Archive of Our Own

"...so, you see, Frankie's one of the best drivers around. Double the runs, double your cut, don't forget." The pasty, middle-aged Moustache Pete set down his knife and fork with a muted clink of stoneware. Gerard had already forgotten his name, not that it mattered - he was just another of Maranzano's interchangeable underbosses. But there it was, the real reason for this dinner meeting: to foist a new driver on Gerard’s operation, some son of a Sicilian cousin by marriage. Apparently the Capo was testing his runners’ loyalties.

"We're holding our own," Gerard replied.

The third man at the table - Luciano's flunky - sat with his chair tipped back insolently on two legs, oozing Five Points bravado and disdain for Maranzano's man. "The Capo's minded to reward profitable operations like yours," he added, with a tiny, insincere curl of his lip. Playing around with Gerard’s crew was little more than the Capo throwing his weight around in front of Luciano, and all of them knew it. Gerard leaned back in his own chair, studying the other men over their plates of half-finished manicotti and smoking in silence. They weren't waiting for an answer, because it wasn't a question.

Watching the Capo's underboss eye him nervously and dab perspiration from his forehead, Gerard felt a thrill of self-destructive glee. He knew was nothing more than a small-time rumrunner, and he certainly hadn't asked for this...reputation he'd earned among La Cosa Nostra. He wondered sometimes what they'd say if they knew the real reason Gerard was dangerous.

"Duly noted," Gerard said drily, pushing his plate away and uncoiling from his chair, flashing the two other men a sharp smile. "Send him over. Buona sera," he drawled.

Gerard had plenty of runs scheduled; keeping this Sicilian relation busy - and away from the farm in the Barrens - shouldn't be too hard. He had the rest of his crew - his pack - to look after, and if this new guy wondered why they never worked full moons ... well, who was to say he'd even notice?

But if he did, Gerard would deal with it. The Family might run his life, but Gerard ran his pack. He headed for the door, black overcoat swinging behind him.

The main barroom was a lot louder than the private dining room Gerard had come from, but he decided to stick around anyway. Might as well not let the good suit and shined shoes go to waste.

It wasn't the easiest thing to bear, navigating these crowds so close to the moon. Everything was too intense - the clatter of glasses, the scent of mingled aftershaves and perfumes, the glint of gold and diamonds. He supposed if his smiles looked too much like a baring of teeth, he'd just get left alone. A reputation could be a useful thing.

That same reputation had a steady trickle of climbers and bottom feeders sidling in his direction. It seemed everyone had heard about the new addition to his team - who Gerard had yet to meet. But Frank Iero, it seemed, had a reputation of his own.

"E pazzo," the grizzled bruiser beside him said succinctly, biting off the end of his cigar and spitting the flakes onto the floor.

The flashy young turk in his zoot suit on his other side - one of Gabe Saporta's friends, Gerard thought vaguely, who he tolerated because he was one of the few who knew the truth about the Way brothers - curled his lip at the expectorating, but added, "He's a demon, is what he is. Drives like a bat out of hell."

"Well, that should be good for business," Gerard said, flashing them a noncommittal smile. "But I have to - "

"Oh look," drawled Zoot Suit. "There he is."

Gerard followed the kid's line of sight across the speakeasy, then tuned him out and just looked.

Small, dark, about Mikey's age but about twice the energy - Gerard watched Iero work the room for at least ten minutes, and his grin never faltered - the troublemaking grin of the terminally confident. But he instantly melted to silent attentiveness when an elderly man stepped close to speak to him. Then Iero's eyes tracked across the crowd, and Gerard fought the urge to step into the shadows. Instead, he held his ground, face carefully expressionless. Their eyes met just for a second before Iero's moved on. Gerard felt his hackles raise, and he carefully suppressed a growl, feeling curiously out of breath.

Gerard forced himself to keep listening in case Zoot Suit had anything of interest to say about Iero, but he moved on to talking about some party Gabe threw a week ago and dropped the name of one of Saporta’s cousins who was visiting. Gerard sighed. Saporta’s pack liked to wander, which drove him crazy, and he hated that cousin. He was the one who’d bitten Mikey last time they showed up at the farm. But they were the only other werewolves within hundreds of miles, and he had enough to worry about without starting a turf war.

When Iero moved out of his direct line of sight, Gerard murmured an excuse to the Zoot Suit and moved in the direction he'd seen Iero disappear. He spotted Iero sitting at a table with James and a couple of other people. That was interesting. Gerard liked James. He trusted James enough that they'd considered telling him about the pack a few times, but they'd never actually had a good reason. Gerard slipped onto another barstool in a dark corner and ordered a tonic water.

Gerard had to give Iero some credit. He lived up to the reputation the wiseguys had given him. He was a small guy, especially next to someone like James, but he managed to look subtly threatening even while slouched in a chair. Several times, other men walked past Iero and passed him slips of paper. It was subtle, but Gerard's superhuman eyesight caught it easily. His jaw clenched, and he jumped up to pace, forgetting his glass on the bar. Guys with connections could be useful. Guys with too many connections could be dangerous. Gerard felt his muscles tense. It was so close to the full moon. Too close. Normally he could keep his aggression in check. Tonight, the alpha in him won, and he stalked over to the table.

"James," he greeted Dewees, holding out a hand and letting his eyes sweep over the other occupants.

"Gerard! It's been ages!" James replied cheerfully, giving Gerard's hand a hearty shake. That was one of the reasons they liked working with him so much; he'd always treated them normally. "Ring me up sometime, my friend." He looked back at his companions. "You know the Pope brothers, right? How about Frank Iero?"

