Chapter Text
ONE DAY AFTER THE JOB
While Frank’s still sleeping, Gerard slinks out of his bed and back into his guest room. He packs everything he put into the drawers in his duffel bag. He considers throwing in a couple of Frank’s towels but decides against it. He’s not raiding a hotel room. And he doesn’t really want a memento from this.
Gerard lifts his bag over his shoulder and walks down the hall to knock on Mikey’s guest room door. Mikey opens up and peers at Gerard without his glasses on, his hair flat on one side and sticking up on the other. “What? Are the feds here?”
Gerard huffs out a breath, not quite laughing. It’s too soon for that to really be funny. “No. I’m leaving. You coming with?”
“Already?” Mikey rubs his knuckles into his eyes and seems to notice Gerard’s clothes, the same skirt and shirt from yesterday. “Is this a walk of shame?”
Gerard ignores the second part. “Yeah, already. Seems like splitting up would be the smart thing to do. Harder to find all of us if they come looking.”
“Mm.” Mikey sags against the door frame. “The wifi here is like twice as fast as it is at home, though.”
“So, what? You don’t want to leave?”
Mikey shakes his head.
Gerard scoffs and looks away. “You’re really going to make me go back to our apartment alone.”
“I’m not making you do anything, Gee. I like it here, I like being around these people, and Frank hasn’t kicked us out yet. You’re always trying to run away from good things.”
“Yeah, well, good things never stay good,” Gerard says. “Better to leave before it turns on you.”
“I’d rather stay and get as much as I can out of it.”
“That’s terrible to hear from a poker player.”
Mikey rubs a hand over his face. “Except life isn’t a bet. You get that, right? Some shit is. Like the job. But the rest of it’s just life. There isn’t actually that much at risk.”
Mikey’s just mumbling bullshit because he’s half-awake. Gerard says, “I think our potential arrests are a risk.”
“Yeah, no shit, but don’t—” Mikey shakes his head again. “If you want to pretend this is about the job, whatever.”
“It is.”
“Sure.” Mikey sighs. Softer, he says, “I’ll be home in a few days, okay?”
From the look on Mikey’s face, Gerard knows he can’t change his mind. Well, Gerard can handle a few days alone. It might even be good for him. He might rent a meditation tape from the library to recenter himself and shit. Probably not.
“How are you getting home?” Mikey asks.
Gerard grimaces. “My plan relied on using your car.”
Rolling his eyes, Mikey turns around. He comes back with his keys. “Here. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Don’t get arrested,” Gerard shoots back. Mikey cracks a small grin.
Since it’s still kind of early, Gerard thinks he’ll make it out of the mansion without running into anyone else. But Frank is in the living room at the bottom of the stairs with a cup of coffee.
They lock eyes. “You’re up,” Gerard says for lack of anything better. He pointedly doesn’t remember how peaceful Frank had looked earlier, curled up in bed next to him.
Frank takes a sip from his mug as his eyes wander over Gerard. “Yeah, our fence is coming by soon.”
“A criminal who’s a morning person. That’s rare.”
Shrugging, Frank says, “It’s not the sale, just an inspection so she can make us an offer.”
“When’s the real deal?”
“Day after tomorrow. I’m glad to have it out of our hands so soon.”
“Yeah.” Gerard shifts from foot to foot. He should just leave already, but part of him doesn’t want this to be their last goodbye. This, and then his cut via wire transfer in a few days.
Frank eyes the bag over Gerard’s shoulder. “You’re leaving?”
“Figured it’d be better.”
“Better how?”
“For. . .discretion.” Gerard can’t string any words together the way he wants to. He doesn’t even have a scathing remark to throw at Frank, something about Bentley or being bad in bed or having an ugly couch, something that would at least end this on a feeling. Anything but apathetic small talk.
The silence draws out long.
“You don’t have to go,” Frank says in a small voice.
The thing is, Gerard does. If he doesn’t, he’ll fall headfirst into whatever this is between them and never get back up. And he’s done playing a fantasy for anyone. Especially washed-up millionaires still stuck on their ex-partners who stabbed them in the back.
He lost his job because of Frank. He robbed an auction because of Frank. They’re already so intertwined, but they didn’t manage to do a damn thing right. Gerard knows it’s partially his fault. Still, he can’t help the fact that neither of them are brave enough to let go of the past.
Gerard almost smiles to himself. They’d make quite a pair, theoretically. Two people defined by their greatest fuck ups.
“Don’t let Mikey get into any trouble.” Gerard turns on his heel. It’s better if he doesn’t have to look Frank in the eye. “See you around.”
He won’t, though. When he drives away from Frank’s house, he’s sure it’ll be the last time.
TWO DAYS AFTER THE JOB
The news drops. They’re a headline.
After he starts the coffee maker, Gerard swings his sweatpants-clad legs up on the kitchen table and watches the report on TV from across the room.
A brunette woman with frown lines informs him that a Juliet Kade painting has been stolen, a crime discovered by the authorities after several security guards woke up from being knocked out in an auction house vault room. The painting that was purchased for millions was reexamined thoroughly and found to be a fake. Without security footage or any fingerprints left at the scene, police currently have no leads.
Only the last part is news to Gerard, but it’s good fucking news.
The reporter segues to the weather, and Gerard looks around his apartment. He wishes Mikey was here to crack a relieved smile with him.
Instead, he gets up, pours himself a mug of coffee, and sips it alone.
Normally, he’d have to start psyching himself up for work soon. It’s hard to wrap his head around the idea that after this payout, he may never have to consistently work again, at a club or anywhere else. What does he do now?
