FicWad

December 25th

Frank swallowed and his mind somewhere screamed. He was mildy stoned - he'd used what he could find in Gerard's medicine cabinet - but not enough to silence his brain out completely, not at all, not one bit. Definitely not enough.
Gerard glanced over at him huddling as far as he could, pressed against the taxi door, and knew that he was staring at the snow and not really seeing it, and that he was panicking quietly, and smiled to himself because he'd been a clichè teenager too, once.
The taxi driver was a small man from Italy who spoke very little and sneezed far too much, nose almost constantly dripping. The sound of him blowing it into a ratty old handkerchief was driving Frank up against the wall, but everything right then was driving him up against the wall, including Gerard's quiet, relaxed and slightly raspy breathing.
He swallowed and his mouth tasted of cigarettes and too little sleep, awkward social situations he was being forced into against his will, and the very faint possibility of throwing himself out of the car and running into the other direction as fast as he could, which was going to be not very fast seeing as he'd twisted his ankle two days before running after some junkie who'd stolen what little cash he had. He'd had to ask Gerard for a loan - it had been a messy, humiliating thing to do and not something he intended to go through ever again.
Gerard had arched an eyebrow but said nothing, handing him a fifty dollar bill knowing perfectly well that Frank had no means of returning the money, no matter how many times he'd promised.
But that was okay with him.
He glanced one last time at Frank, who quickly looked away.
The taxi pulled up, he payed. Frank followed begrudgingly, dragging his feet along as they climbed up a couple of flights of steps and the cheery sound of laughter and music could be heard.
Gerard knocked rung the bell next a door with a small metal plaque reading "21 A", and waited as Frank rocked back and forth on his feet and came up with an escape route that involved him throwing himself down the stairs and breaking his already hurt ankle.
"Don't do anything foolish, don't do anything that could embarrass me."
"Gera--"
"I'm serious, Frank."
And he could tell from the tone of his voice that he was.
The door flung open, and a tiny girl with bright blue eyes stood in the doorway.
Her face lit up when she saw Gerard.
"Gee! Gee--dang, I'm so happy you made it!"
She pressed her lips against his cheek and left a loud, wet kiss.
He giggled and turned towards Frank, who'd in the meantime buried himself inside his coat collar.
"This is Frank. Frank, meet Bernadette, Bernie for short. She's the editor of a freelance magazine I occasionally write for. And a very good friend."
The boy mustered up the most genuine smile he could manage, and ended up looking more like a constipated and underpaid broker grinning at his boss than a teenager trying to have some fun.
"Frank - she looked at Gerard and gave him an "I know what's really going on" look Frank didn't feel like analyzing and fully understanding - not right then, at least - come right in!"
She made way for them and the first thing that hit Frank was the absolute queerness of most of the people there. It went from drag queens to transsexuals to butch girls to men who wore nothing but pink, and it suddenly hit Frank that Gerard was probably past his forties and had no wife and no children (at least none that he knew of) and that he smelled too good and was too sweet to be entirely straight. And it made him smile because he'd been an idiot not to notice it earlier.
Bernadette popped out from the kitchen a few minutes later, clutching two plastic cups.
"Champagne, boys?"
Frank's brain suddenly whizzed and he was about to accept when Gerard placed a hand on his shoulder and let his fingers dig in, hurting him a little.
"Yes please for me, but the boy's under observation."
The girl arched an eyebrow.
"What lost soul did you pick up this time, Gerard?"
Before Frank could reply, she winked at him.
"Relax, kiddo. I'm just teasing. Buffet's over there, if you're interested."
She gave him the thumbs up before turning her attention to Gerard.
"Merry Christmas, by the way."

*

"Isn't he a bit too..."
Her voice trailed off, accompanied by the smoke of their cigarettes as she and Gerard leaned over her balcony, drinks in hand. The cold air made their cheeks tingle. Behind glass doors, the party roared on.
"Young?"
"Yeah."
He half snorted, half laughed, amused.
"It's not what you think."
"You're really asking me to believe that? I've known you for how long--twenty five years?"
"Twenty four."
"And you're telling me you wouldn't bed that pretty little thing in a heartbeat?"
"No, Bernie. I wouldn't."
"Why the Hell not?"
Gerard inhaled and watched as the ember tip of his cigarette shined in the darkness.
"He's a junkie." he calmly said after a while.
Her smile fell.
"Oh."
"So no, I wouldn't bed him."
"AIDS?"
"Also. Maybe. That's secondary."
He looked at her, and she read the sadness in his eyes.
"Michael."
"Yes, Bernie."
She nodded.
"It figures."
Gerard took a sip of his drink.
"He was an idiot."
"He fucked up, Gerard."
"I fucked up too, remember? And yet I didn't splatter my brains against a sidewalk."
"Don't blame the dead because you're too scared to blame yourself. The dead have no fault. They're just dead - there's nothing we can do about that."
He finished his drink and the alcohol burned the back of his neck. He hated the holidays and he hated Christmas and he hated the sadness.
He missed Bert more than anything in the world.
"I tried to kill myself again."
"I know, Gerard."
She said this softly. No accusations, no blaming, no rage, no disappointment. She knew feeling that was useless.
Bernadette had seen it in his eyes, and in the way he walked, and in the words he chose, and in the unfinished books and unfinished articles and Sunday afternoon calls that were never returned.
It's small things you start to notice after a while, when you're best friends, and platonic lovers, and soul mates, and brothers.
She rested her hand against his, leaned her head on his shoulder.
The man sighed, and then a tentative knock on the glass doors startled them.
Frank did a little wave, and grinned awkwardly and sheepishly at them, the only defense mechanism he had left now that the pills had worn away.
Gerard grinned back at him and quickly gestured to him to wait for a second.
"Bern, listen. I need to ask you a favor."
"Shoot."
"The kid--Frank. He needs a job."
"You want him to work for the mag?"
"Just to keep him off the streets."
"You really do want to save him, don't you?"
"I fucked up with Mikey. I can't do it again."
"So you pick up the first junkie you happen to stumble across and declare him your new foster child?"
"I found him asleep in my elevator."
"He'll break your heart. just like Bert did. Addicts never change, old man. But I'll see what I can do."

*

Frank ran a hand through his hair and tried to keep himself awake, but the low hum of the taxi was soothing, far too soothing. He felt his eyes grow heavy, his head swim in honey.
Gerard was tapping against the seat, humming the melody of a song he'd heard a lifetime ago.
"You have fun, kiddo?"
Frank had finally given up on keeping his eyes open. His head was leaned back against the smellt leather carseat.
"Sure thing, Gerard."
"Good."
"Can I ask you a question?"
It was a question he already knew the answer to, but felt like asking anyway.
"Be my guest."
"Are you and whatshername--"
"Bernie?"
"Bernie, yeah. Are you dating?"
Gerard nearly laughed out loud.
"Oh, God no."
"No?"
"No, Frank. I'm gay."
The boy giggled, eyes still closed.
"What's so funny?"
"I'm gay too."
Gerard looked out of the window at cars and lights and lives rushing by, still smiling.
"Merry Christmas, Frank."
"Merry Christmas, professor."