InsaneJournal

FIC: Art of Codependency Arc: Chicago--MCR 15/mature
title: Art of Codependency: Chicago
author: lisa roquin
rating: 15+/mature
fandom: Bandom-MCR
series/sequel: Art of Codependency
characters/pairings: past Bob/Kat, Frank/Jamia, Mikey/Alicia, (Bob/Gerard not quite there yet)
disclaimer: not real, ,know no one and nothing. pure. complete. fiction
summary: Bob is pretty sure he's doomed when he promises to let Frank take care of him while he's in Chicago dealing with the apartment and settling things with Kat. Then Gerard and Jamia decide Frank needs help in Bob-sitting and are in Chicago too.
warning:
author's note: still her fault. and she has had to listen to me grump about these twits as punishment. :P
wordcount: 14,300+


"You're supposed to fucking let us take care of you too,"

Bob knows he's losing this argument. Totally. He doesn't have a hope in hell of winning. Frank's all but shaking, eyes wide and sparking. And arguing about time with Jamia isn't going to cut it since she's going to LA too for the recording. Brian's already found them a place, within five freaking miles of the studio. Same damn apartment complex. Ray and Mikey's apartment is across the hall from Bob and Gerard's and Frank and Jamia's the next building over or next floor up. He missed the exact details because of the Gerard-lecture on how badly the Dark Phoenix saga was fucked by the movie. And then a debate on the hotness factor of Famke Janssen, Halle Berry, Hugh Jackman and James Marsden (the girls being present for that and Mikey looking smugly evil as he extolled the virtues of Hugh's ass while Alicia went on about Famke. Bob thought Mikey won because Alicia agreed, Hugh was more fuckable than James...All Bob could say was it shut up Gerard about the Dark Phoenix saga)

They had apartments. They had the studio booked.

Brian had them set to go at the end of the month.

And they would be in relatively the same place. Christa had addresses and shit was being sent to email and...yeah, it was pointless to fuss over the exact what now. Jamia and Frank being upstairs or next building over in the complex made no big difference overall, not really. And hell, they weren't even arguing Brian's rooming assignments.

Bob shoots Jamia a look, more just checking the amount of help that he might get from that corner...which apparently is zilch the way she just shrugs.

He stifles a sigh and looks back to Frank. Frank is just fucking shaking with determination and righteous royal fury. "Frank--"

"You're supposed to fucking let us take care of you too, asshole, and I am going to Chicago with you."

Bob sighs in defeat and nods. "Fine, have it your way." Because Frank will anyway, mostly because Bob doesn't have a damn way to settle Frank down and talk him out of..whatever exactly he's worked up over. Gerard seems to have no intention to, and is nodding, and that's probably Bob's only hope of going to Chicago without Frank if Jamia is Switzerland on the subject, which judging by the way she shrugged, she is.

Give him a job. Give him a list of things that have to be done, a schedule that has to be kept, give him his goddamned drums or the most fucked up soundboard in the world, and he's good to go.

He knows what he needs to do, he can do it.

Arguing with Frank because Frank wants to take care of him, he just can't manage. Arguing with Frank, he really can't manage. Snarling and stalking off, threatening to beat Frank to a pulp when Frank's monkey impression has his last nerve frayed, yeah that he can do, and that's about when Ray or Gerard or Mikey haul Frank's ass out of Bob's line of sight for as much time as possible for a day or two. That's not so much arguing as just snapping.

Arguing with Frank over something not related to his exhaustion and end-of-rope with Frank climbing on him is about impossible. And Frank standing there shaking hurt/furious and demanding to take care of him, well, Bob really just wants to run away and hide, and he has no defense at all to this.

Frank's glaring. Almost more hurt than anything in his victory. He stalks out of Gerard's apartment slamming the door behind him.

"What time does the flight leave?" Jamia asks.

"Midnight tomorrow night." Bob says, Brian had gotten him two tickets. The only question anyone seemed to have if it was going to be Frank or Gerard that was going to Chicago with Bob. Bob thought he was perfectly capable of going home alone, but it seems that he's the only one that thinks so.

"We'll be here at eight then," Jamia says getting up from the chair she'd been sitting in. She pats Bob's arm. "You do have to let the guys take care of you now and then too."

Bob is just...baffled. Mikey eyeballs him the entire remainder of the time he and Alicia are there. Bob's got the urge to apologize to...everyone for something but fuck if he knows what. Finally it's just him and Gerard. And he's beat. And he's still got a Frank-induced headache and the feeling he's royally fucked up something though not the slightest clue what.

"Why don't you let us take care of you?" Gerard asks when they're in bed. And some fleeting thought of amusement dances through Bob's head that neither of them thought to do anything differently, even if Gee's couch is long enough to sleep on and damned comfortable.

"But you do," Bob says, for what has to be the billionth time in the last week or so since Frank became a freaking...rabid pit-bull puppy with a bone on the subject.

"You go through a breakup, don't say a word, just come here and deal with me, and a good bit of Mikey and Frank and my mother looking forward to African Orphans eventually. and you. don't. say. a. fucking. word. You don't even really give us a reason why.I--hell--" Gerard cuts off.

Bob sighs. "Road's rough. Hell, even Jamia, will say that."

"Yeah"

"She just...was done." Bob doesn't know how to explain it better. "That the road came home with me, that I didn't shut you guys off and forget you anymore than I shut her off and forgot her on the road she didn't get. She...just wanted more than I could do, more than I had. She...was just done. That's all."