For a lack of other obligations, he sits there for a while, then moves to the couch when his back starts to hurt. There’s a true crime show on. He watches until his eyes glaze over.
When the miraculous feeling of having nothing to do starts to edge into boredom, Gerard pushes himself off the couch and heads to the kitchen to microwave something for dinner.
A pen and receipt sit on the kitchen counter. Gerard looks up at the microwave timer and sees that there are over three minutes left on his frozen meal. He knows what he used to do when he was bored, before he got kicked out of art school and ruined his own life.
He clicks the pen open and flips the receipt over to the blank side. To his embarrassment, his hand shakes a little; he tells himself to get a grip and puts the pen to paper. The ink doesn’t work at first, but then a thin line comes out, and Gerard holds his breath.
He draws Mikey’s profile. Ray, and the shining look in his eyes that he gets when he talks about something he loves. Brian’s crooked grin. Tattooed hands. The ink flows smoother, faster, easily as Gerard adds shading and details. It’s not important, it’s just a receipt, and that helps. The stakes are low. He has nothing to lose. But it feels like a dormant part of him stretches its muscles and starts to wake up.
When the microwave beeps, it startles him so badly he almost jumps.
He glances down at the receipt. Before he can decide what this means for him, if it means anything, he’s interrupted by a knock at the door.
Gerard brightens. Mikey must have come home early.
As he swings the door open, he says, “What, did the wifi go out? I can’t think of any other reason you’d—”
The words die on Gerard’s tongue. It’s not Mikey.
A fist hurtles towards Gerard’s face, and the world goes black.
*
Gerard comes to with a dry mouth and a sharp, intense throbbing behind his eyes. His face is hot and achy. Shit, he hasn’t felt this bad since his last hangover.
Wanting to go back to sleep, he tries to roll over, but something digs into the skin at his wrists and ankles and stops him.
Adrenaline spikes in him so fast it’s like he was never passed out. His eyes snap open.
Bentley stares back, flanked by two huge, muscular guys with crew cuts and pistols on their hips. Behind them is what looks like a factory, metal up to the ceiling and a long conveyor belt running through the space horizontally. Gerard tries to turn left and right to get more clues as to where he is, but his headache pulses and he winces.
He’s in a metal chair, his ankles tied to the chair legs and his wrists bound behind his back. There’s tape over his mouth, which pulls painfully at the skin on his lips as he tries to move them.
Bentley crosses his arms. “Good, you’re awake.”
He gestures, and the guy on his right steps forward and peels the tape off of Gerard’s mouth. It stings like hell.
“Scream and they’ll shoot you,” Bentley says evenly.
Gerard watches as the henchmen’s hands move to rest on their guns. “Where the fuck are we?” he rasps, voice coming out scratchy from several hours of disuse.
“No, I’ll ask the questions,” Bentley says. “Who are you?”
Gerard keeps his mouth shut. They may as well put the tape back over it, because he’s not going to talk.
Bentley looks at his henchmen and inclines his head towards Gerard. “Fine. Search him.”
Gerard breathes a quiet sigh of relief. Partially because he thought Bentley’s order would have involved getting punched in his spleen, and partially because he’s still in sweatpants and a t-shirt. There’s nothing identifying on him, not even his wallet.
He sits still while the two henchmen pat him down. “Easy,” he growls when one guy’s hand lingers near his ass for too long.
The guy on the left puts his hand in Gerard’s front pocket. As much as he wants to, Gerard doesn’t squirm away from the touch. He won’t give them the satisfaction of having unnerved him.
Something sharp pokes Gerard’s thigh. The guy’s hand closes around the item. Gerard realizes a second too late what it is.
The guy pulls out Frank’s glossy white business card, the same one Gerard hid in these pants the night he first called Frank. It’s still black in one corner from where Gerard burned it.
The card is handed to Bentley. Bentley reads it, raises an eyebrow, and smirks. “Now, you’re not Frank Iero, are you?”
“I don’t know how that got in there,” Gerard says. His voice shakes.
“I did think it was odd that the one suspicious encounter I had all night at that auction was with someone I didn’t know.” Bentley hums, turning the card over in his hands to see there’s nothing on the back. “This makes much more sense.”
“Frank had nothing to do with it,” Gerard says without thinking, and only realizes afterward that he’s indicted himself. Gracelessly, he tries to recover with, “Whatever it is you have me here for, I mean. Frank had nothing to do with it.”
“Cut the shit.” Bentley’s eyes glint, but he doesn’t raise his voice. “Tell me what relationship you have with Frank.”
“I’m a stripper. Frank met me at my club. He wanted to hire me for an event, so he gave me his card.”
“Last I checked, Frank’s not throwing any events in his big, empty house. Want to try again?”
Gerard can’t think of a more convincing lie, so he stays silent.
Bentley whispers something to one of his henchmen. The bigger of the two guys steps forward and slaps Gerard across the face.
Gerard’s neck cracks as his head whips to the side. His ears ring, and he distantly hears himself gasp in pain.
“How about now?” Bentley says.
Gerard stares at the ground and heaves in a breath. He doesn’t say anything.
He expects Bentley to order another blow, but Bentley says, “If you’re not going to talk, we can find out later. All I really needed to know was who to send the ransom note to.”
Gerard looks up to see Bentley holding Frank’s card between two fingers, and he almost smiles. That’s about the stupidest plan Bentley could have come up with. The job is over; Frank no longer has a reason to be invested in Gerard’s safety.
“Good luck,” Gerard says. “He doesn’t care about me.”
Bentley eyes him shrewdly. “Yes, he does. That’s Frank’s problem. He cares too much about everyone. It always gets in his way. And now, it’s going to get me my four million dollars back.”
