InsaneJournal

FIC: Just Frankie--MCR, gen, 15



title Just Frankie
author: lisa roquin
fandom: bandom (MCR)
rating 15?
pairing/characters: gen, Frankie centric
disclaimer: lies, fiction, untrue. completely and totally made up. I know no one, know nothing of their personal lives. I make no claims of knowing much of anything.
summary: For Frankie Iero, Frank was a natural progression, it really was.
warning: bio-girl!Frank. Gender-issues.
author notes: this...is...yeah. Not my usual, but this is what cropped up while trying to beat other muses into submission.
word count:5200+





For Frankie Iero, whose mother was the only person in the world who got away with Frances Antonia without getting a death glare, Frank was really a natural progression. Frankie Iero loved music, wanted nothing more than to play the guitar in a band and damn it that's what she was going to do.

The thing was, Frankie was cute and tiny and no one was going to take a little pixie serious, not even going to listen unless she blew half the band or some fucking thing, not for the music she wanted to play. And seriously, it was kinda disturbing the amount of guys who were not only willing to hit on but try to grope girls with the figures of ten year old boys.

When she was fourteen she hacked the living hell out of her hair with her best friend Jamia's, er, supervision--Jamia had agreed to watch but refused to help. James got it, but still glared. Frankie's hair was to her waist and acording to Jamia 'just right wavy' not so curly as it was wild and out of control but not stick straight like Jamia's own. Jamia loved Frankie's hair and refused to actively participate in the butchering of it, but was there watching every second and pointing where the mess-up was just too bad. Frankie's mom had almost cried when she came home to the uneven spiked in 300 directions short hair on her daughter's head. If Frankie couldn't get them to listen to her play, then maybe Frank could. And hell, she was used to being taunted she looked like a boy at school all the time even with her hair down to her waist, so why not?

Frankie was pretty sure her mother regretted all the 'you can do anything you want to sweetie' pep talks, and the 'I'll always stand behind you--unless you need your little butt kicked from here to hell and back' type speeches. And the 'I was the same way honey, I didn't have much of anything for boobs til I got pregnant with you' wasn't reassuring in the way her mother had intended. Frankie was her mother's daughter, in stature, in build, and in sheer damned stubborn. And by the time she was seventeen and finally hit five-foot-four (well, bare miss of, in thick soled shoes, just shut up) she was relieved to believe her mother's daughter in the boob department as well, because seriously, she could still wear a training bra if she bothered with one.

By day Frances Iero was the bane of the good sisters of St. Agnes'. Linda Iero had been called to school more than once. Frankie had a tendency to not tolerate much by way of teasing, and god help the poor fool that tried to snap her bra strap, or worse, insult or cop a feel of Jamia in the hallways, Frankie was on them, kicking, biting, fists and backpack flying.

"Sister Catherine says I'm never going to be a lady," Frankie announced to her mother when she came to pick her up after her latest fight.

"Somehow, I'm not holding my breath on that count either, sweetie."

Every night there was a chance to go, Frank Iero was slowly getting to be a known around the music scene and raves. And, just ask anyone, he might be little but he was one crazy little motherfucker and wasn't scared of a fight if you fucked with him.

The separation of Frank and Frankie at least aided by the fact the school her grandmother paid for, and insisted she attend was two towns and almost an hour and a half on the damned bus (by car with no traffic it was about thirty minutes), her mom had moved for work, her grandmother had declared worry for Frankie's education, and Frankie didn't want to really go to school anywhere where Jamia wasn't they'd been best friends since they were three. The beat up little car she managed to buy with carefully horded money from gigs made the commute to school a hella lot easier, and getting to band practice.

~*~

It was easier even just going to listen to music as Frank, which was really, really fucking unfair. Drunk stoned girls were likely to get bitchy and call Frank a fag. Frankie had been hassled enough that she'd resorted to carrying a little switchblade and pepper spray, not often beyond persistent assholeness and a few unwanted gropes, but when it had gotten worse than that it had been enough to scare the fuck out of her, to the point of a knife and pepper spray.

