand, watching Iero closely. When Frank shook his head, he popped the tab with long fingers and took a drink, eyes drifting shut. He set the can down and made a face. “I hate things that are too sweet.”

Frank felt as if he was being tested. “Why didn’t you get water, then?”

“I don’t drink water,” he said solemnly. “Not ever. I don’t trust it.”

Frank frowned. He was about to question Mikey’s sanity when he remembered. “Oh. I see.”

The man across from him smiled humorlessly. “When your parents commit suicide, it has a funny way of sticking with you. Like, for a while.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be. They were bad people,” he said tonelessly. He could have been talking about the weather, for all the emotion he showed. He looked over at Frank with the shadow of a grin. “We must seem incredibly strange to you, Agent Iero, especially in our attitude towards our parents. We don’t think of them as our family. They never had our best interests at heart, never put us before themselves. They were supposed to love and take care of us, but all we had was each other, and so we made do.” His eyes narrowed. He wasn’t challenging the detective, just trying to get a response with an overly personal remark. It was a clever move for someone who’d never finished high school.

Frank nodded in sympathy. “I get it; my dad left when I was very young. I was lucky — I got one okay parent, and I would have been sunk if I hadn’t had the mother I had. I’m an only child.”

Mikey laughed at the same time the sun came out from behind a cloud. The coincidence seemed like fate; his eyes were shot through with colors, his teeth flashed white, and he was suddenly awkwardly beautiful. Just as quickly, the light faded again, but Frank could fathom now why Gerard felt the way he did. It was there, that sudden and inexplicable quality, only hidden.

“Do you want to talk about what’s going to happen now?” Frank asked. “Gerard wanted me to—”

Mikey’s face crinkled with discomfort. “Could we go somewhere with fewer people?”

“Sure.” He dusted off his hands and rose. Mikey got up and they began walking. Each was looking at the other for directions. “Did you have anywhere in mind?”

“Somewhere else,” he said faintly. “My car?”

“If you promise not to do me grievous bodily harm in your car, I’ll go with you.” Frank smiled, mostly at ease. He was getting past that initial, reasonable fear that came with interviewing murderers, but it took time.

Mikey rolled his eyes. “If I wanted to hurt you, you’d already be dead. That bench was rigged with plastic explosives.”

Frank shuddered violently, but gave no other sign of being upset. Mikey had just been covering his bases as anyone on the run would, and he considered it a gesture of goodwill that he was still alive. “So the stories are true, then,” he said conversationally.

Mikey shrugged as he stepped out into the street. “Most of them. I’m a claustrophobic pyromaniac arsonist, I guess that one’s true. You can put words on me if you like, but they don’t usually describe people very well.”

“I’m not trying to describe you,” he said with a smile. “I’m not trying to pull anything on you, or present you in a certain light. That would be a waste of time. I just want to understand, as best I can, why you do it. That’s all I want from anyone who’s broken the law — not many people are willing to listen to their story, because their actions are so polarizing. I let them speak about themselves as much or as little as they want. Most of them tell me everything; I guess it must be kind of a relief to get it all off your chest after so long, and what I learn does some good down the line. I use the personality types I construct to prevent other crimes from being committed, or to catch whoever did it.”

“You make it sound very honorable.” He swung his arms as he walked, aware of the comedy inherent in his skinny, swaying frame. He looked up suddenly, and those dark eyes seemed to pull in the light and swallow Frank whole. “But there will always be more of us than you can catch, Mr. Iero. The world was made for people like me. If society creates us, shapes us into monsters, it must be prepared to make room in the corner for a few criminals.”

“I hear there’s not much that separates us from you.” Frank gazed off into the dust-streaked distance, biting at his lip. “That urge to effect justice can just as easily become the need to pervert it.”

And god, Mikey knew that so well, better than anyone, but his moral compass didn’t have a problem with what he did. No guilty conscience to betray him, just the cold rationality of morning light. He came to a stop beside a red Chevy Nova with broad white stripes down the hood and ran his hand fondly down the side.