That may be the case for Bentley, but it’s not for Gerard. His only hope is if Mikey and Ray somehow pressure Frank into paying for his release, and that’s only if Mikey and Ray find out about this.
White hot jealousy blooms in Gerard at that thought. That Frank did so much for Bentley, to help him and to hurt him, and he won’t do anything for Gerard. There’s no way he will. Because that would mean giving in to Bentley, giving up the money that proves Frank got the better of him. And Frank will never do that. Not when this has always been about Bentley.
His resentment bubbles over, and Gerard says, “He did it for you, you fuck. At the bar. He did it to defend you. You know that?”
Bentley takes a slow step forward. He’d be within arms’ reach if Gerard wasn’t tied up. He looks down at Gerard. “Do you think that’s brave? To give up everything you have for one person?”
Gerard glares at him.
“No,” Bentley says. “It’s shortsighted. With judgment like that, I should have kicked him out of the company even sooner than I did.”
Gerard seethes. He wants to spit on Bentley, but he doesn’t want to get hit again when he can’t fight back.
Bentley turns around and gestures to his henchmen. One of them pulls out a roll of duct tape. Gerard panics as it becomes clear that their meeting is ending. As much as he doesn’t want to be around Bentley, he also doesn’t want to be left alone in this factory, tied up and helpless.
As a last resort, he asks, “Aren’t you going to ask me where the painting is?”
Bentley glances over his shoulder. “If you’re working with Frank, I doubt you even know. He’s always had a bad habit of keeping secrets.”
The sale isn’t until tomorrow, Frank said, so Gerard actually does know. But he was going to try to sell another lie. The guy with the duct tape tears off a new strip and hands it to Bentley.
Bentley leans forward into Gerard’s space. Gerard whips his head back and forth, but Bentley grabs him under the chin and forces him to be still. He fastens the tape firmly over Gerard’s mouth again.
Bentley stands back. “The police will figure out the painting’s location for me. Our meeting here was purely to get a few answers that were out of their, ah — jurisdiction.”
He walks away, his two men following him. They weave through the rows of metal shelves and around the conveyor belt. Before they’re completely out of sight, Bentley yells, “Have a nice night!”
The lights in the factory shut off one by one until Gerard sits alone in the dark.
THREE DAYS AFTER THE JOB
Gerard wakes up when a door slams shut and the lights come on.
His first instinct is to stand up, but the ropes on his ankles and wrists bite into his skin and quickly remind him where he is. He shifts upright in his chair as best he can and rolls his neck to try and work out the soreness. His head still hurts, and his cheek throbs.
One of Bentley’s henchmen comes around the corner, the same one who’d found Frank’s business card yesterday. He still has a gun strapped to his hip. He also has a water bottle, but no food.
He unties Gerard’s wrists from behind his back, leaving one free and refastening the other to the chair. He takes the tape off Gerard’s mouth and hands him the water wordlessly. Gerard has to use his teeth to get the cap off, because God forbid this guy open it for him or free his other hand, but it tastes so sweet when he finally gets a sip.
As he downs the bottle, Gerard’s stomach grumbles, reminding him that he needs more than water. “No breakfast?”
The guy leans against a stack of crates. “No,” he says in a deep voice.
“Oh, you talk.” Gerard considers him, trying to see on his face what kind of tactic this is. Starving information out of him, maybe. Then he shouldn’t admit that he’s hungry.
Gerard picks at the label on his water single-handedly. “And I guess you’re going to tie me up again after I’m finished with this.”
The guy nods.
Gerard cocks his head. “What if I have to piss?”
The guy rolls his eyes and looks away. “Then hold it. You’re only going to be here a few more hours.”
“I’m — what?”
“Your ransom was met.”
Gerard’s eyes widen. “Frank paid four million dollars for me?”
“More than.” The guy grins sharply, like he thinks part of that amount will end up in his paycheck. “He’s also agreed to sign over all his shares of company stock. He’ll be here for the paperwork and to collect you soon.”
“Collect me,” Gerard repeats dumbly. He can’t process that Frank would do that for him.
This might be a power play by Bentley to make Gerard more compliant. This might be this henchman’s version of a cruel joke. He tells himself not to believe it until he sees it.
Eventually, he finishes his water, and the henchman ties his wrist up and puts the tape over his mouth again. The rope rubs right against the same spot of raw skin. Gerard squeezes his eyes shut in pain.
He’s left in the dark again.
*
Gerard’s head pounds by mid-day. The lack of food and movement and light is getting to him, his stomach cramping and legs aching, but he can’t do anything but wait. There’s no one around for him to even try to charm into loosening his restraints.
He doesn’t pick his head up when the lights finally come on in the factory, or when footsteps approach. It’s not worth the effort. Not when sudden movements make him see spots.
Frank’s voice floats over from somewhere in the factory. “Our old plant? This is fucking tacky, Bentley.”
The footsteps stop. Frank says, “Jesus Christ, what did you do to him?”
“He’s stubborn,” Bentley says.
Gritting his teeth, Gerard slowly raises his head. He tries to toss his hair back, keep himself from looking completely pathetic, but he ruins it by wincing.
“Gerard,” Frank says softly. His eyes land on Gerard’s cheek, and his expression turns murderous. “You hit him?”
Bentley shrugs apathetically. Frank whirls on him, and so fast that Gerard almost thinks he imagines it as some sort of hunger-induced hallucination, Frank shoves Bentley against a metal support beam.
Bentley’s henchmen are on Frank immediately, one of them holding him back while the other draws his gun. Frank doesn’t fight back, but he keeps glaring at Bentley like he’s imagining ripping his head off.