"So it was my fault."

"Only as far as it was you now. Not Frank or Ray next year, Mikey two years and a baby from now woulda been the same thing. Better this way."

"Still sucks"

"No shit."

"And we fucking failed."

"Huh?" Bob's back to being utterly confused, and less than sure how he ended up whispering in the dark like a twelve year old girl at a slumber party but he's gotten really, really good at going with the 'ooookay' factor over the last few years, not much makes that jolting of an impression anymore.

"We completely failed at watching out for and taking care of you."

Bob's still baffled. "My choice to come. And it was over before I came, so my coming here wasn't what did it."

Gerard makes a frustrated noise. "Goddamn it,"

Bob's beyond confused. "Uh, sorry?"

Gerard raises up on his elbow and stares. "Are we that fucking pathetic that you can't let us help you?"

Bob swallows and shakes his head. "For fuck's sake, Gee, there was nothing to do. Nothing to work out. Nothing...fucking nothing. She was done with the way things were and I wasn't changing things so it was done. If I'd been in Chicago I'd been...yeah. Too much partying, few groupies shit like that. People lookin' worried and cross-eyed and bitching if I was at my drums for more than an hour at a go and hell more than an hour a day." Bob was pretty damn sure he'd said all this to the guys back before they'd even gone to Maine.

Gerard flops back. "You're fucking impossible, Bryar."

Bob sighs. "I'll try harder" at what he has no fucking clue but he's tired, and ten days in Chicago with Frank determined to take care of him, he's pretty sure he's doomed. Totally. Completely. Fucking. Doomed.

"Just let Frank take care of you?"

"I will." Bob promises. Oh yeah. He was totally fucking dead. He wondered if Brian had a replacement in mind because, Bob's pretty certain he's not surviving Chicago.


*


Gerard makes him take a nap. So he's not cranky with Frank on the flight.

He's torn between amused and terrified. Amused at Gerard trying to pin him down and glare that he has to be nice to Frank, and needs a nap to do so. And terrified because he's once again promised to let Frank 'take care of him' for the next few days. Considering it's Frank. That could mean anything. Gerard once said Frank was totally someone who'd help you hide the body, and that is, very true. He's also the monkey with the hyena laugh that jumps on people's backs and sticks tongues in their ears, and gets this kicked-puppy look when someone steps away from him when he wants to cling. Bob is good at making Frank look like a kicked puppy at times. Though not as good as Frank is at driving Bob nuts so it evens out.

He wakes up with Gerard plastered to him, Gerard's head on his chest and a leg and arm slung over him, and somehow his fingers are just in the waistband of Gerard's jeans on the curve of Gerard's ass. And Gerard still needs to eat more because his jeans are loose enough that Bob's hand accidentally slid in them in sleep...

And Gerard's mom, just fucking beaming and Mikey who has the strangest expression on his face are both standing at the side of the bed.

"Wake up, Gee," Bob manages, sure his skin tone is about the same shade as your average fire truck. He doesn't move his hand, doesn't dare move more than he has to because he might pass out or run away or something. Oh god.

Gerard yawns. "Mmph, Mom, Mikey, here already?" he mumbles out mostly asleep. Bob knows the second Gerard is awake enough to register everything because tenses so damn hard that it was surprising he didn't dislocate something.

"We'll give you boys a minute to wake up,"

Bob nods.

"She totally has all three of our kids from Uganda named and our dog. And probably has the Bryar and Way combination part all sorted too," Bob murmurs sliding his hand out of Gerard's waistband. "And you need to freaking eat. My hand on your ass woulda been better than slid in the waist of your jeans."

The bed shakes with Gerard's silent, slightly manic, laughter. Because really, only them. Hell they were going to end up with their own encyclopedia long list of 'only them' that was just the two of them.


*


Bob's vaguely disturbed by the fact that Gerard and Mikey’s mom is at the airport as well with Gerard and Jamia to see him and Frank off.

He gets a hug and a kiss on the cheek. And they're told "You boys have a safe trip," and that she always sees them off. Gerard, Mikey, Alicia and now, apparently Bob when his leave-taking is from Jersey. She looks kind of sad when Frank kisses Jamia good bye. "We're in an airport, Mom," Gerard manages, looking ready to flail in helplessness because public settings has never made a difference to antics and then there's their shows, which Bob is safely up on his riser and Frank has yet to find a way up to harass him yet. Bob loves his riser.

Still, a kiss goodbye in front of mom at the airport? That is a whole other thing and Gerard really has to convince her soon they're not a couple...

Bob reaches and squeezes Gerard's arm and then leans and gives Mrs. Way a kiss. on the cheek. "That one's yours." A second kiss. "That one's his."

He feels like an utter heel when Mrs. Way beams at him. Gerard so totally has to find someone to date first. Bob is not being the one to destroy Mrs. Way's dreams of African Orphans. They can civilly break up and stay good friends when Gerard finds someone worth introducing to his mom. And he decides he's definitely been a part of these guys too long if that thought doesn't give him the slightest pause over the absolute absurdity of it.

Gerard mouths "thanks" from a step behind his mom.

Frank manages not to giggle until they're boarded. "You're a real gentleman."

Bob groans. "It's not like Gerard hasn't tried."


*


"I think Brian counted on Gerard winning the coin toss," Frank snickers seeing their hotel room.