Gerard nodded at the Popes. They mostly worked out of the Midwest but James liked to use them when they were in town, so he'd met them a few times. He made a point of looking Iero up and down; possibly that was a mistake, because Gerard's enhanced senses insisted he smelled good. Better than good; his mouth watered. Gerard swore internally - this was not the time, the place, or the person for that reaction - but just tilted his head a little and said, "I've heard the name."

Iero raised an eyebrow at that, but he was too cool a customer to give anything away. He replied with just a "Likewise," tapping his cigarette into the ashtray and tipping his chair back onto its back legs.

Gerard bit back an irritated growl. "Well," he replied, scanning the faces at the table. The Popes were talking quietly to one another, but James looked rather amused. "Just thought I’d say hello. Enjoy your evening, gentlemen." His overcoat rustled around his legs as he strode outside. He stopped at the corner of the building to light a cigarette and waited. He knew he'd be followed.

He was right. Not sixty seconds had passed before a slight figure emerged from the shadows of a side door. If Iero drove like he moved on foot, he'd be a more than serviceable driver, slippery and fearless. Gerard still smelled him coming and turned to face him.

He stopped a precise arm's-length away from Gerard, one hand tucked casually into the pocket of his slacks. "Are we going to have a problem?" he asked.

Gerard could foresee three or four potential problems at the moment, not the least of which were the nearly-full moon flickering in and out of fast-moving cirrus clouds and the way Iero's scent made his skin prickle. "You tell me, Iero," he replied tautly.

"If we're going to be working together, you ought to call me Frank, boss." Iero's - Frank's - lips quirked, but his voice was even. It was a taunt and an olive branch all at once, and he deliberately relaxed his tone when he responded.

"Next run's on Sunday night, Frank." After the full moon. "You'll be on point so I can see what you can do."

He hadn't seen Frank smile up close yet, and he watch transfixed as one blossomed, slow and wicked. "And you will," he replied.

Gerard had never suffered from an excess of nerves. But that smile made him his hair stand on end.

*~*~*

Frank watched Gerard Way disappear into the dark, lighting a cigarette automatically. He had no idea what to make of him. The man Frank’s uncle had pointed out inside had seemed mostly quiet, somewhat brooding. Frank hadn't really understood why the steady stream of flunkies kept talking to Gerard until he had come over, ostensibly to say hello to James. He had seemed tightly wound, like a man you did not want to get on the wrong side of. And their conversation outside had been more of the same. Frank wasn't one to be intimidated by anybody, but Gerard Way almost made him nervous. And he hadn’t been able to stop staring.

When he walked back into the speakeasy, Neil called him over to the table occupied by the rest of their crew. He glanced back at his unoccupied chair at James’ table and thought about going back there instead, but Neil was already imperiously demanding he buy them a round and he couldn’t see a good way to get out of it.

“Is it true, Frankie?” Neil laughed, nudging Andy with an elbow. “They’re sending you to work with the Ways? What’d you do, man?” Frank caught Shaun’s eye, and Shaun shrugged, looking apologetic.

“I go where I’m needed,” he said noncommittally. “Where the Capo asks me to,” he added, unable to resist the little dig. God, he could practically see the waves of resentment coming off of Neil whenever he was around, and he was suddenly, fervently glad he was going to the Ways. Whatever their story was, it had to be better than this. He wasn’t interested in dealing with the giant chip on Neil’s shoulder anymore, or maneuvering for position like their Sabatino and Iero uncles did. Neil didn’t seem to understand that.

“Good luck,” Andy snorted. “I heard Gerard Way’ll shoot a guy for looking at him crosswise. Or his precious brother. Better not fuck up any runs for him, Frank.”

Frank glared. “For the last time - “ He cut himself off. It wasn’t his fault they’d lost that big shipment last month. If fucking Neil could read a fucking map.... But these guys weren’t interested in listening. He slugged back a mouthful of whiskey - pretty good stuff, at this place, not that it would be anything else at a Family hangout - and turned to Shaun instead. “Guess this is it,” he said. He reached over and clapped Shaun on the shoulder, then stood up.

He made it most of the way across the room before Shaun caught him. “I’m sorry,” Shaun told him. “They’re - “ he stopped.

“I know,” Frank told him. “I’ve known them as long as you have. It’s okay. I’m just sorry I have to leave you alone with them.”

“I’ll survive.” It wasn’t a sure thing, not in the Family, but they all said it anyway. Didn’t do any good to acknowledge otherwise. “Frankie, the Ways.... Don’t listen to those guys. They’re - “ He cut himself off, obviously at a loss. “Impossible to describe. But you’ll be fine. Take care of yourself, though.”

Frank smiled, a little sardonic, a little sincere. “I always do.”

*~*~*

It wasn't until Gerard climbed up into the Packard that his exhaustion finally overtook him. His hands shook as he removed the brake and shifted into gear. But he had to get back to the farm tonight. There really wasn't any other option. They had too much to do before the moon, too much to do before Sunday and the first run with a new driver.

Gerard wasn't sure what to think of Frank. His animal and human sides couldn’t agree with each other, or even with themselves. Just being near him made Gerard’s senses scream danger, watch out, yet all signs pointed to him being skilled and capable at his job. And because Gerard’s luck was apparently just that bad, he was exactly the type of boy who always caught Gerard’s eye, those few times he’d let himself look.

He lit another cigarette and drove out of town. The moon was dead ahead and just seeing it made him feel prickly all over. This month was going to be a bad one.

It was after three by the time he turned down the narrow dirt road that led to the farm. The familiar woods lining the drive made him feel marginally better. So did seeing the light shining out of the kitchen. For about half a minute. Then he realized that the light probably meant Mikey was waiting up for him. Gerard sighed. He could probably put off Mikey until he'd slept for a few hours, but then there would be even more questions when he woke.

