FicWad

Hey guys!

So...I don't really know why FOTGTD has been comingup recently on the page. I haven't edited it or added secret chapters or anything, so I'm just gonna pin it on FuckWad.

Anyway,enjoy.

-Jane

Happenin, lads.

This is a very cute chapter just because the next few ones are gonna be gory and depressing so I figured I better make up with it by means of fluff.

The title is a variation of Florence + the Machine's Girl With One Eye and is obviously based on Gerard, because we learn a bit more about him physically and the Mafia-because I have done A LOT of research so in this I get to show off-in this, so yeah. The one eye thing is pretty much because (in my story anyway) he has only one functioning eye...

*cricket bleating in distance*

...wow Lornaigh no fucking way I thought it had to do with Luciana or something, Jesus

Peace and love

L.N.I.

(thats what I'm doing now, the initials thing. should I go back to 'xo lorna' or is that too informal?or does this one seem too pretentious? ah fuck it you all know me anyway)


First of the Gang to Die
Quarantacinque
Boy With One Eye


"We shouldn't be too long, Raymond," Gerard informed his henchman. "Perhaps an hour or two, depending on my leg."

"Yes sir."

Everyday is like Sunday, Way hummed to himself as he straightened his cuffs. Everyday is silent and grey.

Silent and grey; Frank didn't agree with that. It was Sunday the eleventh of November-the day before Gerard would leave for Italy. He had talked it over with his men on Saturday, albeit in a different tone in which he had spoken to his husband in, omitting coo's of comfort and pet names. The first two days of the trip he would be visiting Il Duce in the capital city, Rome, and intense meetings of great importance would be taking place between Mussolini and the gangster concerning-well, no one really knew what it concerned. The Blackshirt's had been fairly vague when describing Gerard's expedition-all he knew was he had to be in The Leader's mansion by Monday night in order not to agitate the dictator. The later three days would be spent in the Sicilian province of Syracuse-apparently where the whole Famiglia had originated. Basically, a Mecca for the Mafia.

The boy was very upset that his lover would be leaving him would be leaving him for five days, but he tried to cover it up as best he could, and enjoy the last half-day they had together (Way would be leaving at an ungodly hour on Monday morning). He was also sick-an uncomfortable predicament at the best of times to say the least. He was scorching hot one minute and then freezing cold the next, his throat was dry and bloody, his breathing weak and labored. He was very lucky that his over-protective husband had agreed to the pair going on a quiet, romantic walk. Indeed, Gerard had seemed extremely eager to be going, and had dressed for the occasion, as we will see in a moment.

A walk. Alone. Together.

Thank the fucking Lord.

The red rose had made its long awaited return on the lapel of Way's waistcoat, matching the crimson tie that was currently around around his neck. His trousers were pin-striped and sweeping-they dusted the floor and swayed around his calves, his ankles. His shoes were high as well, a sizable heel smacking the ground, sending Gerard up to six foot, so that he towered over Frank, who was a little surprised (but very, very, very glad; he loved it when his husband dressed up) at the formal attire, compared to the boy, who wore a white shirt, black trousers and braces, filthy high tops laced up to his ankles. He wore only three pieces of jewelry-his wedding band, the ruby ring upon which his husband's initials were etched, and his lip stud. The boss was wearing a shop full; six rings with rocks on each (onyx, emeralds, rubies-you name it, he had it) and gold bracelets strung around his thick wrist. The tan was still, thankfully, existent. Not quite as russet as it had been in August, unfortunately, but a wonderful golden brown still resided in Gerard's skin tone.

Ray tipped his trilby hat.

"Is that all, sir?"

"Yes. See you later, Raymond." Iero watched as Way hitched up the hem of his trousers and began to wind white straps around the rounded stump below his right knee, attaching the wooden prosthetic. It was intriguing."Don't burn my house down while I'm gone. And if you do, make sure you're not here when I return."

"Yes sir. Have a nice time, sir, and you too, Frank."

"Thanks Ray," the medical expert replied, smiling at him. Then they were alone in their bedroom, the mafioso fixing his fake limb and his lover watching. Due to his writings and also just generally being a guy, he found the action riveting. Way stood up and struck his shoe on the wooden floor; a cracking splittttt came from his leg-it fitted into place.

"Does that hurt?"

Gerard raised an eyebrow as he gestured for Frank to give him his walking aid. He took the stick and leaned on it, eight inches separating the two men.

"Pardon me?"

"Your leg." He pointed to his shin-nearer to Iero than most days. "Does it hurt?"

"You mean putting it on?"

"Yeah."

"Not really," the Don shrugged. "I must get it replaced one of these days."