Bob...is just not going to ask. If Brian's ...he's not asking. It's better not to know. Even if Gee's pretty much the wrong gender for Bob, well mostly, and Gee seems to have given up guys, beyond molesting Frank on stage, along with the booze and drugs...the more they protest the more everyone will be convinced, or at least rag on them and screw around. Ignoring it all is the safest course of action.

"It's only for tonight, be at my mom's, just when the flight got in." Bob shrugs.


*


They get to Bob's mom's at five the next afternoon.

The bed in Bob's room has been replaced by bunk beds. A friend of his mom's is a nurse and recently divorced. Her two boys are thirteen and ten, and Bob's mom is the emergency over-night sitter for the time being. The scratched up bunks look vaguely familiar, Bob's pretty sure they came out of his grandparents basement and were once in his cousins room.

Frank merrily claims the top bunk.

Bob grins.

"Behave at supper okay?"

Frank looks hurt.

Bob sighs. "Mom was counting on a daughter-in-law outta this break, not me single in Jersey..."

Frank clenches his jaw.

"I'm...fuck it, I'm just not going to win, am I? Whatever I do it's going to be wrong." Bob sighs. "Just, ya know, mom behavior?"

Frank glares for a long moment then relaxes. "Stupid fucker, I can do mom behavior, duh."

Bob groans and sits down on the bottom bunk and runs his hand through his hair. "I know you can," Bob says with conviction. Though to be honest, he knows no such thing. Five minutes doesn't count. Frank can do polite, he can do polite and disappear when having to behave at someone's parents catching a show. Or something. But..yeah.

Frank sits next to him and leans his head against Bob's shoulder and patting Bob's knee. "I can do mom behavior"

"I know" Bob murmurs.

"Supper, boys,"

Bob feels about six, and his mother is eyeballing. Christ. No. There has to be some kind of break. It was bad enough Gee's mom thought they were together. Just no. No way. If his mother got ideas about Frank he was going to do something drastic.


*


Frank is polite, relatively still, doesn't fall out of his chair once (Bob's willing to admit the last fear was overly paranoid on his part, maybe), and attempts to help Bob fix the garbage disposal after supper.

Shockingly, Frank is actually helpful, though maybe not so shocking since it was mostly just Frank and his mom growing up. For all they grew up with a mechanic for a dad, Bob has to wonder if Gee and Mikey know a Phillips from a socket wrench.

Bob's phone's ringing from his pocket and Frankie fishes it out, both of them wincing a little at the arched eyebrow from Bob's mom who is watching them and jabbering about someone Bob knew when he was a kid having a new baby.

"Yeah, Bob's Phone...Jesus, Gee settle down.."

"Fuck, Gerard? What's wrong?" Bob gasps out then "FUCK!" as he bashes his head getting out from under the sink.

"Rob-bert" his mother says sharply, somehow harshly enunciating it in a way that guarantees flashbacks to being seven and tracking mud on clean floors.

"Settle down, Gee, here's --Bob," Frank finishes after the phone's been ripped from his hand

"Gerard? Hey hey, calm down what's wrong?" Bob says his voice automatically slipping to a tone that he's not even sure Gee's heard when he was conscious, used for soothing Gerard through restlessness in his sleep during the first days Bob was in Belleville.

Frank's giving him a smile that's soft and amused and Bob really wants to flip him off but his mother's watching.

"No, Mikey hasn't called either of us..." Bob manages uncertainly. "Oh..fuck," Bob chokes and starts banging his head against the cabinet door as Gerard's hysterics sunk in.

"Bob?" Frank asks worriedly.

"Their mother has converted Mikey to the Ugandan Orphans train of thought with a side of oh honey there's medication for that these days if you have problems from when you were using."

Frank's jaw drops. His eyes widen impossibly.

"Well, if you actually ate then my hand wouldn't have been down the back of your pants we took a nap because your pants would fit and my hand wouldn't have ended up there! Yes, my hand on your ass on your jeans is infinitely better than in your jeans when it's your mother waking us up, Gee. No, you don't need to buy new clothes you need to eat so your clothes actually fit...What do you mean where did I get Uganda...I don't know. Fall Out Boy's video? I don't know. Gee.. OH FOR GOD'S SAKE, GERARD, I KNOW YOUR DICK WORKS! I WAKE UP WITH IT POKING AT ME ON A REGULAR BASIS AND HEAR YOU IN THE GODDAMN SHOWER JACKING OFF!" ....and did he just say that in front of his mother...his mother and Frank.

"NO! I AM NOT TELLING YOUR MOTHER THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH YOUR DICK GER--Hi, Mrs. Way..uh..." He's going to kill Gerard. He shoves his phone at Frank, at this point he doesn't have the slightest care...because this just can't, just. fucking. can't. get worse and resumes beating his head against the cabinet.

"Uh hi, Mrs. Way it's Frank. Nah, but it's probably good Gerard's in Belleville and Bob's not cause yeah." Frank says the grin evident in his voice. "Nah...nah, nah, Bob's just really protective and careful of Gee is all. Since he's been such a wreck and all, just taking it slow."

Bob stops glares at Frank...and fuck that's...well, not any worse. He thumps his head against the cabinet again feeling his mom's eyes just burning at his back.

Frank moves closer to Bob and rubs his back. "Okay yeah, nah it's fine...Gee, man, think once in a while. I'm supposed to be the spaz, ya know? Yeah, here's Bob."