“This one’s mine.” Because Gerard’s was parked in a lot in Reno with newspaper over the windows, and Mikey knew for a fact that he missed it like hell. Something had seeped into the walls of the Camino, something born of years of desperation and fear and the long slow ride out to freedom. He and his brother had been constantly on the road, and that car was the place where their love had started — as much as it could be said to have started, because it felt like something that had existed forever. It was practically a given; Mikey thought he could sometimes remember that warm glow in utero, his brother watching over him with his eye pressed to his mother’s stomach. Every night when he started in on the journey towards sleep, all he could see was Gerard with the stars reflected in his eyes, with a million miles of highway whipping by below them. The imprisoned one would speak to him, but it was this Gerard, wild and free, whose lips formed the words. I don’t want you to see me this way.

He folded his arms and rested them on the roof. Frank circled tentatively around towards the passenger door, his eyes running over the slick paint with admiration. “I’m not a car fanatic or anything, but…”

They both got in and took off down the narrow street. Mikey steered with one hand and searched his pockets with the other. He pulled out a lighter and gestured toward Frank.

“Glove compartment. Thanks.”

The detective pulled out a battered pack of Pall Malls and offered it to him. Mikey picked one at random and deftly lit it. The sun slanted against his silhouette, throwing each eyelash into sharp relief and illuminating the soft cloud of smoke drifting from his lips. He took a winding road out of town, and they began to pass run-down ranch houses and vacant lots filled with waist-high grass. Frank felt a pang of envy; his fingers itched for a smoke. Mikey caught him staring longingly and laughed.

“You can have one, if you want.” His eyes lingered, reading something in his face. “But you shouldn’t,” he guessed. “You’re trying to quit. I’m sorry, I’m pretty tactless.” A burst of hurried words; he pressed a hand to his forehead and shoved the pack down the side of his seat, out of sight. “It comes from living alone, I swear.”

Frank privately thought it was honesty, not a lack of tact, and Gerard had the same problem. The two of them were like outlaws from a spaghetti Western — Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, maybe — and he found himself trying to imagine what they were like when they were together, if Mikey’s blond head leaned on his brother’s shoulder and mixed the dark with the light.

“I should talk about him,” Mikey said quietly, as if reading his mind. “With someone, before I go crazy. But it’s hard, you know? It’s hard to lose the one person who thinks you matter, and it’s even worse trying to describe what that feels like. I didn’t try — I didn’t have anyone to describe it to. It’s been a long time since he was sentenced, but I never really came close to processing it. And now with the date so close, it’s sinking in…” he bowed his head. “When he goes, I’ve got to go with him. I’m scared of what I’d do, and I think I should probably just end it all before I have to find out. It’d be easier to follow him into the dark than to go on living alone.”

“That’s your right.” Frank surprised himself, a frown pulling his mouth into a flat line. “Certainly there’s no better way to die than for someone you care about. And I mean, I can’t say for sure that the world would be better off with you in it. You’ve hurt an awful lot of people with those fires—”

“It’s a compulsion,” he said immediately. “I hate it. I hate it about myself, and I hate doing it, but I can’t stop.” Frank understood exactly what he meant. Just the briefest touch from Gerard Way, holding his arm in that tiny cell, had him freaking out like Pavlov’s dog. “It wasn’t like we drove out into the desert every night as kids and I lit shit on fire, and Gerard tortured animals. What we do now — what they make us do — it isn’t who we are.”

“The aliens?”

Mikey nodded. He was resting his wrists on the wheel, just barely steering. It was painfully bright outside, and the landscape was faded like an overexposed photo. He was squinting, looking troubled as he searched for an exit. “We got away alive, and we shouldn’t have. They’ve been after us ever since, and our lives have been misfortune after misfortune, like the fucking Aeneid, like the Odyssey. It must sound like the ramblings of a maniac to you, Mr. Iero, but I was completely sane to begin with. I don’t know about now.” His laugh was a little shaky. “God knows I tried to deal with everything as best I could. And the irony is, I could survive all this just fine if Gerard were here. We handled much worse growing up. But they took away the one thing that could save me, or I did, because I made him kill all those people when I went missing. I should have done better, I should have gotten a message to him—” The car veered towards the edge of the road as he clutched his head. Frank lunged for the wheel and managed to straighten it out just before they hit the ditch.

“For fuck’s sake—”

Mikey hit the brakes and they ground to a halt. “Sorry,” he panted. “It’s just…it’s like he’s in my head yelling at me sometimes.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a tiny, rueful smile. “Now that sounds fucking crazy.”