"Why?"

"It's too small, too weak," he said, sounding momentarily English. "Or I've just gotten taller and fatter."

"So do you just...do you just strap it on or something?" He snickered. "Like a jock strap."

Way rolled his eyes, a smile on his lips.

"Yeah, Frankie, my prosthetic and an athletic supporter are the same thing, I gotta goddamn wooden leg coming outta my crotch, yeah?" He lifted the crease of his trousers and untied the white binds, and the wood fell to the floor. He stood balancing on one foot, quaking slightly, then grasping his husband's shoulders. "See? I'm basically useless if I don't have it."

Frank cocked his head to the side.

"So if I moved an inch right now, you'd be defenseless?"

"I'd fall on my face, yes, and be unable to stand up." A flash of sudden alarm. "Please don't, honey."

This was the first time Gerard Way was physically vulnerable.

The look in his eye was the same as whenever the boy was confronted with sudden, sexual activity-please don't do it to me. Please.

"Would that hurt you?" He inquired quietly.

"Yes," Gerard breathed back,placing all of his body weight on his weaker, inferior left foot. "Please don't do it, darling, it would be like me punching you in the ribs."

"Of course not, Gee," he promised, placing his right hand on Gerard's left, positioned on Frank's shoulder. "You'd never hurt me like that so I'd never do that to you, where you're weak." Way stiffened. "You aren't, Gee, but your leg is-I'm not calling you weak. I'd be the meanest husband ever if I did that." His hazel eyes were warm and genuine, his shy, bona fide smile making the older melt. "You can lean on me and I can do it for you if you want." He steadied his lover and rubbed their noses together in a fond form of cute, submissive affection from the rabbit. "Poor Gee."

Way leaned forward and placed his arms on Frank's fragile shoulders, letting his head rest in the crook of the boy's neck while he worked at his knee. His movements were tender and careful, his medical skills shining through as he wrapped the white bands neatly around his calf.

"I hope I'm not crushing you," Gerard said quickly, feeling a little bad-he was over fifty pounds heavier than the boy. "You must be in pain right now, I'm sorry, pet."

"I'm fine," he responded, noticing the curve of the wood, and the bruising underneath the severed knee caused by friction between wood and skin. His medic's eye surveyed it suspiciously and he brushed one finger against it, and the man above him jolted. "Oh, Gee, I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine, baby," he reassured as Frank came back up and they kissed lightly, casually. "Than you, pet. Shall we go?"

They walked out of the room and tapped down the halls and main corridors of the manor. Members saluted ("Il mio Coro!") and greeted Gerard as they passed; the youngerman satisfied with "'s happinin, Frankie?" and other such qualms. The boss noticed with pleased confirmation that his lowers treated his love with respect and cordiality that an old friend might attract.

"If you don't like them calling you that," Gerard said as they stepped outside, the boy's small hand clasped in his larger one, exiting the mansion's driveway and heading toward the deserted road, shrouded by shrubbery, at a slow, suitable pace. "Just tell me, honey, and I'll get that to stop."

"Calling me what?" Frank asked, happily snuggling into Way's shoulder, blissful in the winter bite.

"Frankie. Your real name is Frank."

"Frank is boring," the aforementioned whined, and the twenty nine year old laughed. "I don't mind Frankie." Cue wicked, yet unassuming grin. "My favorite is Franco," he blushed a little and giggled,"because my favorite person calls me that."

"And who might that be?" He always did this-he loved hearing Frank singing his praises.

"You, you asshole," he pretended to snap,then softening. "I like it when you say anything, really."

"You're so adorable," he cooed, slipping his hand from out of Iero's and sliding it into his back pockets, causing the twenty four year old to let out a shaky gasp. "Il mio Franco."

"That's 'my Frank'," the boy translated happily, arching into his touch. "I know because everyone calls you 'il mio Coro'. Or is it Capa?"

"Both, baby," he replied, automatic answer on his tongue. "Coro is short for decoro, Italian for decorum, dignity. There's also capo, short for capofamiglia, or capa crimini." He sucked at his cheek, but seemed a little giddy. "That means the head of the criminals. Then my father is referred to as Don de la Via."

"Via," Frank repeated pensively. He had definitely heard the word before-it was inscribed in books and on guns, and on the battered door of the secret cemetery. "That's your name, isn't?"

"Correct. Via is Way and Don is a diminutive form of the Latin dominus. The best; the leader."

"I thought you were the Don."