"Gerard," Bob half-grates half-whines. "If you ever do that to me again. I'll strangle you in your sleep got it? No...mmm...I know but damn...yeah hey, Frank, think Jamia'd be up for movies or somethin?"

Frank nods and pulls his own phone out. "Hey, baby, it's me...yeah you up for hanging out with Gerard for the night? You and him keep each other company with me and Bob out here. Yeah," his voice softened. "Yeah, love you too. She's headed for your guys place be there in about a half hour."

"Hear that, Gee? You head home. You and Jamia can watch movies or something. Or do each others nails or whatever..yeah. Yeah, hey I'm allowed they dragged me to the damn salon to get mine done! Yeah, just just settle down, Gee. Apologize to your mom for being a goddamned ass and for me freakin'. Yeah. Yes. Okay, yeah. I'll call you in the morning. No, you can't kill your brother. I'll sit on him for you and you can tickle him til he cries and begs for Alicia to save him, though. And we'll shave that damn cat this time. All right. Go home. Watch movies with Jamia, talk to you in the morning. Yeah, oh no. My mom is standing right here trying to incinerate me with her glarin'...Gee says 'hi', mom...kay, now go. Yes, I promise I'll call in the morning. Bye."

Bob turned off the phone and beat his head against the cabinet a couple more times for good measure. Frank reached and squeezed his arm. "Hey, you know Gee and his dramatics. He'll be okay. Jamia and him can keep each other company."

"Yeah, I know, but that..."

Frank giggles.

Bob laughs a little despite himself and knocks his head against the cabinet. "Only Gee."

Frank laughs a bit more.

"Jamia can handle him, and she could use the company too." he says a moment later sounding a bit more serious.

"Yeah, think she can train him to a dog whistle like she's got you?" Bob teases.

Frank's jaw drops "Oh you," he shoves Bob. "I know where you're sleepin' tonight, Bryar!"

"That's okay, I'll just tell Alicia you're responsible for Bunny being bald when it happens."

Frank laughs. "Let's blame Ray. He misses out on all the fun. I--I'm gonna go outside for a smoke." Frank says ducking out the kitchen door.

Bob sighs and turns to face his mother.

*

Bob settles down on the back step next to Frank and lights a cigarette.

"You okay?"

"Oh yeah. Peachy," Bob snorts and takes a drag.

"Ugandan orphans, huh? Whatcha gonna name em?"

"Michaela Elena and Antonia Rae. Gee ought to do good with girls don'tcha think?" Bob says spitting out the first names that come to mind. Which really, not a fuck of a lot of thought there. Mikey, Mikey and Gee's grandma that he wrote a song for, Antonia for Frank Anthony, and Rae for Ray.

Frank blinks, his jaw dropping a bit.

"What?"

"Antonia Rae?" Frank says sounding just a bit awed for a second because really no explanation needed for the where did you pull those names from.

"Why the hell not?"

Frank laughs. "I'll help shave the cat. Gee didn't need that shit..."

"Well, that was the conclusion his mother jumped to when he started off screaming we weren't sleeping together, well, sleeping but not having sex..."

Frank snickers. "God...that..."

"I'm trying to figure out how offering me up as witness that he can get it up is going to convince his mother that there's nothing going on," Bob chokes and starts laughing, it's that or beat his head against the side of the house til he passes out.

"Yeah well, that's Gee, and he's still not quite a hundred percent back so.."

"I know." Bob shakes his head and takes another drag.

"Your mom?"

"I need to watch my language under her roof damn it, and how dare I try to take advantage of the poor boy if he's been in such shape, and...probably going to be looking for sweater patterns and knitting classes for her eventual Ugandan grandchildren or some damn thing since I think she's at least half convinced I'm not toying with Gee or some fucking thing. I actually had to point out the band and that I've wanted this for so long that I wouldn't fuck it up by ...Christ. The fact she's only ever met girls kinda..yeah..shoot me now please."

"Nah, don't have a gun."

"You'd probably shoot your foot off if you did."

"Nope, I wouldn't," Frank grins. Bob believes him. That's almost scary.

"Let's get the fricken disposal done. She was on about the washer needing looked at too."

Frank nods "Okay."


*


Day two in Chicago he has lunch with Kat. And Frank who put the earbuds to his ipod in at a volume loud enough that Kat and Bob could both hear it. Kat found it a little creepy. Bob found it a relief, because he didn't have to worry about Frank getting mobbed or some damn thing on his own. Jamia would kill him if he didn't return Frank in the shape he'd left in--she'd said so. Frank was happily making faces at a pair of four year olds who were horrifying their mothers by staring and pointing and giggling.

Bob chuckles and shakes his head as Frank ambles over to the table with the moms and the two kids.

Kat snorts and rolls her eyes. "Sunday?"

"Yeah." Bob agrees. Well storage won't be so much the issue as renewing the lease, which was up in a couple weeks anyway and hell, it was solely in his name. "Kat, I--"

"Just. Just don't." Kat sighs. "I'm--I'm seeing someone..."

Bob swallows. Hell it's been, five? Over five months now so...yeah. "He doesn't treat you right, you let me know, Frank'll help me hide the body."

Kat smiles weakly. "You could stay at the apartment I'm...I'm not completely moved out yet but I'm not there."

"Maybe. Mom's got claim on us couple more days of stuff around the house needing done. If- You bring your guy along Sunday it's not going to be a problem, Kat, swear..."