Jamia went with Frankie when she could, when she had permission to stay at Frankie's for the night or the weekend. Jamia promptly declared Frank her boyfriend for those excursions thank you very much.

At fifteen, Frank landed the job of guitarist in a really shit sorta punk band but it was guitar, it was experience, it was cash--Frankie nearly got killed and grounded for life when she came home hungover and with her first tattoo at noon on a Saturday after a Friday night gig an hour away.

That band never knew their guitarist was less than male, and none of the rest, not even Pencey with whom there was a fair bit of being piled in vans and cars and next to nil for privacy on weekend gigs that were possible to reach within a day's driving. Linda lived in terror of a few of Frankie's band mates ever finding out that Frank wasn't what he seemed but Frankie was determined.


~*~

"Honey?"

"Yeah, mom?" Frankie frowned going through her bag for the tenth time, extra ace wraps, her craziness on stage made that plausible enough, trick rib that never quite healed right from a mosh pit incident. Plausible enough injury, plausible enough reason for Frankie to always wear acewraps, and certainly did the trick at hiding what there was to hide well enough. Okay, not the worlds most comfortable solution, but one she was so used to by now that she felt strange without the ace wraps. Pencey was going on a three week bar tour. School was out and, by some miracle, Frankie had actually graduated before she'd been expelled. Jeans, tees, "Need to get new shorts soon." Frankie muttered grabbing a handful of men’s briefs (boy’s, men’s close enough) and tossing them in the larger duffle. Socks. And thank god the timing of this particular trip should mean she wouldn't have to worry about how the fuck to hide tampons in her bag but a few of those went in anyway, just in case, in the little inside pocket in the very bottom she'd carefully sewn into the duffle bag, putting a patch on the outside to explain the stitching.

"Are--you dating Jamia?"

"Uh, well, we did try that for a while...but we decided we were better off just friends. She's still my bestest friend." Frankie said.

"You could have said--"

"I know. But--" Frankie shrugged. "It--if you'd said Jamia couldn't spend the night even if we didn't do anything, then she couldn't have gone with me and it's so much easier to have a girlfriend...even if it's your best friend pretending to be a girlfriend."

"So just pretending now?"

"Have been just pretend again for about a year. I love Jamia to pieces but...eh, it's just.."

"Well at least you girls managed to stay friends."

"Mom, it's James, I don't think we could not be friends."

"How long did you girls--er.."

"Two years," Frankie bit her lip. “End of Freshman year to just after school got out Junior year.”

"You must think I'm a blind idiot."

"No, we're just really sneaky and were determined to stay friends first so.."

A horn honked in the driveway. "Shit. They're here. Gotta go mom." Frankie grabbed her duffle zipped it, wallet grabbed from the dresser and shoved in her back pocket, she kissed her mom's cheek and grabbed her guitar scurrying out the door.

~*~

Really, despite her size, Frankie didn't have all that much trouble being Frank. She was naturally pretty much flat-chested as it was possible for her to be, her voice was naturally on the low side for a woman and her screaming screeching version of singing as Pencey's frontman roughened her voice further, it wasn't that hard to pitch her voice just a little lower, a little rougher until it became so much second nature that Frankie was often asked if she had a sore throat or cold by her teachers.

School done with, Frank was that much easier to maintain. And at eighteen Frank was four years in existence and a well established presence in the Jersey scene, recognizable for crazy hair and the fact that he was just a little guy with a fuck of a temper and crazy as hell in a mosh pit or on stage. Almost dangerously crazy in the pit or on stage.

~*~

When Pencey was back, Frankie found herself curled up on the couch with a bowl of vanilla ice cream all but drowned in Hershey's syrup watching, really more just vaguely staring at, something on TV.

"Frankie honey,"

"Yeah mom?" Frankie said absently but a glance up at her mother had her attention completely. That worried-kinda nervous look was just not one Frankie saw on her mom often.