“I’m okay,” Gerard tries to say, but it’s incomprehensible underneath the duct tape.
“Would you take that off him already?” Frank gestures with his chin towards Gerard, since the henchman has his arms in a tight grip behind his back.
“The tape comes off when I have my stock.” Bentley reaches behind himself for a sleek, black computer bag. He brings out a laptop and turns it on. “Speaking of, let’s stop wasting time.”
“You’re fucking. . .” Frank’s ragged inhale is audible. “Despicable.”
“Hm.” Bentley lifts an eyebrow, not looking away from his laptop screen. “You didn’t think that before. I doubt it’s true now.”
“Just because I used to think you were the Second fucking Coming doesn’t mean I don’t want to punch your lights out all day long now.” Frank tries to step towards Gerard, but the henchman grabs him again.
“Hate me enough to steal the Juliet Kade?” Bentley asks quickly, like he might trick Frank into confessing.
“Fuck you,” Frank spits.
It’s more anger than Gerard has ever seen from Frank before. Gerard thought he pissed Frank off more than anything, but apparently that privilege belongs to Bentley.
Or maybe it’s only partially Bentley. Maybe what really pisses Frank off is seeing Gerard like this.
Gerard’s breathing falters, and it’s not because of any pain he’s in.
Bentley holds out his laptop. “Let’s get on with this, Frank.”
Frank’s allowed to walk over and stand next to Bentley. Bentley supports the laptop as Frank touches the screen and starts to draw with the pad of his finger. With his free hand, Bentley trails a finger along the line of Frank’s jaw.
Frank stiffens.
Gerard shuts his eyes. He doesn’t want to see the moment that this implodes on itself, when Frank realizes he’d rather have millions of dollars and company stock and Bentley than just have bruised-up Gerard.
“Stop it, Mark,” Frank says shakily.
Gerard opens one eye.
“Do you want back into the company? Do you want to be close to me again?” Bentley asks. It’s sick, because from the outside, Gerard can tell even through his haze of pain that Bentley is just toying with Frank. But Frank has the same look on his face as he did at the auction. Like he’s drowning and only Bentley can save him, if only he’d bother to reach out a hand.
It must be tiring to love someone like that. Love shouldn’t have to feel like dying.
Gerard must make some kind of sound from behind the tape over his mouth, because Frank glances over. The intensity of his gaze, a direct view of the molten look meant for Bentley, makes Gerard’s head swim.
Frank’s expression slowly changes as he looks at Gerard. His eyebrows furrow, and he sets his jaw.
He plucks Bentley’s finger off of his face and squeezes it between his knuckles until Bentley hisses.
“If you wanted me, you could have had me,” Frank says. “You didn’t want me. Don’t fucking act like you did.”
Frank lets go of Bentley to return to the laptop. He draws for a few more seconds before he steps away from Bentley and towards Gerard.
“And thank God you didn’t want me, Bentley,” Frank says. “If you had, I might never have realized what a massive piece of shit you are. I sent the money this morning. My stock is yours. Now get the fuck out of here, because I’m taking him home.”
Frank reaches for the tape over Gerard’s mouth. The henchmen shift, but Bentley stops them with a hand.
“He signed,” Bentley says. His voice isn’t as smooth as it’d been a few minutes earlier. “And the money came through an hour ago. We’re done here.”
They gather their things and leave the factory. Gerard doesn’t watch them go, not with Frank right up close in front of him.
“Sorry,” Frank whispers, right before he yanks the tape off of Gerard.
Gerard gasps, but the pain isn’t actually that bad since Bentley’s henchmen did the same thing to him multiple times already. The first words out of his mouth are, “You did not spend our entire job’s earnings on me.”
Frank doesn’t say anything. He busies himself untying Gerard’s wrists and ankles.
Gerard looks down at him. He has to blink a few times to get the dark spots out of his vision. “Frank.”
“I’m glad you’re safe,” Frank says quietly. “You should get some ice on that cheek.”
“Frank, I’m not — I’m not actually mad at you,” Gerard says. He flexes as Frank finishes with his wrists. It hurts, and he gets pins and needles in his fingertips. “I’m. . .”
Frank fills in the gap. “You were mad. When you left my place two days ago.”
“Shit was different two days ago. I hadn’t been kidnapped yet, for instance.” Gerard tries to laugh, but it comes out scratchy and he ends up coughing. Frank knits his eyebrows at him.
Gerard is still mad. But it’s not completely clear who he’s mad at anymore. Frank lied to him, but he lied to Frank, and it turns out they were both as fucked up and fucked over as each other.
Frank tries to help Gerard up, but Gerard immediately tips forward and Frank has to catch him. Frank says, “Fuck, you need more than ice. Come on.”
“Just dizzy,” Gerard says. He lets Frank help support his weight as they hobble towards the factory exit.
“This used to be for your liquor company?” Gerard asks as they round a corner made up of crates, remembering what he’d overheard earlier. His voice gives out at the end, and he has to clear his throat.
“Yeah.” Frank seems determined to not look around. “Our first factory that wasn’t my kitchen. It was pretty special at the time.”
“I’m sorry,” Gerard says, and finds that he means it.
“Yeah, well.” Frank opens the door that leads outside. Afternoon light hits Gerard and makes him groan. Frank tightens his grip around Gerard’s middle to keep him upright. “It was good. But it was far from perfect.”
FOUR DAYS AFTER THE JOB
When Gerard wakes up, Mikey’s beside his bed in a chair, doing something on his laptop. Gerard squints at him blearily.
“You’re acting like I was in a coma.”