"Yeah." her smile wavers. "Okay, well I've got to get back to work."

She gives him another weak smile and all but bolts. Bob stands and goes to crouch by Frank. "Exactly whatcha doin, Frank?" Bob asks quietly. "I'm Bob Bryar, and this one who isn't exactly the first to remember his manners is Frank Iero."

"Do you got pictures on you too?" one of the little kids ask.

"Frank's the one that does that."

"Mommy says you don't have a job with all those pictures."

Frank laughs. "I do so have a job. Because I'm very very lucky, but I've got a job. I play guitar, and a few other business ventures on the side, but mostly I play guitar and go all over the world playing in a band."

Bob smiles at the mothers who look like they're this close to calling security, obviously not having a clue who the strange little long haired tattooed pierced guy the kids had been staring at is and add to that suddenly came over and started chitchatting and letting them eyeball his visible tattoos.

"Are you in a band too?" the other little one asks.

"Yeah, I'm the drummer in the same band as Frank."

"You got letters on your fingers."

Frank laughs, "Yes I do. My favoritest day of the year." he holds out his hands to display the tattoos. "Halloween, which is my birthday too."

The squeal has both Frank and Bob cringing. "Been made, dude," Frank mutters.

The mothers stare in disbelief as a half dozen maybe college-aged girls are suddenly wanting pictures taken with camera phones and autographs.

Bob sighs in relief as the girls were sent on their way.

"I--" one of the mother's starts. Her son interrupts her. "Can I take you to show and tell at Day Camp? I like your pictures."

Frank laughs, the mom looks ready to crawl under the table in horror. "Nah, don't think I'd be able to go. But here...how about this.." Frank pulls the habitually carried sharpie from his pocket and looks around. Hops to his feet and goes to pester the wait staff who come up with a pair of clean cloth napkins. He drew a jack-o-latern and signed his name. Then shoved the sharpie at Bob who drew a smiley face and signed his name as well and added. The second napkin was a repeat of the first. "There now you each have something for show and tell."

"Can you come show Joey your pictures?"

"No, don't think so. We've got to fix Bob's mom's washing machine before we go home. We live in New Jersey."

"Where's that?"

"By New York, way way that way" Frank actually points to what Bob is pretty sure is East. "By the ocean. Betcha can find it on a map somewhere when you get home."

"Can mommy take a picture?"

"Yeah," Bob smiles.

They get their pictures taken by a very uncomfortable mom who is..."Our band's name is My Chemical Romance." Bob answers in a whisper to one mom's question as the kids start another round of poking at Frank's tatts.


*


"Those were cool kids," Frank grins.

Bob shrugs. Cute enough he supposes. He thinks the moms might be a bit traumatized by the random tattooed and pierced guy who was making faces back then came over to chat with the kids but yeah, sure, cool kids.

"So?"

"Kat's movin' out, partway moved out I guess. I can keep the apartment, might as well...need a place here just need to redo the lease..easier than fuckin' around with storage and moving shit." Bob shrugs.

"And..."

"And nothin'."

"And."

"And nothin' she's seein someone. I volunteered you to help hide the body if he fucks her over."

"Okay," Frank agrees.

"Sunday we're supposed to go over there and get shit sorted out."

"So, it's what? Wednesday?"

"Yeah."

"Couple days to fix your mom's shit. Gonna get killed if we go out and get hammered?"

"Nah, just glared at and loud noises with hangovers."

"We can deal with that."

Bob laughs, "We can head over to the apartment the night we get hammered, that way we don't have to catch hell."

"Cool."


*


"Uh...you're going to kill me?" Frank says coming out of the bedroom that evening.

"Is that a question?" Bob asks warily.

"James and Gee are coming." Frank says.

"When?"

"Uh...according to the voicemail their flight lands in an hour."

Bob raises an eyebrow.

"How should I know?" Frank shakes his head. "Why don't you call Alicia or Christa and see if they can explain it?"

"Then we have Mikey and Ray laughing at us even if they wouldn't know either."

"This is true," Frank nods.

"I..Bob?"

"Ah don't worry, mom. Jamia and Frank can share the top bunk and Gee and I the bottom, we'll be fine for the night and probably head for the apartment tomorrow..and we'll put the washer back together, I swear."

Bob's mom merely raises an eyebrow a little further.

"Did Jamia say anything as to why?" Bob frowns.

Frank shrugs. "I mean I...I don't think I said anything that...just had lunch, and everything was nice and civil, Kat's got a boyfriend and going to sort stuff on Sunday and told her about the kids that liked my pictures..."

"Well, if their flight is landing in an hour, we should get going so we're there to meet them." his mother points out.


*


"Hey, baby, what?" Frank murmurs folding Jamia into his arms and giving her a kiss.

"Gee, man, what the hell?" Bob asks. Gerard is looking sharp edged and worried. Jamia seems to be inspecting Frank for damage. "I didn't break him, I promised I wouldn't and he hasn't done anything that I'd want to break him for anyway." he says to Jamia.

"We were worried." Gerard says fidgeting with his shirt hem.

Bob and Frank just stare baffled.

"You're not pissed we came.." Gerard asks biting his lip.

"Nooo, surprised. Not pissed." Bob says. "Hey, what? Why would I be pissed?"

"If you were sick of me or needed a break."

"Gonna beat you one of these days," Bob groans. "No, thought you'd be spending time with Mikey and your folks and all.."