Gerard parked and took his time gathering his things together and getting out of the car. He paused briefly before the door and then pushed it open. There was Mikey, sitting at the table with a book in front of him. He glanced up as Gerard walked in.

"You look like shit," Mikey observed.

"Well, I feel like shit," Gerard answered.

"You were cutting it pretty close, there," Mikey said mildly.

"Yes, well. There were things I had to take care of."

Mikey lifted an eyebrow.

"Can we please discuss it tomorrow? Besides, Ray needs to hear most of it as well and I don't want to tell it twice. It's nothing that can't wait until after we've had some sleep," Gerard tried to keep the whine from his voice.

Mikey stared hard at Gerard for what felt like eternity. "Fine."

Gerard just barely contained a sigh of relief. Mikey knew him too well. There was no way he could talk about Frank Iero, as exhausted as he was at the moment, without inviting even more questions from his brother.

The sun was entirely too bright when Gerard woke up. It took him a few minutes to realize that the reason was because he'd slept far too late. He'd needed it, but he didn't have time for it. He sighed then got up, threw on some clothes, and lit a cigarette as he tromped downstairs. Hopefully there was coffee.

Ray and Mikey were sitting at the table when he reached the kitchen. Ray was tinkering with a length of coiled bright copper pipe and Mikey was hunched over a large cup of coffee. Gerard poured his own cup from the percolator on the stove before sitting at the table with them.

"Why did you let me sleep so late?" Gerard asked after he'd downed half the cup.

"Because you needed it," Ray answered. "And because Mikey and I got a lot done yesterday and we figured we could sacrifice a couple of hours this morning."

"So tell us about what happened," Mikey said. Gerard tried not to feel conspired against.

Gerard rubbed his neck. He lit another cigarette off the last and took a long drag, letting it out slowly.

"I know it was just supposed to be a quick supply run, but Shaun caught me at the Shop and let me know that the Capo's people wanted to talk to me," Gerard said and gulped down the rest of his coffee. He got up to fix another cup and continued. "So I finished things up and went to the house and changed-"

"Gerard, how long until you actually met with them?" Mikey asked.

"It's not like he knew that I knew! If it was urgent, he'd have sent someone for me." And if wanting to talk had meant the kind of conversation with a bullet at the end, it wasn't as if he'd had a choice. Besides, bullets sort of lost their power as punctuation when it took a silver one to have any real effect. Gerard waved a hand expressively and sat back down at the table.

"Or Shaun was the person he sent for you," Mikey pressed.

"Mikey, we know Shaun. He wouldn't do that without letting us know in some way," Gerard insisted.

"Gerard, you know how the Capo feels about being kept waiting. Why even risk it?" Mikey demanded. Ray made a noise indicating he agreed with the question.

"Because I had things I had to do for us and the Capo will always come second to that. I know how to handle him and I know how to handle myself and you just have to trust that." Ray nodded at him and started working on the copper tubing in his hands again. Mikey held Gerard's gaze challengingly for a few seconds and then sighed and sat back, running a hand down his face.

"So what did the Capo have to say?" Ray asked quietly.

"We're getting our new driver on Sunday," Gerard answered.

Mikey sat up again. "Who?"

"His name is Frank Iero." Gerard's voice was completely steady.

"I've heard of him," Ray said. "His uncle's some kind of underboss, I think. Pulls some crazy stunts, but gets the job done. He has his own car, right?"

"That's what I hear."

"Good. The Packard hasn't had any work done since before Bob left," Ray said with a sigh.

"I know. We'll see about fixing that. We really can't rely on whatever young turk they send to spy on us to have a decent car. We need to keep ours in shape." Gerard scowled into his coffee. Ray was sort of a genius, but he knew fuck-all about engines, and Gerard and Mikey weren't much better.

"Is that what you think this is? A rat?" Mikey asked.

Gerard scrubbed a hand through his hair. "I don't know. Probably part of it. I met him last night. Seems confident enough. I don't know if that's bravado or stupidity or if he knows the Capo will save his ass if any trouble comes up."

"I guess we'll see," Mikey said. He was looking at Gerard strangely.

"Yeah, I guess we will." Gerard stared back at Mikey until his eyes flitted away. "So what do we need to do before tonight?"

Ray started talking like he was ticking off a list, "Get the product into the car, eat some actual food that is not coffee, preferably meat, get the still covered again, finish repairing the still, eat at least once more."

"Repairing the still?" Gerard asked.

"Just a few minor things. I noticed a leak. I think the repairs will actually improve it significantly." Ray gestured at the small pile of things in front of him. "And I'm almost done with the important part, so it'll just be re-attaching it."

"Okay," Gerard said and pushed back from the table, "We should also double-check the locking mechanisms on the barn doors just in case. Saporta’s favorite cousin is visiting. You know how he gets when he has someone to show off for. I’d rather stay in tonight than deal with him.”

“I wish they’d just stay away,” Ray grumbled. “They have their own territory.”

“Gabe gets bored,” Mikey said quietly. He sounded bored, too; sometimes Gerard couldn’t tell what was going on in his head.

“Let's get going." Neither Mikey nor Ray argued, just followed him out of the kitchen obediently.

They'd worked hard all day and managed to get everything done in time to relax a little. They ate the dinner Ray cooked and then sat in the parlor afterwards almost like normal people. The last thing Gerard wanted to do was go down to the barn. Instead, he sat up and rolled his shoulders. He snapped the book in his hands closed and said, "It's time."

Mikey picked the needle up off the record on the Victrola and the music stopped. Gerard put his book on the side table, and led Mikey and Ray outside.