Mikey startles and stops typing. “You were kidnapped.”
“Those are not the same things.”
Mikey huffs, but his eyes crinkle with a smile. “Good morning to you too. Do you want me to get you anything?”
“No, stop it.” Gerard flaps a hand. He can take care of himself. Slowly, he sits up, glad to find he’s not lightheaded anymore. His face is still tender, though. He saw the damage yesterday in the flip-down mirror in Frank’s car: a dark purple bruise the size of a golf ball and a red shiner underneath his eye from where the blood traveled under the skin. “I’m going to grab more frozen peas.”
“You know, Frank has real ice packs,” Mikey says.
“Yeah, but then I can’t use up all his peas.” Once Gerard is at the door, not facing Mikey, he works up the nerve to ask, “Where is Frank?”
He needs to find Frank and ask him who knows about the ransom money — who knows there’s no longer a payout from the job. He wants to get ahead of it so maybe Ray and Brian will be able to forgive him, but he’s not sure if that’s possible.
“Don’t know,” Mikey says. “He disappeared after you passed out last night.”
“Huh.” Gerard pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, the non-bruised one. “He didn’t get kidnapped too, did he?”
Mikey fakes a laugh, and it dies out quickly. Too soon, okay. “Guess we’ll have to wait around and see if a ransom call comes in.”
“Sorry,” Gerard says. “I shouldn’t make light of it. It was fucked up.”
Mikey gives a fidgety shrug. “It was. But it’s okay. You’re okay. Go get some ice.”
“Peas,” Gerard insists, and Mikey grins for real.
*
When morning rolls into afternoon and Frank still hasn’t shown his face, Gerard makes his own decision. No more secrets.
He finds Brian and Ray on the couch in the living room and sits down in the chair next to them.
“Hey, Gee,” Ray says, looking over.
Brian pauses what they’d been watching on TV. “Dude, nice shiner.”
“Cute, right?” Gerard touches the bruise absently. He shifts in his chair, crosses his legs. There’s no graceful way to start this conversation.
“You feeling any better?” Ray asks. “You looked pretty wiped last night. We were all scared to death.”
“Because of you, and because we were pretty sure we were going to get arrested,” Brian adds. “I’m not tall enough for prison.”
“I’m doing better, thanks.” Gerard gives them both a little smile. Shit, Ray and Brian deserve a much better ending than this, but Gerard can’t keep them in the dark any longer. “Look, I need to tell you guys something. Bentley didn’t just release me out of the goodness of his heart. Frank, well, I don’t want to blame Frank because he did it for me, but—”
Like he’s been summoned, Frank bursts through the front door and into the living room. Gerard stares up at him, bewildered. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Can I have the remote?” Frank asks. He’s out of breath. After a moment’s hesitation, Brian hands it over. Gerard can feel Brian and Ray’s eyes on him, waiting for him to finish confessing, but first Gerard needs to know what the fuck is going on here.
Frank turns the channel to the national news. A blonde woman speaks to the camera. Behind her, a short clip plays on loop.
It’s Bentley. Bentley in handcuffs, being dragged out of a mansion by three FBI agents.
“What the fuck,” Gerard says. In his next breath, he yells, “Mikey!”
Footsteps thunder down the stairs, and Gerard looks over to see Mikey taking them two at a time. “I just saw,” Mikey says. He stops in the living room and perches on the armrest of Gerard’s chair.
Frank turns the volume up a few notches.
“A few hours ago, Mark Bentley of beverage giant Bentley’s Liquor was arrested on charges of insurance fraud,” the blonde newscaster tells them. “The FBI became aware of Mr. Bentley’s alleged fraud after the illicit sale of a multi-million dollar painting was traced back to Mr. Bentley’s account. The painting became an object of national inquiry after it was stolen four days ago and replaced with a counterfeit, but a transaction for the purchase of that counterfeit was also found in Mr. Bentley’s finances. The FBI suspect that Mr. Bentley aimed to profit triple the painting’s market value through a combination of sales and insurance claims. Mr. Bentley declined to comment at this time.”
They all stare at Frank. Frank stands in front of them, clearly working hard to suppress a smirk.
“What did you do?” Gerard asks softly.
“A fucking miracle, that’s what he did,” Brian says.
Frank says, “I tied up our loose end.”
“How?” Gerard asks. Frank tilts his head towards Mikey.
“Frank didn’t sell the painting until yesterday morning, after the ransom call had already come in,” Mikey says. “I hacked into Bentley’s bank account, and instead of wiring the money from our buyer to Frank’s account, we wired it to Bentley’s to pay Gee’s ransom.”
“It looks like Bentley sold the stolen painting,” Ray says, openly marveling at Mikey and Frank.
“Right.” Mikey bites his thumbnail. “And a week or so ago, Frank asked me to do some meddling in Bentley’s stocks. Bentley has an advisor who regularly takes money out of his bank account to make investments. So we used his stock advisor as an alias, made a withdrawal, and used it to pay for our dupe.”
Frank nods. “And Bentley filed an insurance claim for the painting as soon as he found out it was stolen.”
“So the feds think Bentley sold the Juliet Kade at the auction, sold it to our fence, and cashed in on its insurance?” Gerard’s gaze flicks between Mikey and Frank. This can’t be real. But both of them look serious.
Brian says, “Holy shit.”
“But where were you?” Gerard asks. It’s not like Frank was out all day tipping off the FBI himself.
Frank’s eyes sparkle. “I had to go sign some papers. Bentley’s out on bail, but the press is so bad that the company board took an emergency vote to remove him from all his positions, effective immediately.”