"Mikey'll be right across the hall in LA and..." Gerard breaks off.

Bob nods. Yeah. He was trying to do his best to forget the phone call from the night before had ever happened.


*


The washing machine is fixed in record time, once Jamia opens her mouth and asks had they tried...Frank grumbles somewhere between annoyed and 'isn't she the greatest' which amuses Bob to no end. And within three seconds, Bob is also convinced Gerard honest to god doesn't know a Phillips head from a socket wrench. Which is more exasperating than cute, because really? Good god.

Their reward is brownies, and basically being told it's a good thing they're headed to the apartment because his mom's friends boys were going to be there, it was supposed to be the weekend that they were at their dads, so that it was their mom's weekend on night-shift 12's wouldn't be an issue but...at any rate would Bob mind very much changing her oil as well as his mom's and maybe figuring out what was up with it's tempermentalness. Even if they didn't fix it, just knowing what the devil was wrong would go a long way, especially at estimates of what it would cost to fix.

"Sure, mom," Bob agrees.


*


"Mph wha?"

"I'm leaving, honey. Diane will be here at eight-thirty or so, after she gets her boys to their friends house."

Gerard makes a grumbly noise, shifts burrowing a little more into Bob who reflexively rubs his back, unconsciously, not realizing at. all. until his mother's eyebrow arches up just a bit.

"Do what we can, mom," Bob mumbles with a yawn, managing not to grumble that a goddamned note next to the coffee pot would have sufficed, but..whatever. It was six. Still had time to sleep yet, not that he was likely to actually do that, not when he'd been woken up and had what he needed to do for the day brought to the forefront of his mind. Sometimes, his mother was just plain mean, because she knew that. He was just like her in that. But, well, someone would be awake when Diane got there this way.


*


Diane arrives looking dead beat about nine, Bob's just finished with changing the oil on his mom's car (she'd caught a ride with a coworker). Gerard, Jamia and Frank sitting on the grass next to the driveway with coffee, cigarettes, sketchpad and pencil, comic and some horror novel Jamia'd grabbed from Gerard evidently. Frank and Gerard haven't bothered trying to tame bedhead yet and Frank keeps getting distracted from his comic and nuzzling Jamia's shoulder.

She bites her lip and looks at the four of them a bit skeptically.

"Frank and Jamia know plenty of basics between them and heck, Gee's dad's a mechanic," Bob reassures her. "We've all had to keep ourselves moving on the road when we barely had gas money to get between gigs. You pick up interesting skills on the way to being a rock star."

Frank manages to keep a straight face. Gerard blinks and gives Bob a 'you did not just fucking say that, did you?' look. Jamia smiles and shuffles Diane off to get some sleep in Bob's mom's room, like the note that had been left by the coffee maker had said.

"Why the hell did you say that?" Gerard demands when Jamia's safely got the poor dead-tired woman in the house.

"I've met your dad, Gee, he's a mechanic." Bob says innocently and it is the truth, though none of Donald Way's mechanical knowledge had been passed on to his eldest son, or had been diligently ignored by Gerard if his father had made an attempt to teach him.

Frank bursts out laughing and laughs all the harder at the inarticulate, wordless sounds and wild senseless movements of Gerard's hands. "You are such a lying asshole!" Gerard finally spits out.

The oil is tar-black and a quart and a half low to start with. The transmission fluid is filthy and teetering close to dangerously non-existent, certainly at levels it's damaging. (Engine has to be cool to check the oil, has to have been running a while to check the transmission...it just does, don't ask why, Gee) The battery posts are corroded. (Go get the baking soda, yes, baking soda, I know you know what that is, should be cupboard just to the left of the sink with all the spices and shit, if not grab the box out of the fridge, that'll work) the connectors are bad and the cables are shit and the battery is months past it's expiration date once they can actually barely make it out with the corrosion cleaned off. Bob has to kinda wonder what angels Diane has looking out for her that the car hasn't exploded beyond realistic repair.

They leave a note and pile into Bob's mom's car and head for the nearest auto parts store. Filters, oil, transmission fluid, a battery, fucking cables.

Gerard is parked on the grass with his sketchpad and happily leaves the other three to work. Their dad tried a few times to teach him and Mikey things...it's a wonder they didn't land up in the ICU and weren't still in therapy over that. Or so Gerard claims unrepentantly. So yeah.


*


Diane wakes up at three, just as they're cleaning up and sorting out what the hell to make for supper. When she asks what she owes Bob he rattles off the cost of the oil and oil filter, admits to adding a bit to the transmission but claimed there'd been fluid laying around in the garage, and cleaning up the battery and posts so that should work better. He offers to show her how to check the oil and transmission fluid. And if it's still being temperamental about starting it might be the starter or alternator and he knows a guy that'll do the work reasonable enough, won't screw her over seeing clueless single woman. Josh used to play guitar and work some sound, but gave up chasing the rock star dream and ended up married working full time at his dad's garage when his girlfriend got pregnant, their third kid was due in September.

Frank was chased out of the kitchen, Jamia sent to keep him in line and Gerard enlisted in helping make spaghetti. Diane's boys showed up from the friends they'd spent the day with. Bob's mom was home shortly after that. Diane out the door at five to get to work by the start of here shift at six and her sons made their escape to the apartment that much easier. Bob guiltily managing to avoid being cornered by his mom.


*


Fuck he didn't want to be here.