His skin prickled. The closer he got to the barn, the more all his instincts were screaming to go straight to the woods and run. The last thing the wolf wanted was to be locked up. But his human instincts were telling him that the barn was a better option than dealing with Gabe Saporta and his pack, and until the moon rose, he was perfectly capable of keeping the wolf in check. He strode into the barn, allowed Mikey and Ray time to slip inside, and then shut the door and made sure the locks were engaged. They undressed quickly and then waited for the moon to rise.

The next few minutes were a blur of pain. When it was over, Gerard couldn't help the howl of displeasure that erupted from him. Usually, they played or ran. This night, Gerard paced. Back and forth, back and forth in front of the doors. Mikey shook his head and curled up on a pile of ratty blankets in the corner, his tail curled over his nose. Ray sat a few feet from Gerard, watching him pace, waiting in case he was needed.

Gerard knew the instant Saporta and his pack crossed onto their land. He stopped pacing and growled at the door. The sounds of the pack got closer and closer until Gerard could hear them circling the barn. He growled again, this time Ray and Mikey joined him. Saporta and his pack all howled in return. Gerard wanted nothing more than to drive them out of his territory with his teeth.

Eventually, the sounds of Saporta's pack faded into the distance and Gerard flopped down by Mikey, suddenly exhausted. Ray settled near them. At least Saporta was gone. There was nothing else to be done but wait for the moon to set.

Moonset happened while it was still dark. Gerard wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep for a while, but they had to get the product loaded into the Packard and to the town house before the city woke up enough to notice three men hauling crates around.

They worked quickly and in relative silence. Talking took too much energy and they each knew what needed to be done without discussing it. By the time they got to the town house, the sky was just barely turning grey, which was just about right for unloading and getting inside.

"When will Iero be here?" Mikey asked as they climbed the stairs to their rooms to get a few hours of sleep.

"Just before sunset," Gerard answered.

*~*~*

Frank wasn't nervous, exactly. He'd driven for enough runners who thought they were big time that a new one wasn't going to bother him much. But their brief meeting at the speakeasy had convinced Frank that Gerard Way was not the average runner.

It started drizzling just as he parked his Roadster in front of the house he'd been told to show up at Sunday night. There was a '26 Packard out front. He eyed it critically. No wonder the capo had told him to be sure his car was in top condition.

He stepped out of the car, straightened his tie, and walked up to the door. He hesitated for half a second before giving himself a shake and knocking. The door was opened almost immediately by a man with hair that looked as if he had tried desperately to tame it and failed, and Frank suppressed a snort. The man gestured at Frank to come into the house, so Frank did. Once the door was shut firmly behind him, the man started speaking.

"The Ways are downstairs getting everything ready. We'll start loading right at sunset. I'm Ray, by the way. Raymond Toro." Ray stuck out his hand and Frank took it and shook it.

"Frank Iero," he introduced himself.

"Good to meet you," Ray said. "Follow me."

Frank followed Ray down the hall and into a kitchen and then down a narrow staircase into the basement. There were cellar doors on the opposite side of the room leading directly out to the front of the house, and crate after crate stacked throughout the room. Some were completely empty, some were full of empty bottles, some clearly had liquid in them.

Gerard was down at the end by the cellar doors with another man, seemingly organizing several full crates. Dusty and disheveled, he was ... pretty. Frank had been sure he’d imagined that, but here was the evidence again. He bit the inside of his cheek. Not a productive line of thought.

"Frank. About time. What kind of vehicle do you have? How many crates can it carry?" Gerard asked, standing up and shoving wild hair out of his face with the back of his wrist. Pretty, yes, but no manners apparently.

"My Roadster? Six full, plus I can stash the load of a seventh in the cracks," Frank answered.

"Good.” Gerard seemed to remember his manners then and gestured to the man standing next to him. “This is Mikey, my brother." Mikey stuck out his hand and Frank shook it.

"You look familiar," Mikey said.

Frank shrugged. "I'm around the usual places often enough."

Mikey shook his head. "No, it's from something different."

Frank shrugged again. Gerard was tapping his foot; Frank wasn’t sure if he even realized.

"Okay, we're taking these." Gerard pointed at a stack of crates, then squinted at them and switched one crate out for another and then added yet another from a different pile.

"Where are we headed tonight?" Frank asked.

"A warehouse on 12th in Jersey City," Gerard answered.

"Huh." Frank scratched his head.

"What?" Gerard asked sharply. Frank noticed for the first time that he looked exhausted. They all did.

"I did a run there last week." Gerard stared right at him, his face blank.

"Well, it's not unheard of for them to re-use locations," Ray pointed out.

"No, but sending the same driver to the same place so soon is not exactly standard procedure." Mikey pulled his gun out of the holster and checked that everything was in working order before looking up at Gerard.

"I know," Gerard said, rubbing his neck, "But we have to go anyway. We'll be careful, but missing a drop-off would be stupid."

"Oh, and knowingly walking into a trap isn't?" Mikey asked challengingly. Frank kept his eyes on Gerard, who grew steely around the edges.

"We're going." His voice was quiet and seemed mild, but Mikey subsided almost instantly.

"Sun's down," Ray pointed out. Gerard nodded and opened the cellar doors, gestured for Frank to go up and out first. Gerard followed, then Mikey. They worked quickly and silently, getting the crates into the car. Ray waved and then shut the cellar doors and they got in the car. Mikey slipped in next to him and Gerard next to Mikey. Frank eased away from the curb. They were about halfway to Jersey City when something apparently jogged Mikey's memory.

"Duke Ellington!"

"What?" Frank asked.

"That's where I know you from. I've gone into the city to see him a couple of times and I've seen you there," Mikey explained.

Frank suddenly remembered, in vivid detail, Mikey leaning against the bar, his arm around a pretty flapper named Alicia, his head bopping along to the bass.

