FicWad

Note to readers: a capogierme is a captain in the Italian Mafia. They are not in the special circle of the Don, the consigliere and the underboss, but they're pretty high up. There are usually three in the gang (although there can be as little as one or as many as five) and they manage a group of footsoldiers called the crew. I plan on having two capogiermes in my story. And yes, Brian Molko will feature majorly in this sequel. In case you don't know him, basically he is the lead singer and guitarist of one of the best bands ever, Placebo. I'm making him stereotypically gay in the story; I hope this offends no one. I did it in FOTG.

Oh yeah and I know I keep calling Frank 'the boy' even though he's like twenty nine but I can't help it. Same with calling him a rabbit. Old habits die hard and all that. I also am aware that irl Gerard is four years older than Frank but in FOTG he's five years older. This was done on purpose, literally because I'm so bad at maths I'd have trouble calculating it if Gerard was born in 1906. Both 1905 and 1910 are nice round little numbers, so....yup pretty much.

This chapter discusses the previous chapter and just some joking shit. The last bit is bittersweet; I was tearing up by the end. Next one will be about Luciana.

Title from Green Day; I'll let you interpret it for yourselves.

L.N.I.

Viva Hate
Tre
Time Of Your Life


"I think you should fire his ass, Gerard," Brian Molko suggested, and then shrugged. "But that's just me."

Gerard nodded and flicked his green eye up to his capogierme. Molko remained unflinching, cigarette streaming thin strings of grey smoke into the air in the Don's office.

"I mean, how many people have you told about Adam's loose mouth so far? Him, obviously, and now me...what about Matt?" Gerard shook his head. "Okay, what about Armstrong? Oh shit yeah, he's vacationing with Adie in Barbados...and I presume you haven't talked to Dolores, because then Rucetta'd be six feet under already, ya know..." Brian tapped his cigarette along the rim of the container. When he spoke next, Molko's tone was low and respectful. "I know you have a strict private policy about you and Frankie, Gerard, but...maybe the idiot will just come down for some coffee or something and talk about your former life in America." He shrugged. "It won't be as bad as you're thinking, honey, and Frankie won't be scared when he's got the entire Italian Mafia protecting him."

Gerard paused and said nothing for a moment, and then slowly rubbed his temples. Then he looked at Brian with a sad, sorrowful look in his eye.

"When I told Frank about it, ya know what he said to me?" It was rhetorical; Gerard closed his eyes now and bowed his head. "Ya know what he said?" Gerard opened his eyes again and looked frustrated, upset. "He was sitting there, eating milk and cookies, Brian, and I told him my consigliere fucking snitched to the bastard about his rape and that the fucking cunt-"

"I take it Mussolini is the fucking cunt, yes?"

"Yes-I was telling him all this and he started crying, Brian," the Don barely said, his lip trembling a little. "Not sobbing, not gaudy and loud but silently-tears ran his cheeks and he called my name and hugged me. I told him it would be okay, that he couldn't get hurt, he's mine and no one else's-then he asked me if he'd get hurt all over again." The boss slowly looked up at his captain, who looked a little teary and pained. Gerard said in a tiny, barely audible whisper: "'I don't wanna get hurt again, Gee. They hurt me so bad and I don't wanna be hurt all over again.'"

"What did you tell him?" Brian asked quietly, flicking his cigarette. "How is he now?"

"I told him I wouldn't let a guy fucking touch him," Gerard snarled. "I told him not one fucking cunt would have the fucking audacity to fucking lay one fucking finger on my gorgeous, precious husband or they'd find a fucking bullet in their head quicker than they could see coming." Brian's eyes bulged a little; Way always got so over-protective and enraged about the boy. The Don seemed to realize this as he inhaled deeply and stretched out his fingers. "He was alright when I last left him, when I told him I had a brief meeting with you afterward. He's in a better state than I am."

heheh sorry but currently I'm watching The Godfather I (my sweet Lord Marlon Brando is AMAZING) and its the bit with Johnny when Don Corleone said "I'll make him an offer he can't refuse" and then at the same time my sister offered to trade her icky shitty ear medicine for my Coke Zero and ah it was funny

well for weird people like me it's funny I mean I am actually shrieking with laughter

Don Corleone and ear medicine. Classic in the Ni Ionnrachtaigh household.

"I'm sure," Brian said slyly. "You look like shit, Gerard. I think you might need a little irrigation."