Blank holes on the walls here and there where he thought shit had been hung, but the honest fucking truth is, he left that sort of shit to Kat once she'd moved in and he had no fucking clue. Visited his own damned apartment too little to really know.

Gerard's hand on his back felt good. Frank was vibrating. Jesus. He rolled his eyes and reached for Frank tucking him under one arm and Gerard under the other.

He does notice one hole in the furniture arrangement, and while he can't quite bring himself to begrudge her, "She took the firkin' couch."

"Left the TV though."

Jamia wanders through the apartment with a critical eye and bursts out laughing.

"You don't have a bed." Jamia informs him

"Great" Bob snorts. "So hotel or camping on the floor."

"Camping on the floor," Frank grins.


*


Bob goes through the apartment Friday morning, Frank and Jamia still holed up in the second bedroom of the place (also bedless but that had been mostly storage, and a twin bed that Kat had had since god knows when as a kid and had followed her to college and onward and was the designated emergency crashing rather than guest bed). He's a bit irked about the couch and the bed but...most of the furniture had been replaced piece by piece by them together so was more or less theirs and Kat had done the picking out mostly. So..

He looks around critically, leaves a note and slips out for coffee.


*


Gerard's just getting up as he gets back, hair at hilarious angles and rubbing his eyes as he wanders out into the living room. "You're keeping it?"

"Need a place here," Bob shrugs. "I love the apartment. I don't care to be fucking around with storage or hunting for a new place or moving shit."

Gerard nods and holds his hand out for coffee.

Bob hands him one loaded with about 9000 calories from cream and sugar and flavoring syrups.

"You're trying to make me fat."

"I'm trying not to be seriously injured by those saw blades you call hips since you have a habit of winding up curled up next to me." Bob shoots back, blinking a little as Gerard blushes.

"I--I'll stop"

Bob has the sinking royally fucked up feeling again. At least this time he has some clue of what he fucked up. He sets the carry-out tray of coffees on the coffee table (which looks really strange without a couch behind it but, whatever) and moves toward Gerard. His hand catching Gerard by the back of the head, fingers tangling in the dark hair, and huh, when had Gee's hair gotten so long? But then hell his own was getting there too. Haircuts had been kinda forgotten the last few months, even before that on the road.

"Stop being an idiot, please, for me, just for a few days?" Bob asks tiredly. "I don't mind, you're comfortable..." he cuts off, oh Jesus the conversations he's been a part of since he's known these guys, even when he was still doing sound for the Used, just...damn. He was wishing for another round of 'what if we all woke up in another dimension' or 'woke up with superpowers' just now. "I want you healthy, not looking skinnier than Mikey when he was twelve. I don't give a goddamn how often you end up in my bed."

"Uh oh, you guys fighting over what Bob named your kids?" Frank blurts wandering out into the living room. "Coffee! I love you, Bob."

"Our kids?"

"The Ugandan orphans your mother has her heart set on, and I think after my half of the phone call and the look mom had on her face when she woke me up yesterday morning, my mom is starting to consider too."

"I don't have any say in this?" Gerard teases.

"Michaela Elena and Antonia Rae," Bob shrugs. "Frank demanded names."

"Mickie and Toni," Gerard smiles. "I like that."

Bob laughs. "Figured you would."

"What about the third one? You always come up with three." Frank teases.

"Cory." Gerard decides. "Cory Brian or maybe Cory Matthew...but Cory."

Bob shakes his head a little. "We might have to argue about that."

"Nope, Cory."

"Cory Arthur." Frank declares. "Both your middle names."

Jamia stares at them blearily as she enters the living room, with an expression that seems like she wants to start beating her head against the wall.


*


Bob hates shopping. Jamia is a pro and with her along, all she has to do is twine her fingers with Frank's and he's smiling sappily and hovering protectively, but more importantly there's no danger of him wandering off distracted by the store in the strip mall across the parking lot that has music instead of warehoused furniture. Bob's been to the mall before with the guys. He's surprised Worm and Brian didn't kill them all. Bob doesn't even remember what it was for, some radio station in..Tulsa? Tuscon? Tallahassee? Or maybe a signing in Trenton? Whatever the fuck...it was madness and yeah, that was kinda a never again in official capacity.

By noon he has two beds and a couch paid for, by two he has two pickups and a couple owed favors testily called in, plus agreeing to payment for the second pickup in the form of working sound the following Wednesday and Thursday nights at a friend's club, who is a little pissed that he couldn't get Friday too but concedes that Bob being on his way to Jersey at 3 AM Saturday morning makes it a little problematic and takes what he can get. The furniture he liked out of what remained after Jamia's dismissals for whatever reason--two beds and a couch and fuck if he's waiting for three days after he's back in Jersey for the shit to be delivered if he can scrounge up pickups and the shit's in stock.

Zach is none too happy at being dragged out of bed, but his snarliness seems to have faded now that it's sunk in Bob's in town without a place to sleep because Kat took the portion of furniture you could sleep on, including the couch. He's also managed to round up his brother Kyle and Kyle's friend CJ, who...seems to be useful for tripping over his own feet and walking into things--and that's in the furniture warehouse parking lot. Gerard and Frank seem willing to forgive Bob needing to snarl about how many Zach owed him when they learned he'd been in bed all of three hours when Bob called for help now damn it. Asshole, but understandable.

George is shaking his head and ignoring Frank and Gerard's glares. "This is Trace"

Bob nods at Trace. "Hey, thanks, for comin'."

