FicWad

As the elevator doors opened, a gasp of surprise slipped from Mikey’s lips. He had seen Frankie with the yellow tinged remnants of bruises before, and he even knew why, but he had never seen him fresh from a beating until now. Lawson never allowed Frankie to leave the apartment until most if not all the signs of a beating were gone. He wondered how this time it was different but Gerard already knew; as Edward, their tall, broad and imposing security manager, carried the unconscious boy into the living room, Gerard spied the oversized backpack still sitting on the floor at the back of the elevator. Frankie had run away, again. However this time it was different, he had run to Gerard and Mikey. Frankie had run away at least half a dozen times previously and each time, the Battery City police had found him and returned him, despite his protestations, to his cruel, selfish and perennially drunk guardian. On each occasion, Frankie had emerged over a month later, quiet and sullen. Now Gerard knew why and he was not about to let it happen again.

“Edward, take him to my room, please and...” he looked around; Petra was nowhere to be seen - it was the only time he had wanted to see her, but a small smile did cross his lips knowing that she was somewhere contacting Korse. “Mikey can you call Dr Roby?”
“Sure, Gee,” Mikey replied, heading for the phone as Gerard retrieved Frankie’s backpack.

Following Edward into his room, Gerard straightened out the duvet on his bed to allow him to lie Frankie down comfortably. Even in his unconscious state, Frankie let out a quiet whimper as Edward lowered him gently down onto the bed.

“What did he say?” Gerard asked, looking down at the boy who seemed suddenly smaller and more fragile than he had when he had returned home earlier.
“Say?” Edward asked with a distinct sound of confusion in his tone.
“Frankie,” Gerard prompted. ‘When he arrived. What did he say?”
“Nothing,” Edward replied, now understanding what Gerard meant. “Ah, no, he passed out pretty much as he walked in. Practically fell through the doors.”
“But you said...” Gerard began only to be interrupted almost immediately.
“How did I know about Lawson?”
“Yeah,” Gerard offered a deep frown and furrowed brow to match.
“Gerard, I’m your chief of security; it’s my job to know everything about everyone who comes and goes here.”
“But... our friends?” Gerard stared up at the man who appeared like a mountain when standing alongside the still quite short and slight thirteen year old.

Edward looked down to meet Gerard’s astonished gaze, softening his expression as he did.

“You didn’t know?” He asked gently.

Gerard shook his head, unsure what, if anything, to say. Edward led the boy to the table and chairs set up in one corner that Gerard used for art, pulling out a seat for him. At first uncertain, Gerard hesitantly lowered himself down, not moving his eyes from Edward the whole time. Taking a seat next to him, Edward offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“I can see that it’s really thrown you,” he spoke in a kind voice. “Your friend won’t wake up for a while yet. How about we talk?”
“O-okay,” Gerard replied hesitantly. “What about Mikey?”
“Do you want him here too?”

Gerard’s expression settled into a light frown as he considered his options. Ever concerned for his brother’s wellbeing, be decided to hear this alone. If necessary, he could always discuss it with Mikey later.

“I’ll ask him to wait for Dr Roby,” Gerard announced rising from the seat once more and heading for his bedroom door.

As he reached the corridor, Mikey was already there.

“Mikes,” he began, but was quickly interrupted by his concerned brother.
“How is he? I called the Doc, she’s on her way.”

Gerard smiled; some doctors might complain about turning up after surgery hours, especially when the patient wasn’t even one of their own, but not Dr Roby.

In truth, few doctors would have argued with the Way brothers; they held such power within Battery City and BLI that should they feel so inclined, either of the boys could have any doctor’s medical license taken away on a whim. Roby knew them better. She knew that she didn’t have to fear them, in fact she liked them. They were sweet, kind and well-mannered boys and in the more affluent areas of Battery City, manners were often replaced by entitlement and disdain.

“He’s asleep,” Gerard began, keeping his voice low and even; the last thing he wanted to do was to have Mikey worry. “He seems basically okay, but I just want to have the Doc look over him.”

Mikey moved forward as if to head for Gerard’s bedroom, only to be stopped by a hand pressed lightly on his chest.