"Already got through a fifth of vodka," he muttered. The other let out a low whistle. "He got me so fucking angry, Brian. I can't even fucking explain it. If someone fucking says one hurtful thing to Frank about it I'll rip their face off. More than that, I'll-"

"Gerard, stop the creepy dismemberment Mafia-talk, 'kay? Making me feel queasy." The capogierme bounced lightly to his nimble feet and sashayed over to the high shelf hanging on the wall. He opened up a compartment only he and Gerard knew existed and pulled out one of the many photographs from there. "I know you'd do anything for the boy, Gerard, but sweet Lord maybe tone down the torture talk." Brian looked from the scowling Don (struggling to hold back a rueful smile) to the Gerard Way in the photograph; laughing, smiling, shortly after his marriage to Frank. The twenty eight year old had his arms clasped around the boy's tiny waist and was grinning at the camera as he kissed his recently wed husband. Molko couldn't contain his squeal. "You are the sweetest couple, ya know. So cute in a fucked up, murderous kinda way."

"Thank you, Brian." He found himself softening a little as he discussed his marriage. He regarded the golden ring that lay against his chest. "Such a beautiful, wonderful boy. I couldn't be luckier. My gorgeous baby, my pretty little rabbit." He remembered his place in front of his captain and cleared his throat, blushing just a little. He straightened up and put a hand to his chest. "How is Stefan? Still in Spain, I believe?"

"Oh yes," Brian trilled happily, swooning at the sound of his lover's name. He clasped his hands together and stood on his toes. "Still in Madrid, but he's coming back on Tuesday and then we're going to this nice little place in Florence." The city reminded Gerard od his consigliere's cheating; he closed his eyes. "He's working with Reyes de Monarca, a Spanish group, at the moment. I think they're shipping in illegal substances. Like booze and pills and stuff."

"I am aware of them. They carried out a failed assasination in Madrid in thirty six, yes?"

"Exactly. They're like the Spanish version of the Cosa." Molko paused and ran his finger along the frame of a dark portrait of a man with his eyes closed, pale features spattered in spots of blood. "Still painting, are we?"

Gerard glared at him. His hobbies were of no interest to his associates.

"Occasionally," he answered stiffly. "It's hard to find time."

"They're very good, Gerard," Brian said, nodding. "You should have stayed at the gallery. That one with the little skeleton bloke on the front went for two and a half million lire, didn't it?"

"The Black Parade," Way muttered. He'd spent well over a year on that specific piece, however simple it looked; a plain grey background with a skeleton in a marching costume in the fore, complete with a top hat and a twirling baton. He didn't know why he put so much effort into it...it seemed to capture him in a strange way, 'the little skeleton bloke' seemed to call him to his private painting room on his uninspired days. "Mmm, yeah. Something like that."

"Frankie must be proud," the consigliere said with a covert smile. "Married to such an artist like yourself, honey."

"He is married to the Don of the Famiglia," Gerard snapped sternly. "The Don of the Famiglia who happens to paint."

"Oh Gerard, don't be such a cunt," he said lightly, eyes scanning the shelves. "You sound like a whiney teenage boy-ooh!" He trilled, picking up a piece of paper and giggling at it. "What's this then?" He narrowed his eyes to slits and read. "'My dearest Frankie, my darling'-"

"THAT IS PRIVATE!" The Don yelled, getting to his feet and trying to swipe the love letter from his councellor's small hands. "THAT IS PRIVATE PROPERTY BELONGING TO ME AND ME ONLY-"

"'Every day is such an effort getting through it without you, my love, and nothing or no one can provide me with the happiness you do'-"

"BRIAN!" Gerard shouted again, running after the consigliere as he hopped nimbly around the room. "I WILL CRUCIFY YOU!"

"Oooh, you included dirty talk, you naughty boy!" Brian squealed with delight, blushing a little. "Is he that good, Gerard? You apparently....let's see now...can't wait to get home so you can fu-"

"ENOUGH!" Gerard screeched, ripping the letter from Brian's hands, chest heaving with effort. "Fuck you, Capogierme Molko. Going through my private shit..." Gerard placed the letter inside a drawer and slammed it shut. Despite his malevolent actions, he was smiling crookedly. "That was just when we went to the Mezzogiorno last year for three weeks. No phone, no pigeons or something, no nothing. So I wrote him letters." He shrugged and then faced out the large window. "I'm taking him to Venice in two weeks time, Brian. For a little relaxation, I think, some romanticism. Think he deserves it. Before..." The Don's hand shhok as he thought about Frank's fate. He gazed in an absent mind at a picture of his smiling husband on the desk. His eye swept to the black diary. 'Spend time w/ Franco' was jotted in along the line of five in the afternoon-nothing else was schduled thereafter for the day. "I plan on telling him today." Gerard narrowed his eyes to thin slits. "I trust you have not spilled a single word to him about it."

