FicWad

Chapter 8

(Still Gerard's POV)

Months passed, and Frank and I fell deeper and deeper in love. Countless hours were spent together, doing everything and nothing. We even managed to find a small house five minutes from the studio and the rest of the boys. We were moving in today, as a matter of fact. I was totally excited. I could finally be with Frankie as much as Iwanted. Truth is, I'd been missing him lately. We'd both been extremely busy: me with my constant writing, and him with his guitar. I think he was making it a personal mission to show Ray he could play lead. Good luck, darling. Anyways, it was time for me to meet Frankie at our new house. We were signing papers together at noon there, and it was nearly that time. So I needed to move my ass.

All my suitcases were packed with my shit and ready to go by the front door. They only needed to be loaded into my car. Normally I'd make Mikey do that since I'm such a lazy ass, but he was off visiting some girl today. Alicia, I think her name was. So I was going to have to load my stuff myself. Damn. I wandered to the door and reached down to get the smallest case. As I began to stand back up, the pain from that night in the van returned, only worse. I gasped and sank to the ground. I waited for the pain to subside, but nothing happened. It was still there, like a thousand knives in my chest. After a few minutes of lying there helplessly, the throbbing fell to a dull ache, just tolerable enough for me to get up and carefully load my suitcases. I needed to hurry now; I was keeping Frank waiting.

Frank's POV

"I'm so sorry,he said he'd be here. I don't know what he's up to."

Dammit, Gerard. We were signing ownership papers for our house today and he hadn't shown up at the set time. And now our realtor was getting pissy.

"I have other things I need to do today," she said snidely, tapping her wristwatch. "I can understand five minutes, but half an hour?" She shook her head.

"He should be here any minute now,"I assured her. As if on cue, Gerard's beat up old Honda drove around the corner. "See? There he is now."

When Gerard got out of the car, Iknew immediately that something was wrong. He didn't look good at all. He was even paler than normal (I know, impossible, right?) and his hair was matted to his forehead with sweat.

"Sorry I'm late. Now let's just hurry up and get these papers signed."

A massive stack of contracts later, our realtor was finally gone, leaving Gerard and I alone in our new house. Now I could ask what was wrong. The whole time that we had been sitting down signing papers, he had been fidgeting as if he was in pain. And from what Icould tell, his breathing didn't sound right. It sounded, oh I don't know, off.

"Gee, baby, are you alright?" I asked him, taking his hand. "You look sick..." His hand was clammy, not like the normally warm and dry one I was used to.

"I got this really awful pain in my chest, right when I was getting ready to come here. I still feel it, just not as intense." His face was screwed up in pain, and he rubbed his free hand along his chest.

"That doesn't sound too good. Go to the doctor, will you Gee? I don't want anything to be wrong with you." Gerard looked at me for a moment and then nodded.

"Alright, I'll go. You stay here and unpack." He kissed me quickly before going back outside to his car.

Gerard's POV

I hate hospitals. Plain and simple. Not only do I hate the atmosphere, but any kind of needle or syringe scares me half to death. The only reason I'm here is because Frank asked me to come. Okay, and partly because I was starting to actually worry about my health. I pulled into the hospital parking lot and parked. The lot was nearly empty, so I shouldn't have to wait long in this torture trap. I walked slowly up to the double doors and took a deep breath before entering. As soon as I stepped inside, the sterile smell of disinfectant filled my nose and it was all I could do not to gag. I made my way up to the front desk. I was unfamiliar with my surroundings, since I tried to avoid hospitals at all costs.

I approached the young woman who was sitting behind the desk taking calls. "Erm... excuse me?" I asked tentatively, leaning forward. "Ma'am?" The woman looked up, surprised. She gave me a once over, taking in my matted black hair, pale skin and rumpled clothing.

"May I help you?"

"Uh, yes, I suppose. I need to see adoctor or something."

She arched an eyebrow. "Okay then. What's the problem? And I shall need to know your name."

"Name's Gerard Way, and um. Chest pain, I guess."

"Alright, one minute, Mr. Way. Why don't you have a seat."

I nodded my thanks and went to the waiting area. It was furnished with a dozen wooden backed chairs. There was awoven rug on the floor and a fish tank sat against the opposite wall. On the corner tables colorful flowers sat in glass vases. Everything was all very bright and colorful. It seemed to me that whoever had done the decorating was trying to make the area cheerful so that when one was sitting here, it made them forget the reason they were in the hospital. It may work for some people, but not for me. Despite all the color, the potent hospital smell still filled the air. To me, this waiting area almost disgusted me more than the hospital itself. In my mind I saw families sitting here, waiting in suspense for any sort of news on a loved one in critical condition. I could hear their cries of anguish when they discovered a family member was dying. It was all quite dark and depressing. I suddenly wished I had Frank here with me.

"Mr. Way?"

I looked up, seeing an older man with graying hair and glasses standing a few feet away, holding a clipboard. I'm guessing he was the doctor. I stood slowly.

"Yessir, that's me." The doctor nodded curtly and motioned for me to follow him. We walked down the long hall to the general clinic rooms. The hospital was eerily silent, and everything was so white. I vaguely wondered why they didn't make hospitals black. Black seemed much more fitting for a place filled with pain and death. As we reached the room, the doctor, who had introduced himself as Dr. Wade, pointed to the long silver table covered in white paper.

"Go ahead and hop up there and we'll have a look at you." I obeyed, and chewed my bottom lip nervously as Wade rummaged around in a drawer. Damn, I needed a cigarette.

"Alright, Mr. Way, I want to see what your insides look like." Wade stepped up behind me with a stethoscope and commanded me to sit up straight and take deep breaths. I shivered as the cold metal of the medical instrument slid under my shirt and touched my chest. After the initial shock of the cold, I began to breathe regularly. Or what I thought was regular, anyways. As Wade slid the stethoscope into different positions on my chest and back, a frown built across his face.

"Are you a smoker, Mr. Way?" he asked, still frowning.

"Yessir, I am."

"How long?"

"Quite a few years," I replied, not remembering when I'd started exactly.

"Well, it shows. Your breathing is very shallow; irregular. And you've been complaining of chest pain?" I nodded, beginning to worry.

"Normally an otherwise healthy young man such as yourself wouldn't have such breathing problems from smoking until much later. And the chest pain," Wade paused, removing the stethoscope from my chest. "It could be any number of things. But I have some ideas. How long ago did the chest pains start?"

"A couple months ago, at the end of my band's tour," I said uneasily.

"Did you start smoking more than usual?"

"No, I've always been a heavy smoker."

Wade took off his glasses and looked at me gravely. "Why didn't you come in earlier?" he asked, shaking his head.

I shrugged. "I thought the pains would stop coming."

Wade sighed and put his glasses back on. "Alright. I think we're going to have to do an MRI on your chest. I have a bad feeling about where this is going."

My heart dropped. "What?"

"I think, unfortunately Mr. Way, that you have lung cancer."