"You know you can talk to me about anything right?"

"Yeah," Frankie agreed softly. "I know." Her mom looked so...something she was worried about or really wanted to ask. "Mostly just don't know where to start sometimes, or how to make it make sense in my head to even start trying to explain anything." Which was true enough and probably covered every subject her mother was possibly worried about. "Just ask mom" Frankie said at last because it was obvious her mom had something on her mind.

"You like girls?" it wasn't so much a question as concerned confusion.

Frankie shrugged. "Sometimes, I--" Frankie broke off and yeah, nice awkward conversation. "I notice guys sometimes too..." the ones that could play, the ones that-were too fucking straight, and hilariously conversely one particular one too gay, for Frank and would probably Freak to all hell over Frankie if they connected Frank and Frankie which her growing collection of tattoos made that almost a given if they weren't a total fucking drunken druggie, and Frank avoided those. The same pretty much went for the girls too. Oh there were a few more open-minded ones but Frankie hesitated and in the end hid behind the excuse of Jamia because it was easier, safer. "But--I'm...I'm not going to suddenly just find Mr. Right and go be a soccer mom with three kids or somethin'"

Linda looked at her only child, who was wearing Frank's acewraps, and Frank's breifs, the elastic band of which was visible by the way of sweats that kept slipping down just a bit and sex pistols t-shirt. "Somehow, that never entered my mind" Linda said drily with a smile, her eye on the scorpion on her daughter's neck.

~*~

"MOM!!!" Frank bellowed tearing into the house. "MOM! MOM!"

"Frankie honey?" Linda came into the kitchen worriedly. In the year and a half since Frankie had graduated from high school, Linda had come to the conclusion she no longer had a daughter, Frankie pretty much lived completely as Frank.

Frank was currently sporting a hot pink mohawk and black sharpie marker scribbled over bitten to the quick nails. A scorpion tattoo on his neck, which Linda still couldn't quite get over, and ever increasing amount of ink on his arms, a nose ring, a lip ring, and an apartment he shared with Jamia.

"I'm IN!"

"In? You found a new band?" Linda asked. Frank had been just heart broken since Pencey split up, though Linda couldn't find herself all that upset over that split.

"My Chemical Romance! They want me to be their rhythm guitarist. Ray Toro's their lead and he's fucking amazing and Mikeyway? You met him he was at a couple of Pencey's shows you went to? He's the bassist."

"Which one?"

"Uh, you called him the pretty lesbian with the thick glasses. Thought maybe I could ask him out." .

Linda nodded.

"And Mikey's brother Gerard's the singer, the drummer's a bit of a thicknecked idiot but he's been friends with them forever and they're cool and it's going to be fucking awesome, mom!"

"Watch your mouth, Frank Anthony." Linda said reflexively.

Frankie blinked, pretty sure her-his-whatever. His mom hadn't realized the alteration of her given name...and...oh fuck it. He had a band again, a band that was going to go somewhere he just knew it. Fuck the identity crisis, a band. He was happy not to front, just to play, and he would work, because My Chem hired Frank. And that's what he wanted, what he always wanted, was to play.."Mom--you called me..."

"That's your name, isn't it, baby?" Linda asked softly.

Frankie swallowed and shrugged. "I--" Frank's clothes, Frank was more comfortable than Frances had ever been, even way back when Frankie had first hacked off all her hair, but.."I don't know," Frankie whispered, furious at the tears trying to prickle and gather in his-her eyes. "I--don't know. I'm..." Frankie angrily swiped away a tear. "I'm just Frankie"

"My Frankie" Linda said firmly pulling her baby into a tight hug.

~*~

"What's with you?" Jamia asked later that evening when Frank finally came home.

"Just thinking," Frank said softly.

"Want company?"

"Yeah." Frank whispered, heading for his room in a near-daze.

Frank wrapped his arms around Jamia when she crawled into bed with him, tangling their legs as she burrowed against him and settled her head on his shoulder.