The capogierme froze. His eyes slid to the side and he did not speak momentarily.

"Well..." Molko sounded out. "I may or may not have said something about you taking him somewhere nice..."

"Brian!" The boss groaned helplessly. "Dammit, Brian, I wrote this in my diary months ago as a planned surprise for him. And now...you've worked your snitching magic." He paused and growled angrily at the older man.

"I didn't say Venice, though," the short criminal responded. "I just said you wanted to get away with him for a lil while, honey." He shrugged and wore a crafty smile. "Hell, you could be taking him to a strip club for all he knows, sweetie."

"The thirty four year old scoffed snootily. "Really, Molko. I would not think of taking my husband to a strip club."

"Rome has some of the best gay bars in town, sweetie."

"I am aware, thank you Brian."

"Seriously, the one on the corner between Piazza and Viale serves a lime mojito to die for." He giggled and winked at his boss. "Some cute waiters too."

"Seeing as Frank neither dances nor drinks, we shall refrain for the time being." He looked to the scribbled details on his hand; the clerk of the hotel they would be staying at had called this afternoon. "A week at the start of April."

"So you can have a good birthday present, Don Gerardo?" The thirty eight year old teased. The boss pouted childishly, crossing his arms. "Is little Fwankie gonna dress for you? Maybe some roleplay, some toys-"

"Oh, for Chrissake, Molko, get a grip," Way snapped, but the captain only laughed. "Not everyone is a sex-crazed pervert like you."

"Says the man who gets it four times a night," Brian said softly, clicking his tongue.

"I - excuse me - how do you know that?!" The Don of the Famiglia demanded. His capogierme spluttered with laughter. "How do you know-"

"Frankie told me," the other shrugged, humming with delight. "And sometimes you can guess the next day, yanno. Pretty hard to conceal your amazing sex life when Frankie can barely walk." Gerard smiled a little; Brian's smirk widened. "And then you come into the meetings, giddy as a schoolgirl."

"I adore my husband," the made man said. Then, quietly: "Did he...er...say anything else about me?"

"Well, sunshine, like you, he gets all doe-eyed and gushy when he talks about you." Gerard couldn't help but grin. "But he said you were the best in bed and you're the biggest he's ever seen." The king of the criminals flushed a dull pink along his cheekbones. "And he called you his Gee...his Don...his hero, shit like that."

Gerard cleared his throat, his head snapping up.

"He- I- he called me his hero?"

"Yep," Molko shrugged. He paused, glancing at the table the Don sat behind. He reached for a piece dotted with small, neat print displaying scientific formulas and long, detailed, Italisized Latin names. Along the border of the page were several small pink hearts, difference in sizes and shading. Inside each heart was a lowercase 'g'. Molko held up the paper up to pose his question.

"His notes," the leader said ever so quietly. "His notes on AS. I don't understand any of it...but it smells just like him. Like...honey and vanilla."

The Don ran a hand through his hair. Molko smiled.



Downstairs, the rightful owner of the aromatic anatomical structure notes sat comfortably in a plush leather couch. When this author says 'sat' what I really mean is 'sunk'- Frank Anthony Iero-Way was tucked up inside the sofa, bundled in several layers of fuzzy black blankets. He was wrapped in his husband's clothes, and a box of chocolates lay by his side- about three quarters full; the boy was a particular fan of the marshmallow ones- and a heavy, hardbook book propped in his lap, so heavy that his hands could not support it. Gray's Anatomy (a premium, gorgeous, gilt first-edition 1858 book Gerard had bought him as a small present a month previous) proved to be an intelligent, impressive read, and Frank, in true scientific dedication, had an impressive stack of vast levers by his side; The Atlas of Anatomy, Encyclopedia Corpus, and a book he had found by his lover's bed-side table entitled Methods of Destruction. The innocent hazelnut eyes had bulged at the pictures- he had mistaken an enlightening book of medicinial purposes for a book full of bodies being dismembered and gouged in every way possible. Gerard obviously perused the book often, as little black x's marked torture methods of his interest.