They waited for a minute on the shoulder of the road in silence. The drone of insects and the unforgiving heat of the sun seemed to blend into one hostile, oppressive force. Mikey huffed and tossed his still-lit cigarette out of the car window. His eyes darted nervously toward Frank, but he took a deep breath and tried to relax. The agent didn’t speak as they pulled back onto the road. Frank pitied the younger Way brother as much as the older. His actions didn’t seem to match up with the way his mind worked — someone so gentle, a jumpy rabbit of a man, couldn’t possess the deep-seated rage that would lead him to kill. He didn’t understand the nature of fear well enough to see that it had to be hidden. Gerard secreted his behind disdain and confidence, burying it so deep it was practically invisible; Mikey wore his on his sleeve and let it weigh on his shoulders. Frank felt a strange impulse to gain his trust.

“I’ll drive you back to Colorado, if you want.” Mikey tapped his hands against the wheel in some kind of restless rhythm. “I know I can’t see him, but I’d feel better being near him, until it’s over.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Frank murmured. “He asked me to keep you away, to ensure you remained at large. He said it was the only thing that would bring him peace.”

Mikey chewed his lip, scanning the empty road. Now they were out of town, it stretched on for miles, wavering in the heat like a mirage. He seemed to make up his mind.

“You don’t have any other way of getting back, do you?” he smiled. “I’ll drop you off and keep going, up to Montana, maybe. I got a friend there with a house out in the hills, said I could hole up there a while. Fuck Flagstaff — they can wait, but I won’t go back.”

The tires hummed against the asphalt with exhilarating speed. Hot wind whipped through the open window and dried the sweat running down his neck. Frank thought he could do this forever.

“If it’s not inconvenient for you—” he started slowly.

“If you don’t mind reading roadmaps—”

“I’d love a ride,” Frank said firmly, and that was that.

Mikey took them on some kind of circuitous backwoods route to avoid the big cities, and keep out of New Mexico as much as possible. He explained he still felt a weird aversion to the state; terrible things seemed to happen as soon as he crossed the border and set foot on its dry red soil. Frank had never been superstitious, but he thought he understood. They settled on a passable oldies rock station – it turned out Mikey went in for pretty heavy stuff as well, but it was the only channel that didn’t drown in static as they wove through the hills. Frank found himself transfixed by a long spiderweb crack in the windshield that he hadn’t noticed before. It was hair-thin in places, and each narrow line glittered when it caught the sun just so.

The two of them stopped for lunch at a ramshackle diner just off the I-160; Frank’s legs were cramped from sitting for so long and Mikey laughed, not unkindly, as he wobbled towards their table.

“Easy there, detective.” He reached out a hand and steadied him. “You’ll get your sea-legs soon enough.”

The waitress smirked as she rattled off blue-plate specials in a harsh drawl and then took their order. As she left, Frank studied the straight-out-of-the-‘50s décor with a slight smile. Mikey seemed completely at home; he tossed his sweater onto the greasy Formica table and settled into the cracked banquette like he ate here every day.

They’d whiled away the long hours of monotonous landscape by telling jokes and whatever stories came to mind. Mikey was curious about Frank’s job and the type of work it entailed. He’d asked question after question with the candid enthusiasm of a child. Frank had begun to gather a vague sketch of his character through bits and pieces of conversation. Mikey had become more talkative, less guarded, as he began to know the FBI agent a little better. His distrust of people was something learned from years on the run; it wasn’t innate, and it faded quickly.

“What’s it like, traveling around the country?” Frank asked.

“Jealous?” Mikey shot back lightly. “Why wouldn’t you be? I haven’t showered in weeks, my pants have cigarette burns and there’s still syrup in my hair from the last time I ate at a shitty diner. But still, you get used to being on the road, and when you have to stay in one place it’s always…cramped. It’s like an itch you can’t reach.” He frowned. “Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve hated living anywhere for too long. Gerard did it to me, I guess. He sold me on the freedom of it, or maybe I just associate the view out the window with him.”

“How do you make money?”

Mikey raised his dark eyebrows. “I used to rob banks, way back when. Gerard broke his leg and couldn’t work. He knew we needed the money; he never asked where it came from. I skimmed a little extra on the last job – enough to be comfortable for a long time, if you live like me.”

“That doesn’t strike you as…I don’t know…wrong?” Frank couldn’t keep himself from tossing that word out there, just to see if it got any kind of reaction. Mikey didn’t flinch.