"James"

"Hmm?"

"Mom thinks I'm a boy--she called me Frank Anthony" Frank whispered.

"You--kinda are a boy, you know. That's why we broke up remember?"

Frank tightened his arms around Jamia.

"It's okay, Frankie, you're--you." Jamia whispered, and pressed a kiss to Frank's shoulder. "Same old Frankie who's been my best friend since we were three for god's sake."

Frank sighed and shoved away the hornets nest stirred up in his head. It was easier not to think about some shit if he didn't have to.

~*~*~



My Chem hit the road in a van and never looked back. It should have been problematic, it kinda was, but it wasn't. Because honestly, Pelissier was the only one likely to whip his dick out and piss on the van's tires or something. He was also the only one likely to go without a shirt even when it was 300 degrees out and they were all drowning in their own sweat. That Pelissier did kind of made him the odd man out rather than Frank for not.

Staying in the same clothes for three days waiting for the opportunity to change wasn't that big a deal either, when it almost took physical violence to get Gerard to change his clothes at times when he was off on some mental tangent in his head.

That he had Jamia supposedly waiting at home, shut up anything about taking up offers on the road.


~*~

The motel was dingy, gross, and the hot water and heat weren't worth a shit. Frank didn't worry about the sheets. Some things were just a lot less disturbing if you ignored them completely. And Frank was pretty good at that, honestly. He'd managed to scavenge up enough to have his own room for the night. He was bruised as hell yet from getting pulled off stage into an absolutely insane mosh pit. Mikey somehow had managed to grab Frank's guitar so it hadn't gotten broken. How Frank hadn't figured out. Mikey said he'd been trying to grab Frank. Frank didn't care, his guitar was fine. That was the most important thing. He was pretty sure he was coming down with a round of the crud could feel the tightness and ick building and he was aching beyond just what the bruises accounted for and feverish.

He had on his oldest sweats, and his favorite old long sleeve t-shirt which was worn and thin and just snug and thin enough that it really wasn't safe to wear without his wraps, which generally weren't off other than showering but the cold was settling in his chest and he wanted to fucking breathe right now thanks. He stared as he emerged from the bathroom headed for his bed, wanting nothing more than to curl up and sleep. They didn't have to check out until three the next afternoon and Frank intended to sleep until at least two.

"What in the fuck are you two doing in here?" Frank groaned Gerard and Mikey were sitting on his bed with a six-pack and both looked fairly lit as well, whether only booze or what, they were well on the way to trashed.

"Frank, you're getting man boobs. Need to do push ups or something.." Mikey giggled.

Oh. Shit. Frank crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared, okay the effect was ruined somewhat with long sleeves but years of hauling amps and setting up and breaking down before and after shows his arms weren't girly, and the ink added to that.

Gerard tilted his head curious and confused. Mikey got to his feet, giggles suddenly stopping and--

"WHAT THE FUCK, MIKEY!" Frank shouted and tried to shove at Mikey who was tugging up at the hem of Frank's shirt. That was something of a mistake because Mikey managed only to stagger a little and tug up the shirt enough.

"You've got boobs."

Frank's fist balled up and connected with Mikey's jaw. Mikey went down like a sack of bricks out cold.

Frank looked at Gerard shaking, his heart hammering in his chest. Oh god. He wanted to...

"You're a girl?" Gerard said his head cocked to the side just a little, and just fucked up enough that Frank wondered if Gerard might topple over. Maybe--maybe they wouldn't even remember in the morning but neither of them were all that prone to black outs no matter how fucked up they ended up more than not. Shit. Shit. Shit.

"I'm, just Frankie okay?" Frank managed swallowing. Oh fuck. Well it was Gerard. Just Gerard, the only thing he was scared of right now was being thrown out of the band or something.

"You could have --why--you coulda told us." Gerard said, hurt.

"I--how?" Frank whispered. "I--I just wanna fucking play. That's all I--"

Gerard got up and unsteadily made his way the few steps to Frank. Gerard pulled Frank in a hug.

