InsaneJournal

FIC: Nothing That Can't Be Dealt With-- MCR, Just Frankie Verse




title: Nothing That Can't Be Dealt With
author: lisa roquin
rating: mature
fandom: Bandom-MCR
series/sequel: Just Frankie Verse
disclaimer: complete and total *FICTION*
summary: Bob has to admit My Chem had problems, but they had pieces of that something that was going to be amazing if they could get it to all fit together right.
warning: language, adult content, alcohol/drug use & abuse mention,
author's note: timeline concurrent to Stumbling Forward.
wordcount: 3467



My Chem, well, they definitely had problems.

Bob had to admit that. But they were fucking amazing. He loved the music, and no matter how fucked up Gerard teetered at times, the others pulled him back. They had...something. Pieces of the something that was going to be amazing if they could fit them together right. At least Gerard, Frank, Ray and Mikey. Fucked up as they were he loved working with, watching these guys work.

He wanted to fucking shoot Pelissier. As a drummer he was barely passable, but he was barely passable while completely not giving a flying fuck about what he was doing and occasionally not giving a flying fuck drunk off his ass. That fact meant he probably could damned good-if he bothered, which he totally fucking didn't. Pelissier missed beats, missed pickups, missed the entire fucking point, but he didn't fuck them up. Oh there were off nights, nights Mikey was probably on mars or fucking something, or Toro was tired and not quite up to snuff. There had been couple shows a hacking half-dead Frank drenched in fever-sweat played sitting on his ass propped against Toro's leg. The night after two consecutive half-dead Frank sitting on stage the others staged a revolt and put Frank in his bunk and Matt Cortez on stage in Frank's place for three nights and world war three erupted over Frank coming back the on the fourth night. Frank won. He pulled his usual insane shit. Got off stage and collapsed in a coughing fit and was carried to the fucking bus by Toro, and was on the stage again the next night. Gerard seemed to shape up a bit or maybe just got better at timing things so he was closest to sober without hitting DTs at sound check and through the show.

They had it. The drive, the want, the fucking ability to really do something. They had their own little insular world too. Pelissier wasn't in it, but Bob kind of decided Pelissier left it of his own volition or was too stupid to even see it was there. One or the other. He'd watched them, gotten to know them well enough when he was still working the Used's sound when My Chem was touring with, or on the same festival tours with them, and this stint in Europe cemented that hell yes he'd do this again if he had the opportunity to work with them--even if it meant putting up with Pelissier. Hell, even Gerard's obvious problem wasn't enough to make him think twice. If that was the case he'd never have gone anywhere near the Used or half the bands out on the road.

Their little insular world wasn't--they weren't asshole about it. They closed ranks and protected each other, propped each other up. Pelissier kind of pissed on them all about that. They weren't too good or any shit like that. If anyone was a diva in the bunch it was Pelissier despite the...eccentricities and obnoxiousness the others could come up with. They were social enough with the crew. They weren't too good to pitch in a hand when they could--depending on what they had to do, or Worm's patience with security issues. They actually seemed to have a fucking clue of holding up their end of the bargain, and that people were depending on them not to fuck up to have a job and even liked the people depending on them not to fuck up.

It was disappointing when the Europe stretch was over. Damn he liked these guys. If he ever got the chance to work with them again the answer would be yes in a heartbeat. Problems or not.


~*~

"Hey,"

"The hell are you doin' here?" Bob asked opening his apartment door and stepping back to let Brian in, more than a little shocked because, well, it wasn't like Chicago was right around the corner from fucking Belleville Jersey.

"Come to offer you a job, but there's some shit first, and if you ever leak a word of it, the guys'll probably kill you. I will fucking kill you when they're done." Brian said, the words came out all in a tumble.

Bob stared a moment. Brian basically looked like shit warmed over, tired and fried. "Okay, the job is?"

"Drummer. For My Chem"

"Yes." Bob said before Brian got past "My Kih.."

"Gerard's in rehab at the moment."

"Good."

"He's also been fucking Bert McCracken or was..."

"Yeah. Not news. Certainly not the first gay front man, Bert's more a case of fuck anything with a pulse. Jepha and Quinn are pretty good about making sure of the pulse part. They get a little sketchy on the of age part though."

"Thank God Bert isn't my headache at the moment."

"I was with the Used how long. How could you think Way would be a deal breaker?"

"I think Iero and Cortez might be fucking. Cortez has been living at Iero's the last month. Toro's been making bus rules. You could be in the band and ride the tech bus if you don't follow them. Him and Mikeyway been coming up with that, and research--some of their shit's kinda scary because Iero's done it."

