FicWad

Notes y'all should take about this chapter:

1. I do not and have never associated with Donald Way (for those not in the know, the father of Gerard and Mikey Way) and my character portrayed in this work is purely fictitious, conjured by my own fucked up mind.

2. The title (which is from Mozza, guvnah) I realize seems a tad out of place in fan fic, so no, this is not a m-preg. 'Pregnant', in literary terms, once meant 'innocence' so you can interpret the title as that more than someone getting knocked up...

3. I mean no offence to blond girls...being frank, I am one. So there ya go.

lorna


First Of The Gang To Die
Dieci
Pregnant for the Last Time


Gerard wished his father would really stop rapping his knuckles against the glass. It was most irritating and this, he was sure, was the main reason his father continued to do it in the first place.

"Could you stop?" Gerard asked pointedly, rubbing one temple. His other hand, with fingers choked with colourful rings, lay on the armrest.

"Why?" That stupid fucking grin flashed across his face. Various expletives and threats were considered by his son. "Does it annoy you?"

The younger gangster growled a deep sigh from his vocal chords. This was why Gerard left this prick at sixteen. This was why, goddammit.

"I thought you called me here for a reason," he said through gritted teeth, "not to fucking test my patience."

The old man smiled and leaned back in his chair. The vibrant green eyes (which his eldest had inherited) behind the spectacles surveyed his son, whom he had not seen in five years, with bemused, lazy interest.

"You've gotten fatter," was the first compliment. The second was: "And you've got a hunch."

Gerard crossed his legs and shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers, poking his tongue into his cheek. Yes, he supposed he had gained perhaps twenty or thirty pounds, but hell, the old man hadn't seen him in five goddamn years, of course he was going to look different.

"How nice of you to point out," Gerard replied, rolling his eyes. What is it with parents and picking out random, blatant faults? It wasn't as if Gerard worked as a male model really; he had far more dangerous weapons than sparkly eyes and a good root canal job.

"And your teeth are fucking disgusting," was the next dose of flattery. "You smoke?"

"Like a goddamned train," Gerard said proudly, pulling out a cigarette from a gold bo, stored in his breast pocket. "I smoke all day, every day. Can blow smoke rings and everything."

"You bite your nails. Your hair is too long. Your lip is split. You look too tall for an Italian." He paused and snorted in the twenty eight year old's face. "And what the fuck happened to your eye?"

Gerard sighed and shifted uneasily in the chair of his father's office. He was stressed and his nails were often the first to suffer. He hated trips to the barber; they always tried to mutilate the long locks that often trademarked his somewhat gothic look. All in all, the insults never damaged him, but merely exhausted. He had never wanted to show up at his father's multi-million dollar penthouse in Anaheim, but since he had been assured the conversation was important he figured showing up could do no harm.

"I'm not fucking fifteen anymore," he growled, "I'm twenty-eight, I gotta fucking life of my own. Run the fucking gang, remember?" He breathed out grey smoke. "You can't fucking boss me around, I ain't like mom. I ain't just gonna sit back and take it, fuck-face."

That had burst whatever bubble Donald had been experiencing.

He raised an eyebrow, an expression that mirrored his son's. Then he leaned across his mahogany- real mahogany,all the way from Cuba -and slapped his son across the face.

"Don't you fucking talk to me like that, you cocksucker. I demand respect from you, you little shit." His beady eyes swept over Gerard, who was ridiculing him like he was sixteen again, one of his jeweled hands pressed to his reddening cheek. "Those who want respect give respect." A sigh. "You want a drink?" He waved a hand toward a solid glass cabinet next to the book shelves. During Prohibition (which had ended over a year ago) Donald Way specialised in the shipment of alcohol to the west coast of the States; this meant his collection of drink was varied and exotic compared to most. "Got some good whiskey last week from Don Potenza, y'know, in Sacramento."

"I don't want a drink," Gerard replied, pulling out a tooth that had been evicted due to his father's fist. "I rarely drink anymore."

Donald snorted. "Why not? Sucking more cock these days, are we?"

"No. I just have no desire to end up like my idiotic father," was the cool, crisp comeback.

The older grunted, and pressed a fat finger to a button underneath the table. For one glorious moment Gerard thought he was being thrown out. He glanced hopefully at his Rolex peeking out from his sleeve. Had his father's patience evaporated after only nine minutes with his son?

If only.

Of course not. Donald had been a mafia boss since his late teens and could withstand days of torment. Gerard bitching with him was no more than a bother. He was just calling whatever bitch he was banging to pour his drink for him.

She was exactly the type Gerard had expected; skinny little bleached blond with big eyes and a large chest that his father had likely paid for. He, as a non-heterosexual man, found it strange to imagine being attracted to someone so...plastic. As fake as the dolls his niece played with. This girl was wearing a white blouse with a frilly collar and a black pencil skirt. Tight wasn't even the word Gerard would use; constricting might be more suitable.

Anyway, she strode in, carrying a bottle of Jack Daniels and two glasses. Her eyes glistened when she saw the younger Way.

"Donald," she purred to her sugar-daddy, "I don't believe we've met."

The two glasses clinked together as she set them down, turning to Gerard, her smile repulsive. The Don recoiled slightly and tried to slip his left hand into her view, his engagement band (similar to the design of Frank's more extravagant ring) hugging his ring finger. She didn't notice and instead flicked her hair over her shoulder; her perfume intruded Gerard's personal space like a punch.

"My son, baby-doll." The whiskey splashed around in their containers, climbing each side of the glass. "Gerard. He won't have a drink."

"I won't bring in his glass then."

Gerard smirked at his father's clear alcoholism.