"Yeah, that's it," Frank said. "Ellington is fucking incredible, yeah?" They chatted briefly about the music they liked and the acts they'd seen, but the closer they got to their destination, the more tension filled the car. Something odd was going on, and Frank had no idea what they'd find once they got to the warehouse. He glanced past Mikey at Gerard, but he had his face turned away, looking out the window.

Frank pulled up to the loading dock of the warehouse where the drop point had been last time. The place seemed deserted, which was not a good sign.

A figure stepped out of the shadows and leaned down to speak to them. "Change of location. Go to 37th and Wall for the drop."

"Thanks," Gerard said and motioned for Frank to drive.

"It's a trap," Mikey said.

"It could be just like he said, a change of location," Gerard pointed out. Frank didn't think so. And clearly neither did Mikey from the disgusted noise he made.

The warehouse at 37th and Wall looked almost as deserted as the one on 12th, but there were a few more signs of activity, so they got out and got to work. Gerard had just put the first crate of product down and was still crouched on the floor when they heard the tell-tale sound of a gun being cocked. Frank's own gun was in his hand and pointing toward the source of the noise in the blink of an eye. He fired and heard a body slump to the ground. He heard another shot from low to the ground and another body dropped; Gerard had things under control from his end. He turned to see that another thug had Mikey in a chokehold. Swearing, he brought his gun up to fire again and winged a shot at the guy’s shoulder. He staggered back, letting go of Mikey, and then Gerard was right there, having crossed what seemed like half the warehouse floor with a single leap.

"You don't touch my brother," Gerard said quietly, put his gun to the thug's temple, and fired. Frank's eyes swept around, but there didn't seem to be anybody else there besides the three dead men.

"Let's go. Now," Gerard ordered. They all got in the car and Frank peeled out. He drove hard and fast, taking random turns every few minutes in case anyone had been sent to tail them. Once he got out onto back roads he opened the throttle all the way, taking the long, circuitous route back to the house.

Frank had fucked this one up. He should have stayed in the car ready to drive in case of trouble, especially after the location change. Gerard and Mikey should have been able to get directly back in the car and they should have been able to drive. Instead, Mikey nearly got his windpipe crushed by some big bruiser. It was a green mistake. Frank hadn’t been green for a long time. He didn’t look forward to what Gerard would say. He needed this job, and what was more, even after so little time spent with the Ways and Toro, he wanted it.

Nobody spoke until they were back inside the house. Ray was waiting for them in the kitchen.

"Check his throat, will you?" Gerard asked Ray, gesturing to Mikey, who rolled his eyes. Ray lifted an eyebrow, but pushed Mikey down into a chair and did as he was told. Mikey tipped his head back obediently, but the red marks had already faded. He might have a couple bruises, but nothing more.

"We got ambushed. Probably by some climbers thinking they'd gain face by offing us," Gerard explained to Ray. He shrugged off his coat, threw it over the back of a kitchen chair and went to wash his hands in the sink, but he just stood and let the water rush into the basin without moving. Frank went over to the sink, put his hands on Gerard’s shoulders, and shifted him to one side so he could reach under the tap himself. Gerard stiffened under his hands and Frank’s muscles tensed, thinking maybe Gerard would lash out, but Gerard just shook himself a little and reached for a bar of soap.

"The man you shot could have killed Mikey." It took Frank a couple of seconds to realize Gerard was speaking to him. "I didn’t have the angle. You saved his life. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Frank answered. That was not what he'd expected.

Frank started going by the little brick house even on nights they didn’t have runs scheduled. Gerard looked unhappy about it when it kept happening. It really burned Frank that Gerard had that kind of attitude, but he kept going, figuring if he worked harder he’d eventually prove himself. Ray wasn’t always at the house. Frank wasn’t sure what he did when he wasn’t there, but he never seemed to sleep. Actually, none of them did, but while Gerard and Mikey were constantly in and out to bars and speakeasies to set up their runs, Ray stayed behind and worked at all hours. He was easy to talk to, keeping up long-winded discussions of jazz and blues while he decanted and rebottled the stock in the basement.

Mikey would join them sometimes, coming in from whatever speakeasy he’d visited that evening and perching on the bottom step. He eyed Frank a little funny every once in a while, looking like he wanted to ask why Frank wasn’t out on the town too. Frank had no way to explain how he’d lost interest in the Family politics. He was an Iero, and it wasn’t what anyone expected. But time spent with Ray and Mikey, talking about normal things and making jokes, was honestly the happiest Frank had been in a long time - until Gerard came home. When his footsteps sounded on the stairs, Ray and Mikey would clam up, watch him walk into the basement. If Gerard was smiling, they’d relax. If he was tense, it spread instantly to the other two, and Frank would find an excuse to leave. The three of them in that particular incomprehensible mood were impossible to be around.

Gerard didn’t appear to be afraid of anything - Frank had never seen anyone walk into more dubious situations with less hesitation - but he was fierce on his little brother’s behalf whenever anyone gave Mikey the least little trouble. Saving Mikey had clearly gained Frank Gerard’s approval. And while Ray usually stayed behind the scenes, Gerard was constantly checking to make sure everything was copacetic with him. Frank had never felt more like an outsider, and he wasn’t used to it. He’d worked with half a dozen runner teams in the past few years; most of them had kissed his ass, or expected him to kiss theirs, depending on whose son or cousin or nephew they were. The Ways really seemed like they couldn’t care less. The only thing that mattered to them, apparently, was doing their runs and collecting their cut.