Gerard sneaks a glance at Mikey, but his eyebrows are knit too. “You aren’t on the board,” Gerard says.
“No,” Frank says. “But Bentley was stripped of all his positions. When I was kicked out, I only lost my paying positions as CEO and a board member.”
“This is a lot of business jargon and no answers.”
Frank smiles broadly at him. “I’m still listed as co-founder. Bentley isn’t anymore. The company defaults to me.”
Gerard’s stomach plummets like the floor’s dropped out from underneath him.
“Dude, congratulations!” Ray says. Frank says something back, but Gerard can’t hear him over the ringing in his ears.
If Frank goes back to his company, he’ll leave all of this behind. He’d have to. Any association with the crime that got Bentley fired would be a risk.
He’d leave Gerard behind. Gerard doesn’t know why he felt like now would be different from before, that they’d finally figure it out, but the hope he’d held onto burns in his chest like acid.
Without any payout, he won’t live any better, either. He and Mikey will go back to their apartment and it’ll be like the last month never happened.
“Is that what you want?” Gerard blurts out. Frank stops mid-word and looks at Gerard.
“What?” Frank asks.
“Is that what you want?” Gerard repeats. He’s past denying to himself what he wants. He wants to keep these people close to him. He wants Frank. “To go back to your company? Live in Bentley’s shadow?”
Frank frowns. “Fuck no. That’s what I was saying, that I sold the company to the chairman of the board.”
“You. . .” Gerard clears his throat. “What?”
“I’m done letting it weigh me down. It’s time to move on. Plus, I needed some way to pay you all for your share of the Juliet Kade.”
Brian sits up straighter on the couch. “Wait, we weren’t getting paid?”
“No, I had it under control.” Frank cuts his eyes over to Gerard. “You always have to have a contingency plan when you’re dealing with something too valuable to lose.”
Gerard leans his forehead against Mikey’s upper arm and lets out a shaky laugh. “Thank God. This makes so much more sense. I knew you wouldn’t have spent everything on me.”
“I would have paid anything for you,” Frank says without missing a beat.
Gerard goes completely still and forgets to breathe for a second. He picks his head up from Mikey’s arm to find Frank watching him so intensely, it feels like they’re the only ones in the room.
Brian coughs into his fist. “So, uh. . .when should we expect our cuts?”
Frank drops Gerard’s gaze, smiles, and sits down on the edge of the coffee table. He clasps his hands between his knees. “Tomorrow. The company’s accountant should be done by then.”
Brian brings a hand up to cover what Gerard suspects is a giant grin. Gerard feels pretty much the same, if not for exactly the same reason.
“In the meantime.” Frank spreads his palms. “I was thinking we should probably lie low. Get out of Jersey for a while.”
“We could head back to New York,” Ray jokes.
“I meant a little more. . .” Frank stretches his arm in the air like he’s gesturing to somewhere far away. “A crowded city is the right idea, though.”
Mikey scratches the side of his face. “Well, that narrows it down. Chicago? LA?”
“Sydney,” Frank suggests. “Buenos Aires. London. Hong Kong. Paris.”
Gerard holds a finger up. “I could do Paris.”
*
Late that night, Gerard lingers in the doorway of Frank’s bedroom. It’s open, like an invitation, but Gerard knocks.
Frank looks up from his desk. He smiles softly and gestures for Gerard to come in. In the glow of his desk lamp, he looks unfortunately stunning.
No. It’s not unfortunate anymore. Gerard swallows thickly and steps inside. He leans against the side of Frank’s desk, and Frank gazes up at him.
Gerard wants to say something meaningful, but his tongue ties itself in a knot. He manages, “What’re you working on?”
“More paperwork from the accountant.” Frank shuffles the documents all over his desk into a stack. “Boring shit.”
Gerard looks down and watches Frank’s hands move. He wants to rub his thumb over the ink on Frank’s knuckles. “I can’t believe you sold the company.”
Frank doesn’t say anything.
“Do you regret it?” Gerard hedges.
Frank shakes his head. “I honestly don’t know if I’ve processed it yet. It felt like the right decision. I’m pretty sure it was.”
“You don’t have to be over it in a day.”
“No, I know.” Frank meets Gerard’s eyes. “It’s just all I ever had. All I made for myself.”
“You stole a Juliet Kade. That’s not nothing.”
Frank laughs. “Not exactly a legacy I can brag about.”
“Do you really need that? The recognition?”
Frank lifts an eyebrow and hovers a finger above the hem of Gerard’s mesh crop top. “Don’t try to convince me that you’re against flaunting.”
“Oh no. No one said that.” Gerard grins sharply, then looks down at the stack of papers again. Part of him wades through guilt as he tries to convince himself that this was Frank’s decision, that Gerard didn’t force his hand. “What are they going to call it now? All that's left is Liquor.”
“I have no idea.” Frank swivels his desk chair to angle his body towards Gerard. “And you know what’s fucking great? It’s not my problem.”
His eyes are wide, honest. Gerard breathes out a sigh of relief.
“I can step back,” Frank says. “Do something else. Something without all the baggage.”
Gerard almost bites his tongue before he decides that, no, Frank should hear this. “When I met Bentley for the first time at the auction house,” he says, “I had no history with him, and I still couldn’t stand up to him. What you did yesterday was pretty amazing.”
Frank shrugs. “It was a long time coming.”
“You loved him?” Gerard has to ask.
“I hope not,” Frank says. “I hope that wasn’t love. It was too fucked up for love. I was a power play to him.”
Scrunching up his nose, Gerard nods. “He’s a jackass.”
Frank barks out a laugh. “Yeah. I see that now.”