Little over an hour ago the twenty nine year old had received a call from Pietra's mother to say that Luciana would be sleeping over. Now, nearing seven in the evening, Frank had opened a bottle of red wine and made fresh brucetta, the smell of which, delicious and overwhelming, was rafting from the marble kitchen. He had not seen the gangster in several hours now and was pining for his beloved husband. He drifted off in an absent mind, imagining pressing his lips to the soft pink ones of the Don, running his hands through Way's fire-engine red hair, his bare, pale skin against the warm russet of his husband. He shook his erotic thoughts from his head and tried to focus on a particular sub-article concerning the cutaneous nerves of the dorsum of the hand.

'The radial nerve and the dorsal branch of the ulnar nerve are distributed nearly equally and symmetrically on the dorsum of the hand and the digits. The radial nerve supplies the radial half of the dorsum and extends on to two and a half digits....'

"Frankie, baby..."

The boy looked up with a manic grin on his face as he heard the Don's silky voice carry through the room. Gerard Way stood in a crinkled shirt, tousled hair and a lop-sided grin as he walked toward the doctor. He was using his cane again, and Frank knew he must be tired if the walking aid was in his grasp-he walked with a severe limp, and his trousers swished and swayed around his non-existent ankle. The boy let the book fall in his lap and stretched out his short arms to embrace his lover. Gerard plopped himself down on the couch and the other giggled.

"Hi Gee," the younger man said happily, tugging at soft red locks.

"Mmm, sweetheart," he breathed, voice a little cracked. His eye slid shut as he relaxed, and this simple action prompted another sunny laugh from the boy. The mobster stretched out his legs across his husband and picked up a little hand to kiss pallid skin. "Ohh...baby...waited all day to see you again...such a long fucking day..."

"I waited for you too, Gee," Frank answered, running his hands through the criminal's hair just as he'd imagined. "I made you dinner, Gee, I made you brucetta." Way let out a little growl of appreciation and sqeezed the other's leg. "I can bring it to you if you like since you're tired. Do you want me to go get it?"

"Thank you," the thirty four year old mumbled, yawning. "That'd be real good, baby doll." He was drifting off to sleep as he muttered. "So good, Frankie..."

Frank slipped from the chair, careful not to disturb Gerard in his childlike tiredness. The Don's boy walked with a skip in his step to the vast, black kitchen and plucked up the plate of steaming bread, tomato, assorted herbs, mozzarella and pesto. He now prided himself, while on official leave from the university, to be the best husband to Gerard and help with the house generally-he paid the associates, organized raids and attended all meetings and coalitions with Gerard. He had felt it was time for a change after five years; he would return to Sapienza in September. For now, he studied, cleaned and cooked.

Frank returned to the sleepy boss and budged his husband slightly to move him. The Don's eye cracked open as his stomach rumbled loudly.

"Jesus," he rasped, grasping at the plate. "That smells nearly as good as you do."

"Uh uh," Frank returned, shaking his head. "You can't have any until I get a kiss." He pouted; Gerard's heart nearly split from the authenticity. "I've been waiting all day for you, Gee, and I want your hands on me." He smirked. "Me first and then you can have food."

"Unnn....I can't even stand." Gerard flapped a hand uselessly. "So tired."

"Oh yeah?" Frank shrugged and sighed. "That's too bad...I'm wearing that cologne you like..."

"The- the Chanel one?" The Don gulped, and his throat felt dry and parched. "The brown bottle?"

"Mmm," Iero said, balancing the plate on his fingers. "And between you and me, Gerard...I've been thinking about you all day..." he sighed again and fluttered his eyelids shut. "Kissing you and hugging you, and doing bad things like we did last night, Gee...my Gee bear, so strong and warm..." a little squeak. "The only man who can see my skin, can touch me in my special place..."

Suddenly Way was to his foot, hands gripping his husband's precious, slender hips, grinding against them and biting soft bow lips. Frank tossed the plate to the side and entangled his fingers in red hair, rubbing his waist to the gangster's. The Don moaned loudly, huskily, and slipped his hand down to Frank's belt buckle. The younger man shook his head and broke the kiss, panting just slightly. The rabbit smiled at the dazed look on his husband's face and the bulge in his trousers.