Frank being Frank, it only made him pay more attention. Gerard was hard to read - he was the type of fella who sat in the shadows and let people come to him. And they did, no matter that he never encouraged it. Like tonight - they hadn’t been alone at the table in the bar for more than a few minutes at a time all night long. After a while, Frank went from trying to draw Gerard out to seething in silence as yet another person appeared to interrupt. He knew Gerard was picking up on his agitation and he had no way to explain. He was desperate to know what made Gerard tick. Frank was sure it was bizarre to feel this way - so focused on another man, one who was nominally his boss - but he was all right with being bizarre.

Frank just couldn’t let any stones remain unturned.

He got up and walked over to the bar to order another round - tonic for Gerard, whiskey neat for himself, and by the time he’d paid the latest interloper had left. Circling back around to the table, he set the glasses down and set a hand on the back of Gerard’s neck, leaning in to tell him he was going to go find Mikey. Gerard’s shuddered a little at the touch and he looked around just as Frank was leaning in, bringing their faces entirely too close for comfort. Gerard’s funny green/brown eyes had such an uncivilized look at that moment that Frank could only stare, breath caught in his chest. Gerard wasn’t even blinking, but he made a tiny noise under his breath. Frank jerked away, feeling blindly behind himself for his chair and sinking down into it.

“Sorry if I scared you,” he breathed. “I - drink.” He gestured to the fresh glass at Gerard’s elbow.

“I knew you were there,” Gerard answered, face inscrutable. “Thank you.”

Frank reached for his own drink, took a swig and cradled the glass against his chest. “I guess I’m just gonna go and - “

Gerard reached out a hand to halt him, stopping before he actually made contact. “Don’t,” he said quietly.

Frank stayed.

*~*~*

Gerard didn't have to be in the car with Frank more than a few times to realize that his reputation wasn't only deserved, it was somewhat lacking in descriptive color. "Drives like a bat out of hell" had been the closest anyone had come to the truth. Frank's manic energy at the helm of a heavy steel machine like his Roadster should have been scary, but he made Gerard want to throw his head back and howl at the night. Instead, he rolled down the window to feel the air stream in. He caught the flash of Frank’s eyes as he looked over from behind the wheel. He cranked down his own window and bared his teeth in a savage grin as they hurtled up Route 9.

That same night, they'd had to waste someone else's crew of goons on the way back from the drop; the second time this month. Bootleggers were getting thick on the ground in Jersey. No wonder the Capo was worried; Luciano liked to pretend he was cooperating, but this was cutting into the Family's profits for sure. Gerard was getting antsy - the city felt crowded to him now. The farm was the only place he felt really free these days. For not the first time, Gerard wondered if it was time to retire, try something new.

The thought wouldn’t leave him alone. Before their next dropoff, he found himself leaning on the Roadster beside Frank, smoking cigarettes in silence as they waited for Mikey to emerge from the last speakeasy on their restocking run. Suddenly curious, he asked Frank, “Do you like it?”

“Like what?” Frank asked.

“Driving.” He watched Frank’s eyes sweep up his body, land on his face and study him for a moment and he twitched a little, but waited. Frank was always looking when Gerard wanted to look away. The alpha in him wouldn’t allow it. And he wouldn’t allow the alpha to keep looking.

“I’m good at it,” he answered finally.

“I know you are. That’s not what I asked,” Gerard pressed.

“I really fucking love the driving,” Frank admitted finally, but he sounded unsure.

“And the rest of it?” It was something no one ever, ever asked, but Gerard couldn’t help himself. He had to know.

“Do I have a choice about the rest of it?” Frank snapped back.

“You’re an Iero,” Gerard pointed out, and immediately saw the flaw in his argument as Frank snorted and tossed his cigarette butt to the ground.

“Exactly.” Gerard had never seen Frank’s face look so closed off. He’d hurt him somehow, he realized. He’d known Frank was good at what he did, but he’d never have suspected he let it touch him - he was, on a few occasions when Gerard had been watching from the sidelines, a comedian. Gerard had never thought of him as someone who could be hurt, and maybe that was his mistake.

Mikey emerged from the side door of the speakeasy, and Gerard pushed off of the bumper, held out a hand. Frank took it after a moment’s hesitation and let Gerard tug him to his feet. Their hands were still clasped, caught between their chests, when Frank asked, “Do you?”

“I do what I have to do,” Gerard replied. It wasn’t an answer, and they both knew it.

They went to yet another anonymous warehouse to unload anonymous bottles. Soon, anonymous men would come and take them away, and an anonymous envelope full of money would appear in Gerard's possession. Frank, Mikey, and Gerard were all anonymous, too, dressed in dark clothing and moving with practiced, careful speed. Yet Frank was wearing a crimson-red tie. Gerard's eyes were drawn to that one splash of color, again and again.

In their neighborhood, and even more so, he was sure, in Frank's, it had been too easy to fall into the business and stay there. Gerard didn't pretend any kind of moral superiority to anyone - he'd killed too many people and done too many things. He was a bad, bad man, but he had bigger plans. Gerard couldn’t deny that he’d gotten ... fond of Frank. Surprisingly so. He had a streak in him just as out of place as that red silk against the black, and Gerard had just now noticed. He had a pack to take care of, but Frank kept creeping into his thoughts.

Grabbing another armload from the roadster, Gerard hurried back into the building, stumbling a little as he crossed from the moonlit alley into the dark room. Hands settled onto his shoulders from the other side of the crate. "Easy there," Frank said.

That was another problem. Frank kept touching him. Gerard didn’t mind it from Ray or Mikey - they were pack, family - but Frank was neither of these things. He was just another guy, albeit a guy who looked, felt, smelled amazing. And it was nearly the full moon again. This close to the moon, it was just maddening. He wanted to grab that distracting red tie and lick the sweat off of Frank's neck, wanted to taste him, wanted to bite him. He’d been so sure that the urge would go away, but if anything it was getting worse. Gerard had been self-destructive before, back when he'd been drinking their profits instead of carefully hoarding them. But this blew that out of the water. This was the wolf talking, and the wolf didn't quite understand that if he marked an Iero, he'd end up on the wrong end of someone's gun barrel. Possibly even Frank's.