"I am, sweetie; but only of the gang as opposed to the Famiglia. The Don is a rather honorific term, quite formal. When I meet other men involved in criminal warfare I am introduced as Don Way. My father, however, is the oldest blood-line Don still alive, and is therefore seen as the Don of the entire Way family. The Famiglia, the Cosa Nostra, the House of Way-all the same thing." He rolled his eyes and gripped Iero's hand tighter again. "There is quite a difference between Don Way and Don de la Via."

"Are Don's only in the Mafia?"

"Yes. Only Italian-American. But my men do not call me that obviously-it is too formal. It would be like calling someone by their full name-if I called you Frank Anthony Iero-Way constantly it would sound ridiculous."

"Is it...cool?" He always wondered this; as a teenager everyone probably thinks of it at some point. "Y'know...being the Don and stuff."

"In ways, I suppose," he shrugged. "I earn the largest amount of money and have the biggest amount of respect, and I shouldn't even be fighting, most made men retire when they become Don. There is also the fact that I have the most responsibility; it's rather hard to control forty men who wish to do as they like, and another twenty women in the Brigata." He sighed contentedly. "They have a female leader, the Dona, but essentially they all answer to me." He cleared his throat. "I am the boss of the gang."

"And is Bob your second-in-command?" Frank wondered, extremely interested. "You always get him to look after me."

"Technically Raymond is the underboss, the second-in-command. When I die or leave or go to jail-which won't happen, honey, don't worry," he interjected quickly when he saw the look of terror crossing his husband's face. "He will be Don. Robert is the consigliere-he is more of a personal adviser to me, he looks after you and is the most trusted man in the Mafia to me." He nodded proudly. "I admire that man greatly."

"Can I ask you some more questions?" He hoped he wasn't being annoying. "About the Mafia?"

"Sure, honey."

"Why do you always wear black?" He looked up at him carefully, scrutinizing. "Is it because of the Way thing?"

"To be honest, baby, most of the things I do, wear or say is to do with 'the Way thing'," he quoted, amused. "I wear black because that is the traditional color of my family. I don't think I have ever worn the color grey in my lifetime."

"Because that's the color of the Romano's?" Frank asked, remembering how Gerard had insisted he get re-tailored the second day of their relationship.

"Exactly. I'm also just a dark person, darling. Look at what I paint, what I read; what I do- s'all relative, sugar. The same with the jewelry, the flower-tradition plays a huge role in the Mafia. The more gaudy and huge your rings are, the more powerful and rich you appear to be." They turned down a little path, Gerard's cane crunching the gravel. "The flower is what the Don wears. I have no idea why."

"Do all gangsters wear them?"

"When you say 'gangster', I immediately think of a street dancer or rapping artist of some sort," Way laughed loudly. "Like I wear grills and chains and baggy clothing."

Frank imagined his dignified, clean cut, cool, upper-class husband wearing the preceding items. His giggle was shrill and wild.

"Warner has grills," he pointed out.

"They look ridiculous," the boss said snottily, turning to face the brunette boy and opening his mouth wide; pink, long tongue (able to rid Oreo biscuits of white shit abnormally fast) and stubby, pearly teeth about half the size of Frank's baby finger's nail. "See? I only have fillings."

Iero grinned. Five, six, seven-seven silver clumps wedged between Way's teeth.

"I think they look cute," the boy cooed, beaming up at him as Gerard stooped to him, and the boy noticed a beaded strand around his husband's neck. "Aha! You do wear chains!"

Don Way pulled out four necklaces from under his shirt; a reddish brown crucifix,(engraved with G, A and W respectively) a gold chain with an intricate 'W', the wooden rabbit's foot, and his wedding band.

The hazel eyed twenty four year old bit his lip as he grinned.

"You...wear these?"

"Course, babe. My religion, my gang and my bunny rabbit." Frank cradled them in his small hands, the metal and wood still warm from his husband's chest, overcome with joy. "The most important things to me."

"I have two," the boy stated, holding up the foot and the ring. "Score: Frank one, Jesus and the Mafia nil." Both of them laughed heartily, Gerard chortling, shoulders pumping, and Iero giggled. "You wear them all the time?"

"Yessum. I belong to you, don't I?" He pressed their lips together. "You wear that ring I gave you all the time, even though it must weigh you down, poor pet."

"I love it," Frank said, hugging him tightly. "If I'm your rabbit then you're my gangster."

"You are just a ball of cuteness, Frankie, I mean that."

A drop of water slunk down Gerard's nose from his hair. Three eyes-two chestnut and one glistening green-looked up to see the sky emitting ivory flakes and shreds.

"It's snowing," Gerard murmured.