"Matt Cortez? The guitar tech? That Iero beat the shit out of in...somewhere."

"Yeah. Cortez was actually trying to keep his porn outta Frank's face and wouldn't let Frank lift any heavy shit...that's what that was about. Then Mikey lost his hair shit and they all lost their shit." Brian sounded like the memory gave him more of a headache than the incident itself had given him a figurative heart-attack. "Anyway Cortez rides the band bus, unless him and Iero are fucking and have a nasty break up or something then we'll have a problem but that can be worked out. If Cortez knocks up Iero I'm gonna kill him--because Iero's not on anything or I'm pretty sure he's not."

"Brian? Are you stoned?" Bob asked carefully watching his friend pace. "Iero can't get pregnant. He's a guy...." Okay Iero was tiny. Yes, he looked more like a little kid at times but he was also tiny and honestly just seemed to be one of those guys that would always look like a kid. The kind that would be eighty with gray hair and crows feet and still have a little boy face. Brian was a little guy and looked more like a kid than not half the time and he was older than Bob.

"Not exactly." Brian swallowed. "And I don't think he's done anything with hormones yet to take that fear off the table."

Bob stared a moment then shrugged. "When do I start?"

Brian stared at Bob. "I'm serious--"

"So am I."

"They're a recipe for disaster if shit goes wrong."

"There's not a band on the fucking road anywhere you can't say that about."

"You'll have to pass Toro's rules..."

Bob raised an eyebrow.

"Shit like keeping crap away from the bus so Gerard isn't tempted too bad, road's bad enough without being able to hide on the bus."

"Reasonable."

"Don't let Frank wear ace wraps and make sure he takes his brace off now and then."

Bob managed to just shrug. "New. But okay."

"Seriously, Iero wore fucking ace wraps forever and fuck...."

"Ace Wraps."

"For flattening his chest up and jesus..."

Bob made a face. "Sounds painful."

"Surprised if his imaginary trick rib isn't now a reality from how many fucking years of that."

Bob raised an eyebrow.

"And Worm, Cortez, Gerard, Mikey, Toro--that's it who know. The Ways for a while before Three Cheers was recorded at least. Worm at least longer than Toro and Cortez. Toro and Cortez since Europe."

Bob nodded. He didn't miss that Pelissier wasn't listed. He was pretty sure that meant Pelissier didn't know. Gerard had been a fucked up mess, but Pelissier had been the one that was unforgivable, not giving a damn and pissing on the rest of them. Bob didn't care for half-assed. Pelissier was half-assed to the core. Even in his spiral of self-destruction, Gerard had aimed for spectacular crash and burn, though the rest had managed to hold him back from completely that.

~*~

Bob wasn't sure if it was celebrating, or break-down crash at the end of hellish stress or what but he had an extremely fucked up Brian Schechter installed on his couch with a bucket and a bottle of water by dawn. The next evening he was dropping a hungover Brian off at O'Hare and getting his own ticket for three nights later.

~*~

Brian still looked like hell when he picked up Bob three nights later in Jersey.

Bob took the fact that his getting told shit about Iero was kind of a fuck up in stride, after all, even if he hoped the “temporary replacement” would change to actual member of the band he was a realist, and that's technically what he was.

Brian was big on blaming himself. Bob shrugged. “You know I'd never say shit.” Bob said quietly. By the time Brian had passed out on his couch, Bob had kinda gotten the impression his friend was ready to snap with holding the prize he was managing together.

“Only reason I fucked up. I know you won't.” Brian admitted. That and Toro had freaked the fucking hell out of him with horror stories from damage that wearing ace wraps like Frank had done, almost constantly for how fucking long could do to a person. Shit about Matthew Sheppard and Brandon Teena and everything else he could drag up. It seemed mostly because Ray was a neurotic basket case, and his down time from keeping Mikey half together was to find a way to lose his own mind and drive Brian crazy evidently.

Bob nodded. He gave a little half shrug. He wouldn't say anything or give them reason to kill Brian for a stressed out mistake.

~*~

Bob watched the group a bit warily and wondered how the hell this was going to work out. His heart pounded in his throat. He fucking wanted this. So bad.

There were hugs hello for Frank who'd been off on his own the month or so break they'd had. Even that had been tense for a moment when Frank faced off with Ray. Gerard slung his arm around Frank's shoulder and led them into the practice space.