They ended up in a speakeasy, afterwards, parking the roadster halfway down some innocent-looking block and heeling it towards the nearest basement gin joint. Mikey disappeared almost immediately with a familiar-looking dark-haired doll. Alicia, of course, he realized after a moment. Mikey spent a lot more time at the farm with Ray than Gerard did, but Gerard had given up understanding his social life. Frank was swept away by a wave of slicked-hair suits offering him handshakes, and he went easily enough, smiling casually and somehow still keeping his back to the wall. Gerard melted into a corner, watching with a slight frown.

He didn't drink anymore; there wasn't much to do besides chain-smoke and watch the crowd. A few people came up to talk to him. A few more growled replies than usual and they usually left before the ash reached the filter. There was nothing stopping Frank from drinking, though, and the wave of toadies was replaced by a steady stream of birds, stepping in and laying their red-taloned fingertips on Frank's black sleeve.

He danced with a few of them, to Gerard's surprise. Those girls didn't leave, either, just stayed clustered around him like a bunch of lambs to slaughter. Gerard watched him twirl them around the packed dance floor and wondered what they'd do if they knew he'd shot some blockheaded goon point-blank in the back of the head not three hours ago. Then again, it probably didn't matter. This was Jersey, and everyone knew things like that. Frank just smiled, and Gerard frowned even more.

After a while, he stopped frowning and walked over to Frank, propping himself up with an elbow on the bar and fixing Frank, and the group at large, with his best smile. "Frank. Ladies. Mind if I join you?" Frank looked a little quizzical, and Gerard's grin got even wider. "You're all looking lovely tonight, if I may say so?" He cut his eyes to Frank, let them sharpen a little, then looked away, let his eyes linger on each girl - two blondes and a brunette - in succession. "I hope you're being good to my best guy."

The girls tittered, chorusing reassurances. Gerard looked back at Frank, who raised an eloquent eyebrow. "I thought Mikey was your best guy."

"He is. For some things," Gerard replied simply. He let Frank break eye contact first, then turned without another word and asked the brunette to dance.

He could feel Frank watching him walk away, the force of his stare boring into Gerard's shoulder blades; he allowed himself one moment of satisfaction before he turned his attention to the brunette. Frank's attention was back where it belonged. With any luck, he'd be mulling that statement over for a long time. Gerard didn't let himself think about why he needed Frank's attention. Maybe it was instinct, the need to control his pack.

And that meant that Frank had somehow become pack in his mind. It was easier for the wolf side of his brain, maybe. Gerard still wasn't at all sure what he was to the human side.

*~*~*

Wiseguys, by definition, were supposed to be sharp. Frank was a little embarrassed to admit how long it took him to notice that the Ways were hiding something, especially since the Capo, via his uncle, had encouraged him to "keep an eye on them". Instead, he'd literally stumbled on it. His only excuse was that the Ways themselves were plenty distracting. One of them in particular.

He'd let himself into the town house the Ways used as a home base in the middle of the night, having forgotten the keys to his Chevy when he and Mikey walked to the gin joint down the street earlier that evening. He'd parted from Mikey only moments before, and strips of light showed under the blackout curtains so he was sure the household was still awake. He even tapped out his signature knock on the door before letting himself in. Crossing the dim kitchen, he called out a greeting, only to go sprawling as he walked through the living room door.

Ray and Gerard had looked at him, aghast, and he saw that he'd tripped over the lid for a large wooden crate full of glass tubing. Gerard had started to babble an explanation, and Frank lifted a hand.

"Just stop, Gerard," he ordered. He'd never dared to use that tone on Gerard before, and you could hear a pin drop in the room after the words left his mouth. Mikey appeared in the hallway leading back to the bedrooms, leaning on the door jamb and watching silently.

Gerard stood up, somehow managed to look menacing despite the delicate line of his jaw and throat, the pale skin of his arms, exposed by the open collar and rolled sleeves of his shirt. "Are we going to have a problem?" he asked. It was exactly what Frank had asked him the night they met. Frank met his eyes for a moment, but had to look away.

"Of course not," Frank retorted. "I know what you think of me, you know," he continued. "I don't blame you. I just...I don't know what I can do to convince you I'm not a fucking rat."

Apparently they had a still somewhere; but a one-man moonshining operation was no serious threat to the larger operations. There were dozens of those hiding out in the woods up and down the East Coast. It wasn't like the Family was missing out. Frank had no way to prove Gerard was padding his agreed-upon percentage - bootlegging wasn't exactly the kind of business that kept invoices - and wasn't going to go running off to his Zio Antonio with any of that information anyway. He'd proved himself, hadn't he? It was irritating to be treated like a stoolie. Frank could be - fuck, he was - loyal as they come, and not just to the Family.

Gerard's face could have been carved from stone; unusual for that dramatic bastard. "I never intended to - "

"Trust me," Frank interrupted.

Gerard had said nothing. His eyes flicked from Ray to Mikey, and back to Frank. Just as Frank was about to turn and walk out the door, Gerard had sighed and sat back down on the sofa. "Go get some sleep, Frank," he said tiredly. "We'll need you ready early tomorrow if you want to drive down to the farm with us."

It was a gesture of trust, yes, but if he was honest with himself, it still fucking stung that they'd kept him in the dark. Frank's mother had always told him curiosity killed the cat; in the end, Frank could admit he only had himself to blame. He'd helped with two runs of Ray's hooch after that night and the Capo's men hadn't descended on the place - because Frank hadn't told them anything - but it didn't seem to make much of a difference. Gerard had been twitchy ever since Frank had first found out about the farm for some reason.