Silence stretches between them, but not uncomfortably. With Frank’s face tilted up, his lips slightly parted, Gerard’s tempted to kiss him.
“About what you said earlier, about my ransom—” Gerard starts.
“It came out wrong,” Frank says. “I meant, I don’t know.” He chews on his lip.
Gerard falters. “What?”
“It’s not about money,” Frank says. “I didn’t mean for it to be. I care a lot about you. It’s just hard for me to admit that, because I. . .assumed you would use that to take advantage of me.”
Gerard thinks of the redhead security guard he’d done a number on and holds back a wince. “I do have a history of that.”
“I’m not talking about that,” Frank says. “I mean the way that he did to me.”
Gerard’s fingernails dig into the edge of the desk. He never wants to look in the mirror and see a man like Bentley staring back at him.
He presses his knee against Frank’s. “I won’t do that to you. Ever.”
“No more lies?”
“I’m done if you’re done,” Gerard says, then thinks better of it. “Yeah. No more lies.”
Frank tilts his head at him. Gerard relaxes his posture and lets himself be scrutinized. Frank can take as long as he needs, because Gerard’s okay to wait for him.
“You know what we should do in Paris?” Frank says finally.
Gerard lifts one shoulder. “Go to the Louvre?”
“This,” Frank says. He leans up, hooks his fingers behind Gerard’s jaw, and kisses him.
ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-EIGHT DAYS AFTER THE JOB
Gerard leans against the limestone of the restaurant’s alley and lights a cigarette. Idly, he watches people stroll by on the street in the twilight. He tries to distract himself by listening in on their conversations so he can practice his French, but they’re too indistinct.
He ashes and tips his head back against the wall. Frank can really take his time.
Some minutes later, the door in the alley opens. Gerard looks over to see Frank hop down the couple of stone steps, practically glowing.
Gerard blows out smoke. “Did she finally let you invest?”
“She still hasn’t made up her mind.” Frank plants a hand beside Gerard’s shoulder on the wall and leans in.
Gerard parts his lips and lets Frank take the cigarette from him. Frank holds it up to his mouth and closes his eyes as he inhales. He looks beautiful with his eyelashes resting against his cheeks.
“Then why so happy?” Gerard asks.
“I’m always happy to see you.” Frank trails a finger up Gerard’s side, playing with the buckle of his pleather waist corset. Gerard raises an eyebrow. Frank says, “I think we’re close. She’s agreed it would be a good idea to open up a second location, and she needs me to do that.”
“Convince her to open it near our apartment. She has the best flamiche in the city.”
“I’ll ask.” Crushing the cigarette underfoot, Frank presses his face into the crook of Gerard’s neck. “That's only one reason I’m happy. I’m also excited for tonight. And you look really good.”
Gerard tilts his head to give Frank a better angle to kiss his neck. “Mm, I never could’ve guessed you felt that way.”
“What, should I hide it?” Frank acts like he’s going to pull away, but Gerard grabs his hips and doesn’t let him. His suit jacket is still stiff under Gerard’s fingers — Gerard hasn’t messed it up for him yet.
“You look good too,” Gerard murmurs. Frank grins against his skin. Frank angles his face up, and their lips meet, sweet and smoky.
Frank presses his thigh forward, and Gerard’s legs fall open automatically. Frank grinds up against him and Gerard groans quietly into his mouth.
It’s hard not to love this city. They can make out in an alleyway before it even hits eight o'clock and people either don’t notice or don’t care.
It is almost eight, though. Gerard takes his hand off Frank’s waist and presses a knuckle into his stomach. “We’re going to be late.”
“We’re allowed to be late. It’s your show.” Frank kisses his jaw. Gerard loves Frank’s focused attention so much, it takes an incredible amount of willpower to not lean into him again. Especially when the nervous fluttering in his stomach tells him it’d be easier to stay here and make out than go face the music.
“It’s not my show. I’m just a guest artist, so we definitely should not be late. I have hands to shake and asses to kiss.”
Frank pulls back and looks him square in the eye. “You’re not just anything, first of all.”
This again. Gerard bites the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too much. “Frank—”
“You know what, now that you mention it, I do have a lot of people to brag to about how talented my boyfriend is,” Frank says. “You’re right. We should get going.”
“You’re a pain in my ass,” Gerard says, but he takes Frank’s hand and follows him out to their car on the street.
They could afford a chauffeur, but Frank drives them and curses at the traffic, and Gerard likes him more for it.
Mikey and Ray are outside of the gallery when Gerard and Frank pull up, talking with their heads close together. Their faces light up when Gerard and Frank step out of the car. Gerard grins back as Frank tosses their keys to the valet. Ray’s been so busy shooting his new movie, Gerard hasn’t seen him in over a month; Gerard catches up with Mikey almost weekly, but he’s still fucking glad to see him.
“Would you look who decided to show up,” Mikey says as he pulls Gerard into a hug.
“Brian not here yet?” Frank asks.
Ray shakes his head. “We peeked inside a few minutes ago, but we didn’t see him. We did see, though, you won’t fucking believe it — do you guys know who’s on display here?”
“I heard some rumors,” Gerard says. Frank shoots him a confused look. Gerard squeezes his elbow and tells him, “You’ll see.”
Brian pulls up in his obnoxious blue Corvette and revs his engine. He exchanges some words with the valet before making his way over to them and immediately throwing his arms over Gerard’s and Frank’s shoulders.
“Long time no see,” he says. Gerard shrugs his arm off, and he laughs.
The gallery’s front hall is swarming with people, and Gerard gets recognized on their way in by some art collectors and the gallerist. He exchanges a quick bonjour with them all. When he goes to introduce everyone to the gallerist, he notices that Brian’s been stopped by a collector too.