"IT'S SNOWING!" Iero shrieked, voice cracking but oh God he didn't care, he didn't care, snow meant one thing: Christmas. "OH MY GOD IT'S SNOWING! I WANNA MAKE A SNOWMAN! GERARD, ARE YOU SEEING THIS?! ISN'T IT AMAZING?! GEE, YOU COULD MAKE A SNOWGANGSTER-OH MY GOD-"

He grabbed Gerard around the neck and clung to him as the boss laughed at his joyous reaction. Indeed, the beauty was growing; a white blanket of packed snow was covering the outer county of Los Angeles, and it was just gorgeous to watch flakes and balls fall from the grey sky and coat the ground in purity. Within minutes Frank and Gerard were surrounded by nothing but snow. It was in the trees, the road, their hair.

The twenty four year old giggled and kissed his lover.

"This is so awesome!" He exclaimed, being tugged away by Gerard and under a nearby towering,huge fir that served as a Christmas to giants. The gangster found a proportionate rock and sat on it,pulling the smaller into his lap. Frank watched the ivory perfection fall as he was hugged tightly by his husband as he gasped, letting out small "oh"'s, a pair of larger hands clamped around his waist.

They sat in silence, watching the snow, Gerard making sure his rabbit was kept warm and safe, out of the snow blizzard blazing outside. They were impervious for the time being, and it was so wonderful to be wrapped up and warm with the other beloved, Way's quiet, reassuring breath settling on Frank's nape every so often.

"I love Christmas," the boy breathed, eyes following the snow travelling down. "It's so pretty."

"Not as gorgeous as you," Gerard murmured his familiar analogy, and, sure enough, the younger flushed. "Are you feeling alright, darling? This must be harsh on your chest, baby, I don't want you getting more sick."

"I'm fine," he replied, pressing himself even closer to Gerard. "Are you okay, Gee? You're so quiet."

"I'm just thinking, honey."

"About what, Gee?" He asked unassumingly, caressing the mangled hand with light, sweet kisses.

"About how you always ask me if you can ask a question before you do."

The tone was a little sharp; the sickened flinched in his grip.

"Oh," he muttered softly as the fall got heavier, a four foot duvet of snow now shielding LA. "I'm sorry, Gee, I didn't know it annoyed you."

"It doesn't, pet, it doesn't." His leather gloves flexed around the smaller fingers. "I think it's adorable that you ask my permission. It's just that I was wondering if I could ask you something."

Iero was a little surprised by that one. He shuffled and nodded.

"Uh, I guess. You're not mad at me, are you?"

"Quite the opposite, love. I just want to ask you if you remember something we discussed some months ago, when we touched on the topic of possible birthday presents for you."

"You're asking me about getting me shoes?" Weird-but in general Way was not really the norm. "Okay, Gee-"

"Not shoes, honey. Vows. I'm asking you to marry me again."

The boy let out an involuntary squeal and turned around to capture his husband in a passionate, slow, deep kiss, running his hands through Gerard's hair.

"You gonna answer me, or just kiss me, babe? Not that that's a bad thing, of course..."

"Of course of course!" Frank yelled, blissfully happy and wishing they could stay sitting, safe from the snow, just in each other's arms. "I love you, Gerard, of course I want to-yay!" He couldn't help but squeak with happiness. "It's winter time and I'm getting married to the best person ever." He nipped at the soft skin behind Gerard' ear. "Again!"

"Oh darling," the killer breathed in his ear, stroking his hair and kissing him everywhere in reach. "I love you, baby, you're so precious. You've changed so much since we met, honey. I look at you, Frankie, and God help me, I'm just so proud I'm married to you. I adore you with everything I have, bunny rabbit, look at you now, you're gonna write for Harvard and you've killed all those bastards who hurt you-goddamn, Frankie, you killed the man I've been chasing for twelve years,"he chuckled, impressed. "You dyed your hair and Jesus, the things I think about when I see you sucking on you lip stud-I'm the luckiest motherfucker on this planet, babe, swear to God."

Frank sniffed and kissed him again, burying his head in Way's shoulder.

"Gerard?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Do you believe in Heaven?"

"In the afterlife, where those who have repented for their sins are welcomed into the supposed Kingdom of God?" He nodded. "Yes, I suppose I do."

"And Hell?"

"Yes," he answered quietly. "I believe in Hell also."

The boy gulped a little and gazed into their joined laps, nibbling at his lip.

"Where do you think I'll go?"

Gerard took in the sincerity and wonder in his large, deep hazel eyes as he bit on his bottom lip, soft suckling noises coming from his mouth as he sucked on it.

"That all depends," the gangster mused. "It all depends on where you want to go."

The rabbit blushed and shrugged.

"Wherever you go, obviously."