“We needed it. I’d do the same for any friend of mine, wouldn’t you? I just happened to steal from people that hadn’t yet availed themselves of my winning personality.” His mouth twisted. “I don’t disagree with you, by the way. If I’d taken more than I needed out of greed, if I’d victimized more people than was absolutely necessary, that would’ve been wrong. But I did it to save my brother. I’d do anything so that he could live.” He paused, sensing he wasn’t getting through. There was no common ground for both of them to meet on. “You must have someone in your life you feel the same way about.”

Frank thought about it for a moment, his mouth set in a hard line. But there was nothing there, just blank space and dark water. He got the feeling that if you had someone like that you would know it immediately. “You know, I actually don’t.” He felt buoyantly alone.

Mikey nodded solemnly. “Not everyone does, Frank. Some people never find anyone they care about more than their own life, and that’s a terrible shame. But once it happens to you, it changes everything.” He hummed dreamily and played with his fork, nudging it on the paper napkin so it lined up perfectly straight.

Frank was dimly conscious of his own hunger, but that wasn’t why his stomach was twisting into weird knots. It struck him with a piercing clarity, like a note that shatters glass. He wanted, no, yearned, for exactly what Mikey Way was talking about. To live for vast, sweeping ideals like love and revenge, to be governed by a moral compass whose needle pointed whichever way the wind blew. He’d grown used to passing up real life for his career, but now he began to feel it grating on him, chafing against him. He was acutely lonely; the satisfaction he derived from doing his job well could no longer sustain him. He wanted to live like them. That life, simple and marred by tragedy and brutally short, like a cheap novel — that was what he’d been vaguely shuffling toward all this time. He reached for it in his sleep, felt it as a slight constant headache. The unrecognized desire had been there for so long it seemed commonplace.

“Wow,” he said. “I understand what you mean, completely. Every part of it.” Then, almost embarrassed, “I don’t think that’s ever happened to me before.”

Mikey just looked at him with deep black eyes in a moment of utter comprehension. He liked this guy, in spite of the fact that his profession didn’t mesh so well with Mikey’s own worldview. He had this kind of boundless, effusive warmth to him — a glow, almost — and that was very attractive. Mikey felt sometimes as if his whole life had been just a string of sorrows, one after another. He was always waiting for the next wave of it to break, and it was both surreal and strangely good to meet someone so far removed from this reality. Frank was…nice, and it seemed to come naturally to him. There were no worry-lines in his face, and his expression never strayed from the bright or genuine. He caught a pleased thought from Gerard, a soft flush of pink. His brother agreed with this analysis.

“So how did it start, if you don’t mind me asking? You and him.” Frank’s knife squealed against his plate, pulling Mikey back from his reverie. Their food had come and lay steaming before them. He didn’t even remember seeing the waitress. He refocused his eyes with an effort.

Frank was expecting the same bristling reaction, but he was rewarded with an offhand shrug instead. The man across from him thought about it for a second, seemingly unsure.

“I mean, I was the one who initiated it. Gerard wouldn’t have allowed it to happen any other way. He’s shy about things like that, plays his cards close to the vest. It was always a game, seeing if I could get him to say he loved me. It’s difficult to remember exactly when it began. At some point it must have occurred to me that the bond we shared wasn’t…normal. I was about ten or eleven, I think. I’d see something in his eyes sometimes, before he caught himself. It was this look, hungry, but patient, like he’d wait forever until I knew what it meant. It grated on him for years, the fear that I’d react badly when he told me. But he never needed to.” He finished matter-of-factly and dug into his food. He had improbably exquisite table manners, something Frank hadn’t expected. Self-consciously, he opened his paper napkin and used it to shield the legs of his slacks.

“You seem very well-educated,” he found himself saying mundanely, “but according to your file you never graduated high school or earned any kind of diploma. How is that so?”

Mikey took a drink of his orange juice and set the plastic cup down quietly. “My father thought going to a normal school would turn us into brainwashed zombies, and that was his job. He told the state we were homeschooled, which was a lie. But there are these school-equivalency tests you have to take every year, and a government official would turn up from time to time, to make sure we were doing the work. One of the women in the compound would tutor us in writing and mathematics for a few hours each day. It wasn’t enough for Gerard; his intellect wasn’t being challenged, and it frustrated him terribly. He understood from a very early age how language is connected to power, and he resented that we’d been denied an education. Some days he would walk miles in the heat to get to the library in town, and he’d stay there until it closed. He’d tell me everything he learned, word for word. His memory was almost photographic. That was the only thing that bothered me about the Church — he had all this potential and they acted like it was worth nothing. Gerard deserved better.