They set right to business. And frankly sucked. It was pretty damned obvious that Mikey hadn't touched his bass in the last month. Gerard was shaky. Bob knew he was fucking up. Toro was giving Frank half nervous apologetic glances and the least sucktastic of them, but still, for him, no where near where he could be. Neither was Frank anywhere near where he should be. It was tense, awkward, trying to regroup, all of them kept fucking looking at him and giving little jolts, very clearly he wasn't who they expected to see sitting there.

Each run through it was a little better, though. And Bob hadn't expected anything else. He hung back, quiet, listening as they argued bits here and there, where they were off and sucking. They didn't exactly ignore him. They certainly weren't hostile, just wary and watching and worried. Bob couldn't blame them.

All the same, he was so fucking glad when “I need a fucking cigarette NOW,” was finally growled out by Gerard and he followed Gerard and Frank outside for a smoke. He was a little wary of intruding but, yeah, he was pretty close to hitting his own snarl of “I need a fucking cigarette now”


~*~


It was Frank that made the first move. “Here, man,” he handed Bob his pack of Marlboro reds and lighter after watching Bob fumble through his pockets and curse when he turned up nothing, his cigarettes likely still in Brian's car.

“Thanks,” Bob said gratefully, and barely managed not to audibly sigh in relief as the smoke hit his lungs and he leaned back against the wall.

“Sounds different,” Gerard half mumbled taking a deep drag off his cigarette.

“Sounds good.” Frank nodded. It didn't. Not quite. But it was obvious it would. The cobwebs were getting shook out and the last few go throughs had been almost on.

They still had a lot of work to do, but not bad, not fucking bad at all for it being over a month since they were all together and a new drummer besides. Even if it was a new drummer who was as familiar with their music as humanly possible with his sound work for them in Europe.

“Still different,”

Frank nodded. It was different but better. Better in that what was behind them was steady, sounded like a beat they could count on. Gerard's voice a little clearer, if shakier in some ways which made one wonder if Gerard had sung sober, like ever, at least after he turned twelve or something. Nervous, uncertain and a bit afraid even if it was just them right now, but clear.

“I suck”

“You're freaking. You don't suck.”

“Same difference”

“Freaking is dealable. We just kick your ass til you stop freaking. Sucking just sucks.”

Gerard snorted. “Thanks, Frank.”

Frank scrunched his face up in an obnoxious grin. “I try.”

“Fucker,” Gerard shook his head. He dropped his cigarette, filter burning, and crushed it out under his shoe even as he lit his second cigarette.

Frank finished his cigarette and crushed it under his foot. He pulled his pack out and lit a second offering the pack once again to Bob. They would be dragged back in soon enough by Ray, or so Frank said as he offered a second cigarette, and they still had another two hours of time for the night.

“Thanks,” Bob said again.

“Going to be ready to head out in two weeks?” Gerard asked.

Frank nodded. “James is ready to kick our asses out.” he grinned. “And Kathy fucking hates me. I don't think that's lasting all that long. Jamia's got vacation coming out wherever we are around my birthday. I-I should be ashamed of myself but if Kathy's still around then she won't be after.”

“Kathy?” Gerard frowned.

“Jamia's new girlfriend. She's a bitch.” Frank snorted.

“You guys broke up?”

“The end of fuckin' junior year.” Frank rolled his eyes. “Jamia's Jamia. She's mine, I'm hers. Yes we've slept together since we broke up plenty of times if neither of us are involved with anyone. She's...Jamia. She's been my best friend since we were three.”

Bob tried not to look like he was listening, he was.

Gerard elbowed Frank with a little glare.

“Girlfriend at home is easy and she's a girl, and my best friend in the whole fucking world.” Frank shrugged.

“What about you, Bob?”

“Single,” Bob managed.

“Wild and crazy everyone single going out this round.” Gerard snorted.

“Oh yeah, mainlining coffee and watching Matt's porn or playing playstation. You're in for one wild time, Bob.” Frank grinned.

“Enlightened discussions of literature--” Gerard giggled.

“Oh god, Mikey's not on another kick of how cool it would be to fuck Mystique again?”

“Mystique would be the best ever. Because she's a shapeshifter, I mean the possibilities.” Mikey said wandering out. “You guys about done?”

“I don't know, she could be fun.” Gerard shrugged then rolled his eyes at Mikey's momentary smug look continuing with big brotherly annoyance. “If she wasn't like totally evil and probably fucking Magneto or something. Which of the X-men would you fuck Frankie?”

Frank giggled. “Uhm...Storm's totally fucking hot. So's Gambit.”

“Mmm, I could go with that.” Gerard nodded. “How about you, Bob?”