She continued to smile and flutter her eyelids, Gerard emitting no response. He had sat through electrocution, he had been shot nineteen times in the leg, he had been shot in the eye...he could survive this. He couldn't even pretend to be somewhat enchanted by the girl; he found her about as sexually attractive as roadkill.

She leaned over to pour the alcohol and Gerard could see the busk of her corset. His throat filled with bile and he longed to see his fiance.

"Don't bother, honey," Donald advised, wearing an amused smile. He held up a glass of the copper liquid. "He's the one I told you about. You know...he's a little different to most men."

She blinked, large mascara'd eyes bulging from her skull.

"Queer, baby." Donald smirked and lifted the glass to his lips. "He fucks boys."

She physically recoiled, incredulous.

"You can't be serious. Really, baby? He looks normal."

Gerard snarled and his fist tightened, knuckles blazing white.

"Yeah, well, he's not." The smirk again. "And we're not talking secretly queer. He's getting married and everything."

That had shocked Gerard. He had no intention whatsoever of telling his father anything about his personal life. Frank was his business. Donald had never cared about Gerard's previous marriage, why should he start caring about this one?

Donald saw his son's confusion, and saw her queue to leave.

"That'll be all, sweetheart," he said, rubbing her thigh, "you can go now."

She smiled and walked out, ass jumping up and down. Donald's corresponding beam made Gerard wanna puke.

"Lovely, isn't she? Victoria. Just turned twenty-one last week. Don't get a better piece of ass than a girl barely legal." He barked with laughter. "Course you wouldn't know much about that, would you?"

Gerard scoffed, grabbing the remaining glass of Jack. "Don't gimme that shit. I still have eyes, don't I? She's idiotic. You can't polish a turd."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Gerard stared at him blankly. Donald frowned.

"So. Never told me you got engaged." He sniffed. "Seems like just yesterday you were getting married to that other boy. Pity, really. Marriage doesn't seem to last in this family..."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "That was five years ago."

"Such a pity you were so harsh to him. Such a nice boy. Eoin, wasn't it?"

"Evan."

"Evaaaan, that's right." He peered into his glass, thinking pensively. "That wasn't a very wise move, now was it Gerard? He came from a nice family. He was an Italian, a nice full-blooded Italian, he was wealthy and respected..."

The younger made an irritated noise and flapped a hand carelessly.

"For the last time," he said with steady contempt, "he fucked up our marriage. He slept with whores and did blow behind my back. I treated him like goddamned royalty."

His father didn't answer. "Killed a few weeks ago, am I right? Romano's footsoldiers, I think."

He was doing this intentionally. Trying to piss Gerard off, to break that infamous temper.

"Yes. Nearly three weeks ago."

"And already you are with another boy?" He shook his head, tutting.

"Evan left me," Gerard hissed, his throat becoming locked and choked. "We were separated for nearly a year. He had moved in with some other man-"

"This new boy," Donald started, eyes sparking with interest. "What's he like? An Italian, I would hope."

Gerard's eyebrow arched. He wondered where this conversation was heading.

"His name is Frank. Half-Italian, I think, he was born in Inglewood. He's twenty three." He smiled. "Such a beautiful boy, very polite and so...endearing."

"Twenty three?" Donald whistled lowly and his eyed widened. "Hmm...how young. He must be a virgin if you wish to wed him at this age." When the younger said nothing, Donald asked with ferocity: "Well; is he?"

Gerard cleared his throat. "No...he's not. He was with Romano before."

Gerard had never seen someone's face go a deep shade of violet as quick as his father.

"Romano?" The butt of his cigar fell from his mouth. "As in James motherfucking Romano, your enemy in blood and battle? You are fucking a Romano?"

"He's not one of them," the younger Don answered back. This wasn't fair; the old man blaming a young boy for getting involved in a bad family. More over, blaming him for being abused since a young age. "His second name is Iero. He's not even involved-he's just a bystander. He's sweet, he's like a little kid."

"I don't give a shit how nice Gerard's precious little baby is! The fucking cunt still fucked James Romano!"

In later years, when Donald Way would succumb to Alzheimer's disease, he would rarely talk about his eldest son. It was not memory; there was plenty about Michael, but never Gerard. Once he even told someone he only had one child.

But he would remember the sheer anger, the rage and indignance, the hurt and asperity in Gerard's eyes as he suddenly stood in his father's office, a gun looking down upon the face of Donald Way. It had happened so quick he hadn't had time to react.

"You talk to me like that," he muttered softly, taking him by the collar, "but you never, ever, ever talk about him that way." The older Way winced as his son pulled out a pocketknife and drew it slowly across his neck, blood seeping through the wound, the old man choking on his own fluids. His lungs begged for air that Gerard's blade would not oblige. "I'm the cunt here; not him."

Donald blinked and stuttered, trying to pry Gerard's hands from his. No dice; Gerard may not have been the healthiest guy on the block but he wasn't weak. He could strangle someone with one hand if he wanted.

"I'm going to leave now," Gerard went on, trying to shrug on his coat with one available arm, "because this topic is no longer of any interest to me." The knife was jammed back in his holster. "You don't tell anyone about that, or I'll make it a lot deeper and you won't be able to drink that expensive whiskey anymore, got it?"

He walked out of the large ebony room, walked right up to his father's girlfriend and said in a sweeping voice;

"He's not gonna die, but I think you should know that his blood levels are seriously decreasing and he could be prone to infection, so you might wanna get him a doctor." He flicked his vision over her. "And,just for your information, your roots are showing, you might wanna re-dye soon or you'll end up looking like a cheap hooker." Then he laughed."Oh wait! Too late!"

He left the mansion, laughing all the way back to his house.