“When we left, we traveled too much for him to continue his official education. He’d take night classes at the community college in whatever town we lived in that week, but he was broke and I was too young to work. I must have been a terrible burden, but he never once complained. After a few years he settled down out east and finished college. He enrolled in the police academy, then the FBI training program. He was determined to get past what had happened to us, to make a life for himself and for me.

“I did my best, but I never had his drive to learn. I picked up what I needed to know over the years, from him dragging me to classes, or reading to me out loud at night. But I never aspired to be anything beyond what I am now. I guess I’m content to be mediocre,” he laughed, “to let society carry me and never try to improve upon myself. I’m not ambitious; I work only enough to live comfortably.”

Frank turned the thought in his mind. His pancakes seemed to stick in his throat. “That’s…an interesting approach, I guess.”

Mikey threw up his hands. “It is what it is. As a strategy, it’s worked pretty well for me up until now.” He set his fork down and wiped his mouth fastidiously. “Shall we go?”

ʬ ʬ ʬ

They drove for hours, until the sun was a hot red haze low in the sky. The desert wind squealed through cracks between the windshield and the frame of the car. Frank’s teeth felt fuzzy; he sagged against the seat. Mikey’s sidelong glance skimmed over his rumpled suit and up to his haggard face.

“You can sleep, Frank,” he said. “We’re almost there, and besides, I know the way by heart. I drive past him all the time and I think about stopping, I want so badly to, but I know I can’t. I read the roadmaps and commit them to memory; I plan the route I’d take if I were to decide I couldn’t live a day longer without seeing his face." He sighed. "I’ll wake you up when we’re in Florence so you can point out your motel.”

“It’s a classy joint,” Frank murmured, practically slurring. His eyes were dry and he squeezed them shut, trying to summon some liquid. He could practically feel the last bit of moisture draining from his body. “I’m sure they’ll have empty rooms. I doubt the hookers get good business this time of year.”

Mikey laughed hoarsely. Another cigarette dangled from his fingers, smoke wafting upwards in a gentle curl. “Sleep, Frank. You need it.”

He let himself drift into unconsciousness, still thirsty.

ʬ ʬ ʬ

Big Bob’s Drive-In Motel, Florence, Colorado, 12:47 p.m.

It seemed like only a moment later that he jolted awake, out of hazy heat-dreams and into the darkened clutter of his motel room. At first he had no idea where he was. His leg twitched involuntarily, and Mikey yelped from his position on the floor.

“You kicked me,” he said, more distinctly. The events of the past few hours came rushing back.

Frank apologized profusely while Mikey removed the agent’s other shoe and placed the pair of black wingtips neatly next to the nightstand. It was a curiously intimate gesture, but Frank could tell it was spontaneous. Mikey probably hadn’t given it a second thought; he’d meant it as an act of practicality rather than kindness. Gerard had spoken so tenderly of Mikey; he had emphasized his brother’s innocence, almost like a warning that his actions could be easily misconstrued.

Frank took stock of himself. He was lying across the bed, legs dangling. His toes brushed the carpet. He was still so tired his skin felt raw, and he tried hard not to jump when Mikey’s fingers brushed at his calves, deftly sliding his socks off. “How did I get here?”

“In a car. I drove.” Mikey chuckled.

“I meant this room,” he clarified. “How did I get here without waking up?” His first thought was that Mikey had somehow carried him. As the other man sat up and stretched, ribs jutting though the ragged fabric of his shirt, it seemed unlikely.

“When I stopped the car, you opened your eyes,” Mikey said as he stood. He winced down at his stiff knees, then folded his arms across his chest. “I asked if you were awake, and you mumbled something. I think you were sleepwalking — I followed you to the right room, but I had to go through your pockets to get your key. You kept waving your badge at me and telling me it would open the door.”