"Not yet, Gee," he murmured, tracing his lips. He liked how low Gerard could fall for him. "Wait till tonight." He smirked again, and his amber eyes lit up with anticipation. "Luci's staying with her friend tonight so we can have the house all to ourselves." Way's eye bulged a little and he opened his mouth to protest. "No grouching, Gee, she's perfectly safe and fine and fed and Pietra's mother said they had an awesome, safe time in Piazza." Frank leaned up to peck his lover's lips. "No Mafia paranoia tonight, Gee."

"Can't help it," Way said quietly, hands dipped in Frank's back pockets. His eye was filled with- not fear exactly, but serious concern. "What if she gets hurt? Again?" His mind flickered the tired replay of his niece whining with the pain of being raped at the age of six. "Oh God, Frankie, what if when she's older she meets someone who hurts her or beats her- what is she's too stubborn-"

"I think you're stubbornly being afraid for her, Gee, you should relax," he said right in his ear. Iero was standing on his toes to rest against Gerard's chest. He cleared his throat and attempted the subject he had been pining for since they had left America. "You're so caring, Gee, so worried about her." He bit his lip. "You'd be such a good dad."

Way sighed and pressed his nose to chocolate tufts. "Frankie..."

"I don't get why you don't wanna," the boy lisped, and he sounded vulnerable and sad. The criminal closed his eye and cuddled Frank closer. "We make love all the time and you tell me you adore me and say I do so good with Luciana." His voice cracked and tugged at the Don's collar. "Is it because of me, Gee? I'd be so good, Gee, and we could-"

"Baby. You know the reason why." He slipped a ringed hand up Frank's white shirt and passed a finger along his lowest rib. The sickened shivered. "You know what the doc said, bunny. And I wouldn't want to bring a child into the world and then abandon them soon after when it happens." His lip trembled slightly as he looked into his husband's eyes. "I've already made plans for Luciana to return to the States-"

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Frank whispered. "You're young, Gerard."

"Don't," the Don said right in his ear. "Don't ask me to remain alive and mind something that would remind me of you every day, that would sound and look like you, would call me Daddy and ask for you." His voice was thick and he sniffed a little. "I've planned this since the diagnosis in thirty four, Frankie, and I'm not going back on it. I'm slitting my throat open and swallowing cyanide to make sure. Already got it and everything." He tipped the other's chin up to kiss him softly once more. "I'll be with you up in- or down in- whatever- finally and it'll be like falling asleep, darling. Falling asleep in my arms, baby doll."

Frank was tearing up. Talking about his nearing death had become a haughty, unrelenting topic. Gerard's soft, touching murmurs always made his eyes well up.

"You promise you'll do it straight afterwards?" He squeaked. "You promise you'll do it?"

this next bit I kinda like because I personally think Shakespeare is THA SHIT

you'll have to know R&J to get the last line

"Ever read Romeo and Juliet, sweetheart?" Gerard muttered in his ear. The food had all been forgotten about by now. Frank shook his head. "It's a play. About two people who fall in love and shit- and one cannot live while the other dies. Once one discovers the other seems to be dead, he commits suicide. However, she is not." His voice was so soft and silky to the ear; like an angel's warm breath. "She wakes up to find her husband dead. Without a second's thought she grabs a dagger and kills herself." Frank wore a tiny, watery little smile as he sniffed and snuffled. "'O comfortable fiar, where is my lord? I do remember well where I should be and there I am. Where is my Romeo?'" He let his hands slip to the boy's side. "'Yea, noise? Then I'll be brief. O happy dagger; this is thy sheath. There rust and let me die.'"

The rabbit snuffled. "That's pretty."

"Romeo and Juliet is set in Verona, not far from here," Gerard said softly. "It reminds me to tell you that in two weeks time we will be spending time on our own in Venice." Frank tugged him close and kissed along his jawline. "I booked it a little while ago when you told me you were going on sabbitical. Just a relaxing weekend for both of us, honey. No Mafia shit, no work, no protection rackets, no nothing. Just relaxing shit, and it'll be straight after the interrogation- we'll fly out just after the cunt talks to you. Give him the finger if you want, baby, don't worry about that shit, after that it's just you and me, Frankie." Their foreheads tipped together. "You and me, bunny."

"Thank you, Gerard," the medic whispered. The Don pulled into kiss his mouth. "I love you so much."

Gerard worked his mouth against Frank's gently for several moments before making a suitable observation.

"My love," he breathed, "thy lips are warm."