“I-don't know,” Bob managed. Bob decided it was probably best not to speak the thought they sounded like a bunch of ninth grade geeks in someone's basement playing dungeons and dragons and would possibly faint if a girl actually kissed them let alone touched their dick. Especially when he knew better. At least about the Way brothers. He'd stumbled in on Gerard and Bert once, not that either of them were likely in any condition to remember later. And he'd heard stories about Mikey Way and the Alkaline Trio and/or (depending on the storyteller) their crew, amongst others.

“Guys? Practice?” Ray said coming outside.

Three cigarettes were dropped and stepped out. “Hey, how about you, Ray, which of the X-men would you fuck?”

“Storm,” Ray said without missing a beat. “Maybe Jean. If it's a continuity Cyclops isn't around.”

“Eh, not Jean. Angel if he wasn't such a dick, those wings..” Gerard said thoughtfully.

“Mystique could have wings. Mystique could have anything. Definitely Mystique.” Mikey said.

“Mystique is evil,” Gerard repeated. “You're not supposed to want to fuck the bad guys.”

“Why not if they're hot shapeshifters?” Mikey wanted to know. “Hot evil shapshifters are probably kinky too. It would be fucking awesome.”

“If they didn't kill you as some part of their plan to take your place or something or for it being totally grocery-list writing bad.”

Ray choked.

Frank made a strangled noise. “Oh that's just mean, Gee.”

Bob looked at them and decided it was safer not to ask where the hell grocery lists came into this conversation or if they were even talking about the same thing yet.

“C'mon, Bob, which X-man?” Gerard repeated.

Aparently they were. He struggled to remember the cartoon from when he was...maybe in kindergarten? “Uhm...Storm's the one with the white hair right? Her or....uh, I don't know.”

“A month on the road and we'll have you well versed in comics.” Frank grinned. “C'mon..”

~*~

“How'd it go?”

Bob nodded, following Brian to the car. “You know a comic shop open?”

“Comic?”

“Yeah. I'd kinda like to know for sure who I said I wanted to fuck.”

“Bryar?”

“That was the smoke break conversation. Fucking X-Men.”

“What?”

“Yeah. What X-man would you want to fuck.”

Brian groaned. “Just don't ever answer if Gerard and Mikey start arguing over telekenesis.”

“Okay.” Bob said, and that, really sounded like good advice. He should probably be worried.

“You know, it'll be something different tomorrow. And I'm pretty sure they don't do it on purpose, they're just fucking nuts.”

“Yeah, but I'll have a clue next time.”

“Your money,” Brian snorted.

~*~

Day two of practice went much better than day one. By the time they'd ended day one, they were almost, almost almost there. Day two, they got there and went straight to work. The X-men aren't mentioned once, but Bob at least has vague ideas who the hell had been subject of the conversation the day before. Storm was the white haired woman, and hot. So he hadn't fucked up too bad, he at least had named and described an X-man.

And, he'd figured out who Mystique was. Blue skin. Evil. Yeah. And the shapeshifting thing-kinda creepy in his opinion. Also, X-men were seriously fucked up, even the good ones. Figuring out who was who was enough of a challenge without making sense of the stories in the four storyarc collected in one book volumes he'd bought. It was nothing but a headache. Seriously fucked up.

At least he'd been able to not make an idiot of himself more than blinking over the Barbara Gordon/Selena Kyle argument. He knew who Barbara Gordon was, and even who Selena Kyle was. So he was spared asking who the hell they were talking about. That was good. They got so caught up in their debate, they didn't ask him his opinion either, that was even better.




~*~

The video was kind of completely fucking awesome. Okay it wasn't going to win awards or change the world. But awesome all the same. All of them were jazzed at it's being shot.

The wrap party, celebration, whatever, is...odd. Because they don't go out and party which, really, not the thing with Gerard just now. They end up at the Ways house, in their smallish back yard. Frank had stopped by his apartment and showed up with Cortez and Jamia.

Gerard's smile dimmed for a moment at how edgy Cortez looked. Ray scrubbed his hand over his eyes and shook his head just slightly as if trying to chase away thoughts and Jamia stayed tucked tightly against Frank's side the entire evening.

Yeah, My Chemical Romance definitely had problems. Bob could deal with that. Because as they started talking about hitting the road again, yeah. He could deal with the problems he was seeing, what he'd seen in Europe, different problems now, but better. Mostly. Maybe. Yeah. Problems but he was still of the opinion they were fucking amazing, and if they could get the pieces to all fit together, it was going to be fucking mind-blowing.