“Huh.” Frank sat up slowly, his head spinning. His body needed sleep; it creaked and ached at the slightest movement. He shuffled to the sink and bent over, drinking straight from the tap. When he was done, he glanced over his shoulder and found the other man had been watching him. There was nothing creepy in his expression, just interest. Frank was pretty sure he was imagining it, but Mikey seemed to actually care about his well-being. He shook his head to clear his addled thoughts. “You can have the bed,” he said, though his back twinged at the words. “I’ll go to the desk and see if they have a cot or something.”

Mikey was sitting on the bed like he was worried he’d damage the duvet cover. “It’s late. No one will be down there. I don’t mind the floor, Frank.”

“No.” He tried to hide his surprise. “I’m paying for the room, and you’re my guest.”

“You have to work in the morning.” Mikey’s voice was soft.

“I won’t be able to sleep knowing you’re uncomfortable,” he countered.

They both stayed there for a moment, smiling a little, acknowledging the ridiculousness of the whole situation. Mikey’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter; Frank realized he’d been standing very straight to make up for his short stature, and relaxed a little.

“I guess…” Mikey started, then hesitated. “I guess we could share the bed. If you don’t mind,” he added quickly, eyes wide. “It’d just be for one night.”

Frank didn’t find the proposal objectionable. In fact he’d felt the vague desire to sleep next to someone for the past few nights, because it was too quiet and the sheets were cold. But Gerard had begged him to keep Mikey as far away from this very place as possible, and he was sure to lose his job if anyone ever found out he’d spent a night in a hotel room with a criminal. He was about to insist on taking the floor, but his back was protesting and his feet were pins and needles and he had to be up in a few hours anyway, so he gave in.

“Okay. But I get the good pillow.” He retreated into the bathroom. The door clicked softly as it locked, throwing the room into darkness.

Mikey stripped down to his boxers and slid under the covers, shivering. He felt a little ashamed of being so openly needy. Usually he tried not to make a show out of being polite. He curled in on himself, drawing his knees up to his chin. His empty stomach twisted at the thought of being so vulnerable to a near-stranger, lying here in his underwear. But he knew Frank Iero was a good man, and he was glad to see another human face after so many hours on the road alone.

Frank scrubbed his face until it stung, then brushed his teeth and peed again to kill more time. When he emerged, he had the welcome veil of the dark to shed his clothes in.

Mikey listened to the clink of a belt, the soft click of shirt buttons, then the rustle of Frank getting in on the other side of the bed. He turned away, sensing the detective wanted space. The heat on his back was nice.

The two men lay there in silence for a while, occasionally shifting or scratching an itch. Frank reached out and gently touched Mikey’s shoulder.

“Goodnight,” he said quietly, turning back to his respective side.

“Goodnight,” Mikey whispered back.

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The next time Frank Iero opened his eyes, daylight was streaming in through the blinds. The sheets were tangled around his body; Mikey had thrown a skinny arm over his waist while he slept, and it was weirdly comforting. Frank could feel downy hair tickling his shoulder, the slow rise and fall of breath against his back. For a while he just lay there peacefully. But something stirred in the back of his mind and darkened his sleepy thoughts.

What the fuck am I doing? He knew better than to keep criminals like pets, to let the very men he hunted into his motel room and into his life. But they were just people, after all. Even Mikey Way seemed harmless curled up in the sheets next to him. He felt a wave of frustration, a headache already brewing even though he’d only been up for a few minutes.

He’d been putting it off for a long time, but Frank knew he needed to have a serious talk with himself. When he’d met Gerard Way, things had shifted. It had been subtle at the time, but he was now beginning to feel the repercussions of their meeting. Lately it felt as if his entire moral code was unraveling, like that one twinge of compassion had weakened his iron will. Here he was, aiding and abetting a killer and his brother, who was also a wanted man. I should feel instinctively that this whole situation is sick and wrong, and I should be fighting against it with every fiber of my being, he thought firmly. But he couldn’t make himself care about it anymore.

He’d been so willing to believe the Bellevue Vampire was more than he seemed, and that some outside factor had led to him killing all of those people. Frank realized he wanted desperately to reconcile the version of Gerard that he’d talked to with the monster described in the case files bearing his name. It would be so much better to subscribe to the fiction that aliens had been dogging the Ways since their childhood, driving them to murder through the Iridium implant in Gerard’s brain. That way Frank could go on thinking they were good people with bad luck, like him. Go on spending time with the man he’d already begun to care for, whose opinion he already valued. And maybe, in time, Gerard…

But he shook his head sharply, denying even the possibility of such a thing. He wasn’t paid to fall for sad stories or to be putty in the hands of murderers. His job, his calling, was to find the truth and pursue justice for those who no longer could. He pushed away the vague thought that maybe the Ways had been denied justice, too. Neither Gerard nor his brother could get help from the government now that they’d been blacklisted. Maybe their actions can be validated on some level; maybe it wasn’t all their fault.