"Gerard, I feel like shit I just want to sleep--if you're not going to kick me out of the band or try to--do something stupid or something."

Gerard jolted like he'd been slapped. "I wouldn't--"

"I know." Frank murmured. "Nothing like that...maybe kick me out of the band but not--" Frank broke off coughing.

"Not kicking you out either, you stupid fucker," Gerard muttered and tugged Frankie to the bed.

The bed was shaking, no...Frank was shaking. Gerard curled around Frank--fully dressed, shoes, coat and all and tugged up the covers over them, spooning behind Frankie. "Get some sleep, Frankie," Gerard said sounding kind of broken in an odd sort of way. Frank was simply too tired and miserable to pay much attention to it. Sleep finally, finally came Gerard's beer-breath snores in his ear. Mikey was alive, he'd managed to get up and crawl in bed curling into Frank from the front and pretty much pass out.

~*~

His band. Had. Fucking. Disappeared.

One night mother fucking layover and his band had fucking disappeared. He nearly sighed in relief at the sight of one. Frizzy hair starting to really get out of control past needing a hair cut but not long yet attached to six-foot-one-not-counting-that-fucking-hair of lead guitarist. "WHERE THE FUCK IS EVERYONE? WHERE WERE YOU?"

"Jogging"

Brian stared. "Where's the rest of the fucking circus?"

Ray shrugged. "Matt went out last night. Aren't Mikey and Gee in their room?"

"NO! AND THAT DOESN"T TELL ME WHERE FRANK IS!"

"Frank was sick, got his own room."

"Frank's sick?"

"Cold. Nasty one. And bruised up from two nights ago, wanted to pass out in peace." Ray shrugged.

Brian was going to go insane before this was done but what a way to lose his mind. They were close so fucking close.

~*~

Frank woke up with a coughing fit, a fever, Gerard's shoe digging a hole into his ankle and hand.on.his.boob. Mikey all but nose to nose with him, glasses and hair askew. At least Mikey's boot was digging a hole in Gee's leg not Frank's tossed over both of them as it was.

"Can't fucking breathe."

"ohgodsorry" Gerard whispered waking up enough to yank his hand back, out from between Mikey and Frank almost violently.

"You telling the others?" Mikey asked chewing his lip. "And are you going to hit me again?"

"No," Frank wheezed, his voice hoarse and thick his head stuffed up to the point it felt about a hundred pounds too heavy and was going to explode. But--being all plugged up and unable to breathe, meant unable to smell, and after months in a van, and eight days since the last opportunity to do more than a quick wash up make-do whore's bath in a sink at a venue or gas station, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing when pinned between the brothers Way.

Gerard reached over Frank and slapped Mikey along side the head. "Apologize."

"I didn't mean--" Mikey said sheepishly.

The thing is, Frank believed him, because Mikey could be a little fucking perv but he wasn't an asshole perv. Mikey hadn't meant to be an asshole, just drunk and shocked and a bit stupid and a lot just Mikeyway.

"I know I --"

"You coulda told us," Gerard whispered.

"Didn't know how--I"

"Can we tell the others?"

Frank swallowed. "Brian..." he was practical. And he was getting the fucking plague again. "Brian should know just--just in case..." end up in the hospital. Something stupid happened, someone remembered Frances. Or something.

"Okay--Ray or Matt?"

Frank trembled oh fuck fuck. fuck. "Ray."

Mikey made a face. "Yeah."

Frank could feel Gerard's nod behind him. "Need some fucking Dayquil or something," Frank managed through another coughing fit.

"ARE ANY OF YOU ASSHOLES IN THERE?" was bellowed in tandem with beating on the door.

"It's open," Gerard called out.

"Have to be so fucking loud." Mikey muttered, darkly. Frank considered beating them both for leaving his room door unlocked, this rundown place certainly didn’t have automatically locking doors or some shit like that, but that would take too much effort he needed all his energy to breathe and just move right now.