“How do you know Sinclair?” Gerard asks him as they step into the main gallery.
“He’s worked with my foundation before,” Brian says. He pivots to grab an hors d'oeuvre off a low table and hands one to Gerard too. Gerard’s a little too nervous to eat, so he hands the mini croissant sandwich to Frank. “Kind of a pretentious dick, but easy to hustle out of a few bucks.”
“Your foundation?” Ray asks.
Brian squints at them. “Have I not brought this up before? I started a nonprofit to help at-risk kids learn about economics and personal finance. They don’t teach that shit in schools for some reason.”
“Oh my God,” Frank says. “You started a nonprofit?”
“Yes?” Brian raises his eyebrows. “And we look forward to your attendance at our benefit next month.”
“Of course.” Frank shakes his head and laughs. “Good for you, man.”
The main gallery is made up of two rooms; the first is a rotating gallery where Gerard’s piece is being shown for the next six weeks, and the further room is the permanent display. Gerard’s never been here besides to drop off his piece, so he takes his time wandering around and gazing at everything. If he were a better businessman, he’d talk up some potential purchasers or at least linger near his piece to field questions. But he actually gives the wall where his painting hangs a wide berth. It makes his fingers tingle if he thinks about it too much, his work in here with all the other art. Like it’s real.
Eventually, after they look at the same wire sculpture for the third time, it becomes pretty obvious what Gerard’s avoiding. Frank puts a hand on his lower back and gently steers him through the crowd towards his piece even as Gerard drags his feet.
Gerard’s stomach flips over as he looks at his painting straight-on. It’s an expressionist piece he finished a few months ago when he’d been deep in it, fully immersed in the flow, barely leaving their penthouse apartment. It’s Frank’s back, their unmade bed, and the blue evening light coming down through the skylight. It practically reeks of sex, but Gerard may be biased in that.
The gallery put it in a gold frame. Hung up with a placard next to it, it looks too valuable to be something that Gerard made on a wooden easel in their bedroom.
Frank picks up his hand, and Gerard realizes he’s shaking.
“I should have, um.” Gerard points vaguely with his other hand. “Could have used a bolder stroke there. Leads the eye the wrong way.”
Frank kisses his palm. “Don’t even try.”
“No, he’s right. This is amateur hour,” Mikey says from behind them. Gerard spins to smack his shoulder, and Mikey grins.
Softer, Mikey says, “Proud of you, Gee.”
“Mikes,” Gerard starts, but peters off. Words can’t get past the grateful lump in his throat. He squeezes Frank’s hand, hard, trying to get some of the emotion out that way.
Brian and Ray are already in the second room when Gerard, Frank, and Mikey get there. A few established French artists take up the closest walls and display cases, including a multimedia sculptor Gerard’s fond of. On the far wall is a row of familiar Juliet Kade paintings.
Gerard drags them over without any regard for gallery etiquette. At the end of the line of abstract pieces is a haunting fountain made up of blotches of grey and pink.
“This is Angel,” Gerard says in a rush. He’s not even sure who’s with him; Frank, probably, and maybe Mikey or Ray. He can’t stop staring at the painting long enough to check. The close-up layers of texture are captivating. “My favorite.”
“Really?” a voice says from behind him, the accent a clumsy mix of French and west coast American. “The gallerist shoved it in the corner over here because she thought it disrupted the rest of the show.”
Scoffing, Gerard starts to turn. “Even if it doesn’t fit in with everything else, you’d have to be insane to not—”
Juliet Kade is in front of him. Juliet fucking Kade. She’s greyer and has more smile lines than in the old interviews Gerard used to watch, but it’s unmistakably her.
Gerard casts his gaze around, needing to check someone else’s expression and see if he’s imagining this. Frank is still next to him, it turns out, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Juliet Kade,” Gerard says breathily. He lifts his fist to his mouth and clears his throat. It’s just to stall as his mind reels, tries to catch up with what the fuck is happening.
Frank whispers, “This is—?”
“I didn’t know you’d be here tonight,” Gerard blurts out, and feels his ears turn red. God, he used to writhe almost-naked on people’s laps six nights a week, and this is the most embarrassed and vulnerable he’s ever felt. He straightens his sleeve cuffs.
“I don’t like to make a big deal out of it, but I like to come by whenever I’m available and there’s something new in the rotating gallery, you know? New talent is always inspiring.” She smiles easily and gestures with a poised, slender finger.
When moments pass and it becomes clear that Gerard isn’t going to say anything intelligent, Frank puts a hand on his shoulder and says, “Gerard Way. His piece is up front.”
Gerard nods dumbly. But the last thing he wants is for Juliet Kade to think he’s just here to climb the ladder, not when he spent the better part of his four semesters of art school idolizing her. “We’re big fans,” he manages. “Um.”
Her eyes twinkle. “I would think so, if you were so ready to defend Angel. Thank you, Gerard. And, ah. . .” She tilts her head at Frank.
“Frank Iero.” Frank sticks out his hand, old habits, and they shake.
She smiles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Gerard and Frank.”
Frank touches Gerard’s waist in a light, loving gesture that makes Gerard’s heart flutter even faster. He doesn’t care if his fervor seems unprofessional — he’s an artist because he loves art, and what the fuck, somehow he ended up in Paris getting to do what he loves surrounded by the people he loves. It’s more than he ever thought he could have or deserve. It’s like his whole life is in a golden frame.
Frank says, “Miss Kade, the pleasure is all ours. Believe me, your work has changed our lives in ways you could never even imagine.”