But Frank knew, from what the FBI had taught him and from long years of firsthand experience, that all criminals were responsible for the crimes they committed. It was one thing to think those thoughts, to imagine what it would be like. Hell, Frank put himself in those shoes all the time, going through the motions in his mind as he tried to crack open the motive and put a face to a terrifying crime. There was a huge difference, though, between keeping those fucked-up fantasies safely inside, never letting them escalate, and imposing your will in the real world. Gerard had taken that leap just like every other murderer doing time in prison, and that should have repulsed Frank to the point where he struggled to conceal his disgust and maintain a professional attitude. But that wasn’t the reason he sweated through the interviews, veering off the path of relevant inquiry and letting the subject ask him personal questions about his fucking past. Displaying such blatant disregard for governmental policy meant his job would be at risk if anyone from the Bureau bothered to check in.

He huffed in frustration, his hands curling into fists where they rested on his stomach. Frank Iero wasn’t self-aggrandizing by nature, but he’d solved a lot of mysteries in his short life, enough that he trusted his own judgment — if his common sense wasn’t clouded by his bizarre and unwarranted attraction to a dangerous criminal. Which it was. Even the thought of Gerard staring at him with those scarily green eyes made him flush. The thin blanket suddenly felt like too much.

He tried to think about the whole debacle as if he were an outsider, like he was going over a case that involved complete strangers. Why would he be acting this way, going against all his training? Frank valued his job more than almost anything; his life would be pretty pathetic without it. Something in his gut must be motivating him to take this risk. He couldn’t pinpoint it yet, but something in Gerard’s case files just didn’t add up. He’d need to collect more evidence before he could be precise enough to placate the Feds, but that was fine; he’d need a hell of a lot more proof before he could allow himself to believe.

It he ever wanted anyone to accept his theory, his documentation of the case would have to be absolutely incontrovertible. Frank’s method was unconventional, and he was sure would have been chided for it if he didn’t turn out such good results. Usually he just thought about the case really hard until the answer popped into his head, and left the paperwork for the lackeys with desk jobs. He groaned aloud at the thought of meticulously organizing all his research, following every source to the furthest extent possible and writing everything down.

I might have to take on an assistant.

But he made up his mind to track down the MRIs that Gerard had claimed showed a foreign mass lodged in his brain, as well as do more research into what would cause the Way brothers to have shared delusions of extraterrestrials. What were they seeing, if it wasn’t aliens?

The phone rang, shattering the stillness. He lunged for it before it could ring again. Mikey stirred, grumbling something, but he didn’t wake.

“Hello?” Frank said softly.

“Iero. Agent Smirnoff gave me your number,” Simmons explained, sounding uncharacteristically awkward. “Sorry to call so early.”

“Not a problem, sir.” Frank ran a hand through his messy hair and tried to stay professional. I’m not hiding anything. Certainly not the criminal you’ve been trying to locate for months. “Is anything the matter, or did you just want to check in?”

Simmons sighed. “I received a phone call yesterday afternoon regarding your recent activities.”

Frank’s heart was in his throat, beating so hard he couldn’t breathe. Surely it couldn’t be ending like this, before he had a chance to figure anything out. “My…activities?”

“Yes. I know better than to ask what you were doing with a one-way ticket to Arizona; I trust it’s important.” The assistant director’s voice was weary. He’d learned from experience not to question Frank’s unorthodox methods, as long as they achieved results. “You must be onto something, Iero. The powers that be have ordered me to reassign you. From now on you’re to work exclusively on the Halo Files. I didn’t even know you knew about them, but you would go sticking your nose in where it doesn’t have any business being. You have full clearance; I’ll have your access card updated on your return.”

“That’s…wonderful, sir. Thank you for telling me.” Frank could hardly contain his enthusiasm. “If it’s all right with you, I’d like to stay here for a few more days. There’s a piece of the puzzle I’m still missing.”