Brian stood there with Ray towering behind him. Well he had most of his band now. "Mikey, what the fuck happened to your face?"

"Frank punched me."

"Why?"

"Because he's a girl."

Brian rolled his eyes. "You and the fucking spider terror, Iero. Where's Matt?"

"No clue." Frank managed, trying not to hyperventilate, or die laughing because Brian, didn't hear a word Mikey said, or thought Mikey was just being an ass.

"If the three of you are fucking I'm going to kill you all. Get dressed and get your shit together and don't go any further than the goddamned van is that understood?"


~*~

The tour was done, heading back to Jersey tomorrow and starting recording in a few days for their new album. It was. they were doing it. Fucking REPRISE signed them. They were fucking doing it. They were making it. He'd showered and was just fucking beat, settled on the bed in sweats and tee, everything properly smashed flat just in case of middle of the night chaos of some sort, or rather morning since they'd already passed the middle of the night, too tired to sleep, too buzzed with the thought of going home and the nights show and absently flipping through channels.

Frank raised an eyebrow as Gerard returned to their room. The rest of the guys were partying, the show had been great, and they had a motel, and heading home tomorrow. Last blast sort of thing Frank had been ragged to hell for ducking out of.

"Hey what're you doing back here?"

Gerard shrugged and said "Want some?" holding out a bottle of vodka.

"Sure" Frank shrugged.

"You ever telling Matt?"

"Do I have to?" Frank asked softly. Pelissier wasn't a bad guy just...hell Frank couldn't quite explain it, but he really didn't think that a sudden revelation that Frank was ...not exactly male would not go over too well. Gerard and Pelissier had tangled a bit over Gerard's growing lack of--limits when it came to making out while drunk.

"No," Gerard shook his head looking sad.

"It's -- I'm just Frankie and...I don't know how well he'd take it."

Gerard nodded. He couldn't argue with that. He really really wanted to, it bugged the fuck out of him that he couldn't argue with that, because it was Matt, but Frank really had a point. And it was that the point existed that bothered Gerard, because it was Matt. "Jamia?"

"Has been my best friend since we were three and my roommate now." Frank sighed.

"So you're not dating her?"

"Not any more. Did for a while in high school, couple years." Frank shrugged reaching for the bottle, yeah, this was going to need some liquid-courage or at least fortification to get through this. Gerard wasn't...wasn't...anything more than trying to figure it out Frank supposed. Honestly he was surprised this conversation hadn't come a month and a half ago when Mikey and Gee had first found out.

"What's your old name?"

Frank laughed. "Frankie. Frances Antonia. Frankie, always been Frankie."

"Does it hurt?"

Okay, Gerard had obviously hit the bottle pretty hard before he came to their room and it was hitting him now. Frank stared at Gerard trying to figure out what the fuck he was talking about. Gerard made a flaily, ineffective, kind of embarrassed please don't punch me gesture in front of his chest.

"The wraps?"

"Yeah"

"Sometimes yeah." Frank shrugged. All the time, because even if there wasn't much there it was flattened to nothing. "I'm used to em. ALmost weird without em"

Gerard bit his lip. "You promise not to beat me up?"

Frank took a long drink of the vodka. "I won't beat you up." Frank sighed. "You--can ask whatever but fuck if I know if I have an answer." Frankie said tiredly. "I'm--just Frankie okay?"

"Yeah." Gerard lit a cigarette and passed the pack to Frank who lit one of his own. "You're Frank and you're a crazy ass motherfucker on stage and play guitar, and like girls that sum it up?"

Frank shrugged. "Mostly."

"You like guys too?"

"Not adverse to the idea of guys, but..." Frank snorted.

"Yeah yeah could be tricky."

Frank shoved Gerard hard. "Asshole."

"Hey you said you weren't going to beat me up!" Gerard giggled. "I didn't mean... You're gorgeous, Frankie."

"Just as tricky with girls." Frank snorted.