“I want to see him,” Mikey complained, frowning and trying to push past.

This time, Gerard took hold of his arms and forcibly held him back.

“Wait for Dr Roby,” he nodded to emphasise what he was saying. “Let her in when she comes.”
“He’s not just your friend, Gee!” Mikey pouted at what he saw as his brother trying to pull rank.

Mikey was surprised when, without saying a word, Gerard pulled him suddenly into a affectionate hug.

“Gee?” Mikey’s voice grew uncertain and concerned. “Is he really okay?”
“I think so, Mikes,” Gerard replied in as soothing a voice as he could muster.
“Then... then why can’t I see him?”
“You can, just not now,” Gerard pulled back slightly and looked down at his younger brother’s concerned expression. “I’m just going to have a chat with Edward, that’s all.”
“What about?” Mikey pouted.
“Security.”
“And you have to do it in there?”

Gerard sighed and smiled; Mikey just wanted to see Frankie.

“No,” he paused. “Where’s Petra?”
“Gone,” Mikey rolled his eyes. “To see Korse probably. She’s a big help in an emergency.”
“Isn’t she just?” Gerard smirked. “Okay, you sit with Frankie and we’ll chat in the living room.”
“Thanks, Gee!” Mikey beamed a broad smile.
“Ask Edward to come out to the living room,” Gerard watched Mikey almost run to his bedroom before calling after him. “Oh, and Mikes?”
“Yeah?” He replied, turning whilst still moving backwards.
“Don’t try to wake him! Let him sleep.”
“Well, duh!” Mikey pulled a face and waved his arms out to the side, replying as if the point were obvious, but inside he grumbled lightly to himself.

Gerard allowed himself a crooked smile as he headed back to the living room; he knew Mikey would still try to wake him then insist that he simply woke. Settling on the couch, he waited for Edward.

*

Korse crossed his arms and stared with a cold, hard glare at and almost through Petra who stood opposite him. The small, dark and sparsely furnished meeting room sequestered for their conversation now seemed suffocatingly cramped to Petra who appeared to physically crumple under his gaze. Her determination and resolve, however, were unwavering.

“You realise that what you are suggesting is very serious?” Korse finally spoke, each word emerging slowly and with venom.

Petra swallowed and took a sharp breath before replying.

“I do,” she replied. “I believe he is faking loyalty to BLI. I almost proved it tonight and I would have but for that brat running away from home, again!”
“What you’re saying is that I failed with his indoctrination.”

Petra paled; she had considered the idea that Korse was being lied to and tricked, but not that he could take it as a personal failure.

“I don’t think you did fail,” she finally managed. “I think he learned from Mikey how to behave afterwards and faked it before it had taken full effect. You would have had no reason to believe it hadn’t worked.”
“Failed indoctrination does not make him a rebel sympathiser,” Korse rounded the desk and approached Petra, looking down as he towered over her striking an imposing figure. “What reason do you have to believe that?”
“He was almost physically sick at the idea of ordering the deaths of the rebel traitors. He wouldn’t have done it, he couldn’t!”

Korse shook his head lightly; Gerard was only thirteen. It was a lot to ask of the boy. It meant nothing. About to dismiss her reasoning, Korse grew livid as he heard her next statement.

“And he’s refusing to take the medication.”
“What medication?” Korse frowned, at first puzzled.
“Oh, er... Kanslokal, sir,” she replied almost tripping on the words as she realised she had spoken about it by mistake.
“Kanslokal?” Korse narrowed his eyes as a deep frown creased his brow. “Who prescribed that? And on whose orders?”

The cold, clipped and smoothly spoken words did more to terrify Petra than if he had yelled at her and she paled still further, trembling, her voice shaking as she tried to find some words that would prevent her from falling foul of his wrath.