“Do you think that Way is connected to the case in some way? Is that why you’ve been spending so much time on what was supposed to be a routine interview?”

Frank took a deep breath. “Way was working at the time of the murders. He had a vested interest in the events surrounding the case, because of his brother’s abduction. He believes the crimes were closely linked, maybe even perpetrated by the same people. He’s been a great help to my understanding of the events surrounding the case, and because he was a high-ranking official, he has information on Lux Nova.”

“Has he given it to you yet?” Simmons asked. He was privately proud of Iero’s progress; in a few short days he had uncovered a valuable new resource. The Halo Files were a disgrace that had gone unresolved for far too long, an embarrassment to the Bureau. If anyone was capable of actually solving the case, it was him.

“Not yet. He’s been drawing out the interview process, refusing to give me all the information at once. I think he’s been lonely; he doesn’t want the conversation to end.” Frank crossed his fingers, hoping he hadn’t betrayed that he felt similarly. A thought struck him out of the blue, the beginnings of a larger plan. But it was so bold he hardly dared to voice it. He didn’t want Gerard Way to die, not yet, at least. Not while he held the key to such an important case. Not while his brother still needed him, and while there was so much left unsaid. “Sir, with his execution scheduled for — what is it, seventeen days from now? — I’m not sure I can get the information out of him in time. I think he knows this, and I think he’d be open to striking a bargain.”

Simmons was silent for a long time. “What are you proposing, Iero?”

“Like it or not, we need him, sir. I believe he knows something about the murders, only he’s never had a reason to reveal it. No one tried to find his brother; no one believed his testimony after what happened. But he’s a credible witness, and he’d do anything to see Mikey again. I think he’d be willing to help me solve this case if we gave him something in return.”

“So you want me to postpone his sentence?” Simmons’ frown deepened. From where he sat in his office, he could see the Capitol. White marble buildings gleamed from across the river. Iero was his protégé; if he was asking for such a huge favor, he must be dead serious about his hunch. “I can pull some strings, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

“I know that, sir.”

“If you’re wrong about this, you’re going to spend the rest of your career pushing papers. I won’t be able to get you out of it.”

“I know, sir.” Frank bit his lip. “But I really think this could be the lead we’ve been looking for. I’d stake a lot more than my reputation on it.” His nerves were buzzing with anticipation.

“All right,” Simmons growled. “I’ll see what I can do. Find me proof of what happened to those men, Iero. I want physical evidence.”

“I will. Thank you, sir. I’ll report back soon.” He hung up and sat absolutely still for a solid minute. He felt unexpectedly triumphant; it was an effort not to punch the air and yell his success. Everything was changing.

He’d already gone out and found coffee by the time Mikey woke up. They ate breakfast together — toast and juice and half an overripe banana. Both were silent until the caffeine kicked in and words came more easily.

“We need to eat better,” Frank said around a mouthful of stale bread.

“Agreed.” Mikey poked unenthusiastically at the banana. It looked abused, its skin mottled with bruises. He peeled and ate it, but he didn’t enjoy it.

At nine, Frank put on his last clean shirt and a sober navy-blue tie and tried to fix his raging bedhead. He stood before the mirror for five minutes, fighting to tame the cowlick at the crown of his head, but it willfully resisted his efforts. Sighing, he shuffled his shoes on and retrieved his briefcase from under the bed, keeping up the pretense that he actually wrote things down. He hobbled to the door, narrowly avoided tripping over his untied laces, and raised a hand to wave.

“I should be back around 1; we can go get something to eat. If you have to go out, don’t draw attention to yourself, all right?”

Mikey nodded. He’d been avoiding people’s notice ever since he could walk. When he heard the rental car pull away, he closed the blinds and climbed back into bed.

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I'M BACK! Sorry sorry sorry for the delay; I had to work a few things out in the real world and that meant taking a hiatus from this, unfortunately. I'm also thinking about moving my whole operation to some other website. Let me know if this is a bad idea, but I think it would motivate me to get more done. I will finish this shit if it kills me, it just might take a while, so please be patient. Thanks to anyone who's still reading; I'd love to hear your input as I have a whole bunch of complicated plot twists and directions I could take this. Anyone willing to let me bounce ideas off them would be really appreciated. Other than that, thanks for reading and I hope you like it! xo
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