"Your sex life has to be more non-existent than RAY'S"

"Oh thank you so much for that," Frank rolled his eyes. He took a long swallow of the vodka before passing it back to Gerard. "At least Ray can jackoff in the shower or something." Yeah, that was one of the big pains in the ass on the road. Other than absolute terror of a leak a few days a month and Matt noticing, though Matt wasn't exactly observant and very unlikely to check Frank's ass but still. It was a bit easier, if he roomed with Mikey or Gee when they had a motel room. And since the rather three-stooges-esque revelation and revelation part2 which was met with disbelief and no flashing of Frank's barely there boobs he'd pretty much had Gerard or Mikey for a roommate. Jesus, a person got fucking horny, and well, it was just too fucking risky...and shit. But yeah, relaxing and being able to do much more than get more frustrated living in a van with five guys, with one of em in the bed across the room, when they had rooms and beds. It was rare he was that fucking horny, desperate and sure they were passed out cold enough that he did--anything.

"You can totally tell me to go fuck off for a while or something I mean...I roll over and pretend very hard not to notice Mikey I'd do the same for you...and oh god..."

Frank laughed and grabbed the bottle taking a drink. Because he'd pretended to sleep through every last one of them jacking off, even Ray, at one point or another.

Gerard shoved Frank, "Fucker, if you can pretend to sleep so can I. Not like I don't know or am gonna try and fuckin' watch or somethin."

Frank choked on his drink and promptly took another.

"How..." Gerard began then cut himself off and grabbed the bottle from Frank.

Frank waited, smoked his cigarette down to the filter waiting, "How what? Seriously --I --I don't know if I'll have an answer but...I didn't set out to lie to you guys. I mean I'm...me. Hell ask my mom or Jamia, I'm the same Frankie I ever was. I just..."

"Why? er...how..."

"No one would take a fourteen-year old girl who looked like a little pixie and had no tits serious--unless I wanted to suck off the rest of the band or wanted to play lame ass shit and wear a short little skirt that barely covered my ass and be the cute little gimmick token whatever. So I cut my hair and Frank tried."

"Cut your hair?"

"It was almost to my ass. My mom nearly fucking cried. And the nuns had shit fits."

"Nuns?"

"Catholic school," Frankie shrugged.

"Huh--so--"

"Frank was easier, safer just to go listen to the music. There's some real fucking assholes out there and when they're drunk or high they're that much worse. Fuck one asshole tried telling me I ought to be grateful he had me pinned against the wall and was groping me because flat-chested little sticks ought to enjoy what they get. Racked the fucker and got away, that's when I started carrying a knife, and pepper spray, and didn't go out as anything but Frank if could."

"Pencey--"

"None of em ever had a fucking clue." Frank whispered.

"So--uh are you...just a cross dresser or trans or..."

Frank shrugged. "I..." not going to fucking start crying, not going to fucking cry not going to. Frank blinked back the tears and grabbed the bottle taking a long drink. "I don't fucking know. I'm just Frankie..."

"So us just--saying he and you one of the guys isn't--I mean--"

"It'd be kinda a big fucking problem if you started doing anything else, dumb ass." Frank gaped. "I'm still me..."

"Yeah but you don't need us making it worse."

"You don't. None of this does. This is my fucking dream." Except for Pelissier but that was the reality of it, the real world wasn't perfect. Mikey and Gerard, Ray would eventually clue in to what he'd already been told and freak but it was Ray. Who knew? He might already believe it and was just quietly staying out of it as long as it didn't fuck up the band. Brian had been told, and he couldn't say he hadn't been if something ever happened that shit got stirred up, even if he'd obviously not fucking believed a word of it.

"So we can't say you've had a gender crisis and send you on stage in a dress." Gerard giggled, slightly off and nervous.

"Oh you're a dead man, Way," Frank laughed, a bit off, but a real enough laugh, and dove at Gerard fingers arched and ready to tickle until Gerard begged for mercy.