“I thought that if he...”
“You thought?” Korse raised an eyebrow. “You? Thought?”
“Sir... I...”
“I don’t pay you to think!” He stormed. “Do you have any concept of what those pills would do to a thirteen year old boy?”
“Keep him in line, for one!” The words were out before she even realised it and now she had taken that step, it was only a short hop to complete honesty. “He’s deceiving you. Can’t you see it? He’s playing you for a fool and I can’t watch him do it any longer! You pay me to watch them and...”
“I pay you to see to their needs. That is all.”
“Well, I am concerned about the needs of BLI and Battery City!” She snapped in return. “Gerard is fooling everyone, including you, and...”
“But not you?” He commented smoothly. “What makes you so special?”
“I’m with him every day and I see him for what he is, not what I want him to be!”

Korse frowned; if she was right, it could be very damaging, both personally and to BLI. He couldn’t realistically ignore the possibility. If she was wrong, she would pay a hefty price.

“And what are you willing to lay on the line for this accusation?”

Petra took a step back and gaped open-mouthed at the Exterminator.

“Wh...what do you mean?”
“If you’re right, I promote you. If you’re wrong, I kill you. How sure are you now?”

Petra felt faint. She believed what she was saying, but equally she was aware that Korse wanted to believe that he had been successful with the indoctrination process. He wanted to believe that his nephews were perfect representatives of BLI. But most of all, he did not want her to be right.

“What guarantee do I have that you’ll try everything to prove what I say?”

Korse smiled; it was a cruel and devious expression to say the least.

“Good answer. Maybe I won’t kill you? Leave it with me. If he is a rebel sympathiser, I will find out.”
“How? He’s not going to tell you, you know!”
“I will find out,” he repeated in an unnerving tone.
“How?” She pressed again. “You don’t even want it to be true.”
“Dismissed,” he snapped icily.
“No, I want to know how...”
“Out!” He raged. “Or I will kill you... now!”
“But...”

Korse reached for his gun, but she was turning for the door before he had even drawn it from its holster. He watched with satisfaction as she fled without another word.

“So, Gerard,” he expression grew serious and cold. “You’ve been lying to me, have you? Let us see how you behave in the company of rebels.”

*

Still lying down, and attached to the drip to rehydrate him, the newly named Jet Star was flexing his damaged wrist and slowly turning his hand as if he were writing the alphabet in big letters in the air.

“I feel really stupid doing this,” he admitted to the tall man in his late twenties sitting next to him.
“Nah, you just gotta pretend you’re conducting an orchestra,” Flex, the camp’s physical therapist encouraged cheerfully.
“Conducting an orchestra?” Jet laughed at the absurdity. “Why would I be doing that?”
“Okay,” Flex grinned. “What do you like to do?”

Jet paused; his mouth open and poised to speak, but nothing came out. First closing his mouth, then his eyes, he looked away to the opposite corner of the room. His jaw was tightly clamped as he tried hard not to show his distress at his lack of memories. These men were war veterans. They had all seen, suffered and lost a great deal. His own loss of memory seemed to him to be very minor by comparison. He had to be strong.

“I don’t know,” he finally mumbled, unable to meet Flex’s concerned gaze.

Unwilling to embarrass the boy with sympathy and pity, Flex took a more practical approach.

“Well, you have callouses on the pads of your fingers,” he commented brightly. “Maybe you play guitar?”

Jet looked up and smiled appreciatively; Flex was helping, or at least trying to and now it was up to him to try to drag a memory from the mire that was his brain. Closing his eyes, he tried to picture a guitar or perhaps some other instrument, but whilst he could find no specific memories, while he was thinking, Flex noted that Jet’s left hand was making chord shapes. It seemed an automatic response to the suggestion and it seemed that it could only mean that, yes, he did play and probably had for some years.

“Well, that looks pretty likely to me,” Flex commented cheerfully; only now did Jet become aware of the chord shapes he was forming, pulling a smile from his lips. “I’m pretty sure we can lay hands on a guitar somewhere. Probably be a bit beaten up, but would you like that?”
“Thank you,” he replied to the thoughtful gesture. “Really, thank you! That’s...”
“No worries, kid. Now, come on, concentrate on your exercises. We need to get that hand working again if you’re going to play, right?”

Jet looked up, nodding excitedly and beaming at Flex, now renewing his therapy with vigour.