Trace grins. "Can I watch you Wednesday and Thursday?"

"You do sound?"

Trace nods and names a couple bands Bob's heard of, long standing standards of a section of Chicago's club scene, so so known in the region, with a few indie albums out each. Good enough to be big, but couldn't be fucked to bother, they had what they wanted, steady enough income to survive on and playing their music and just enough taste of big to know they didn't want to put up with the shit that came with bigger.

"You know, if you knew there wasn't anything--" George begins with a glare.

"I didn't. Not til we got to the apartment last night"

"When the fuck did you last talk to Kat?"

"Wednesday, musta slipped her mind." Bob shrugs. Which it probably, honestly, did. Because awkward and tense really didn't begin to describe the lunch, especially with Frank sitting there making it worse for Kat, even if it was steadying for Bob. "She was more trying to figure out how to say she was seeing somebody and furniture that probably got moved two or three months ago slipped her mind."

"Explaining, rather than allowing extortion, woulda maybe been smart, Bryar, one of these days...I swear you're a fuckin' idiot." George shakes his head.


*


They manage to get everything loaded and to the apartment and set up, without any time out for taking CJ to the emergency room. Because once the poor kid figured out who the hell he was actually talking to, his clumsy got that much worse. All the more hilarious in Bob's opinion when Kyle pointed out that CJ wouldn't have a clue who the fuck they were if not for him. CJ readily agreed because he couldn't stand that kinda shit but stilll.

Bob is somehow unsurprised when Gerard and CJ end up engrossed in a long rambling conversation about show tunes and musicals and Judy Garland and Liza Minelli. It also keeps them both out of the way and uninjured while assembling the beds, so it's a good thing, even if Kyle tries ragging CJ a bit for his musical taste.

Frank keeps up with part of the tangenting conversation between Bob, Zach and George. Zach's third of it mostly rambling on a 33 Ford pickup he was restoring, semi-pro racing and the shitty condition of the track two nights before in Ohio. The drive home and assorted shit needing taken care of NOW first thing this morning was why he'd been asleep when Bob called. George's part on his club, and the bands that have been through lately, and the 'fucking children' playing tonight. And yeah, they were children. The singer was fifteen, his older brother and lead guitar was eighteen, same as the rhythm guitar and bass players. Only one old enough to drink was the goddamned drummer, even if the drummer looked fifteen. They weren't quite there yet, but give them another year or two and they were going to be big time. George was damn sure about that one.

Jamia rolls her eyes but doesn't object. Frank's all for seeing the Chicago scene and music he hasn't before. Gerard's a little less enthusiastic but certainly not objecting.

"You seriously up for the club?"

"Yeah." Gerard nods. "I'm good, honest."


*


They go way early because the 'fucking children' are setting up themselves before the club opens and they are babies. Lean skinny young. Skinny to the point Jamia's on the phone ordering pizza. When the kids try to protest, Bob, Gerard and Frank all warn them not to argue because Jamia is scary. That gets a half hearted kick aimed vaguely in the direction of Bob's knee since he was the closest. Frank was eyeballing the guitars. Justin (vocals & youngest) Tristan (lead guitar & Justin's brother) Jared (rhythm guitar) Dylan (bass) and Tanner (drums). Justin Tristan and Tanner have talent oozing out of them. Skills might not be honed to where they should, or could, be, and Justin's voice really needs a year or so to mature but they all have the ear and raw talent. Jared and Dylan are more technical skill and obsession for music. The balance and drive and mix of skill, passion and raw talent is certainly there. The kids are going places, George is right about that. Though Bob isn't surprised. George isn't often wrong on that kind of thing, and when he is, it's unforeseen fuck ups not off the mark on being able to go places.

Bob and Trace help them get their sound system a little more solid, Frank ends up with a guitar from fuck knows where and jamming a bit with Tristan, Jared and Dylan while Justin and Tanner hang on Bob and Trace's every word on how to get the most out of what they had for equipment.


*


"He pissed me off because he is a goddamned idiot and offered first. Wouldn't have asked otherwise." George says handing Gerard a coke. Jamia was glaring pizza into shy awkward too skinny boys who didn't know what to make of female-type mother henning which served to piss her off even more. Bob and Trace were talking soundboards and equipment and still on the wings of the stage playing around.

Gerard wasn't entirely sure he was willing to forgive that, but he could understand it. "Bob is really bad at asking for things. And worse at letting anyone take care of him."

"Two nights sound really fuck things up?"

Gerard snorts and shrugs. "Riiiight. You're gonna get away with, oh, never mind, you pissed me off offering to trade first.."

"Sorry."

"Not exactly the one to apologize too."

"I've known Bob since he was twelve."

Gerard laughs because that, honestly, was an answer. And one that made sense. "I'll pass it on to Frank and Jamia. We had the impression he had to offer."

"Nope. He's just an idiot like that."


*


It's nearly four when they finally tumble into bed. Despite exhaustion sleep is a long while in coming for Bob. Gerard is out almost before he hit the bed because Frank had kept him on the dance floor most of the night to keep him moving and distracted. Bob lays still and quiet, not wanting to disturb Gerard, not able to sleep. Gerard stirs in his sleep, tosses and turns and scoots, ending up resettling tangled around Bob without waking. He mumbles something into Bob's chest, Bob slides his hand over Gerard's back soothing and joins Gerard in sleep in moments.


part 2