No one really made an effort to show Frank around; even the first day, Ray had merely taken him to see the still, waved vaguely at an outbuilding nearby where the finished product was stored and where he had a small workshop, and sent him back inside to Gerard. Sometimes he helped move crates, sometimes he held things while Ray frowned and adjusted pipes and valves on the still. Frank’s curiosity got the best of him the night he and Gerard worked on mapping the drop site for a shipment coming in by boat. They measured and marked up a map in relative silence - in perfect cooperation - for hours. The next thing Frank knew, it was getting dark, and Gerard firmly and unsubtly told him he wouldn't be needed until after the weekend.

Every time, every time he thought he’d earned some sort of trust, it was two fucking steps back. He ached to grab Gerard by the collar, to shake him and ask him why. Gerard wouldn’t even look at him, and Frank grabbed his jacket off the back of a chair, sending it clattering to the floor. Gerard barely flinched, but he was breathing heavier than usual, and Frank cursed him - silently - and stomped outside.

Frank thought he’d calm down when he got behind the wheel, but he was still white-knuckled a half-mile out and he swung the car into a wide turn, retracing his route and dropping the Roadster at the head of the farm lane. He hiked back in and stood uncertainly at the edge of the farmyard. The way Gerard had refused to look at him ... he was hiding something, had to be. The barn doors beckoned, so he went inside for a look. When he found the trapdoors in the barn floor, the scarred and gouged dirt cellars beneath, he didn't really think anything of it. After all, they were empty except for a few packing crates and drifts of dirty, shredded fabric in the corners.

Still curious, he crossed the farmyard to poke his head into several other outbuildings. He wasn’t sure how much time passed; it was getting darker, and the moon was coming out. He heard a few creaking and rustling noises, then Gerard's voice raised in a string of curses from the direction of the barn. Frank froze, easing silently out the side door of the granary. Quickly, he melted back into the treeline and watched as Gerard hurried into the barn, moving faster than Frank had ever seen him move when there weren't any bullets nipping at his heels. Gerard disappeared into the barn, and Frank tensed, ready to creep forward and peer through the open barn door. Then he froze as a godawful noise rang out - a faint, sickly crackling noise and a full-throated howl, which was, eerily, echoed immediately by faint howls in the distance.

The next thing Frank knew, a large dog - no, wolf - was stalking out through the barn doors.

"Gerard!" Frank gasped, stumbling toward the barn on panicked feet, drawing his gun as he went. He'd just been in the barn minutes before, and he could have sworn it had been empty. That noise...had the wolf gotten to Gerard? It made no sense; Frank knew a little bit about wolves and he knew they usually stayed away from human habitation. Was it rabid? He started trying to edge around to where he could slip inside the barn, but the big animal pivoted on its hind legs, letting out a strange choked growl.

Frank could see inside the barn now, could see every inch of the big open main floor, and there was no sign of Gerard anywhere. The wolf was eyeing him cautiously, a low-level growl rumbling in its chest; when Frank tightened his grip on his gun it suddenly, unexpectedly laid flat out in the dirt, eyes unblinkingly trained on his.

"Okay, okay, you know guns," Frank muttered, taking a sideways step. "I won't shoot you if you don't bite me. Don't move, please." Frank knew he was babbling, but the wolf stayed where it was, cocking its head slightly to the side like it was listening. "Yes, I'm talking to you, furball. You're not rabid, are you? What did you do with Gerard?"

The wolf sat straight up with an emphatic yip. Frank's fingers tightened on the grip of his gun again, but he slowly held his hand out to the side, weapon dangling from the trigger guard when the canine growling resumed. "I'm just going in the barn," he said quietly. The wolf whined.

Frank tucked his gun away and edged inside the open doors, sparking his lighter. The tiny flame was barely anything, but it was enough to convince him the barn was completely empty. A quick scan of the room revealed the only item out of place - a small, untidy pile of clothes. Gerard's clothes.

"Gerard!" he hissed urgently, still crouched by the discarded garments. He waited for an answer, feeling ridiculous. There was no one in here, Frank knew that with absolute certainty. Frank had a sense for these things. And he sure as hell wouldn't have missed a naked Way running across the farmyard.

The only other possibility was - impossible.

Frank's uncle and grandfather looked down on his fascination with the Grand Guignol - it was too frivolous for someone in their line of work, where horror was often part of the business day. But neither art nor life had prepared him for the sudden certainty creeping into his bones. He turned his head slowly; the big black wolf was sitting on its haunches in the doorway, eyes reflecting a greenish glare.

"Gerard?" He whispered again, mouth gone suddenly dry. His lighter sputtered and went out, and in the sudden darkness before his eyes adjusted he heard movement, felt a wash of hot breath against the side of his neck. He froze, a wash of goose pimples breaking out on his arms Then a padded foot was scratching at his knee, teeth closing over his wrist with exquisite care and tugging. He jerked his arm instinctively. "Wait - what - "

The wolf let go immediately; he could see it start to pace in the moonlight spilling through the doors, darting in the direction of the house and then returning to Frank. He struggled to his feet, and the wolf - Gerard, of course it was Gerard, and Frank really couldn't think about that right now - nudged urgently at the backs of Frank's knees. Frank balked; he wasn't about to be herded before he figured out what exactly was going on.

Then he heard a terrifying sound - a full-throated howl, entirely wild and entirely too close for comfort. Another wolf rounded the corner of the barn, leaping at the doorway where Frank stood with a chilling growl. Gerard pushed himself in front of Frank, blocking the leap with a shoulder. He staggered, and the other wolf went flying, sprawling in the dirt before springing to its feet and pacing back and forth, teeth gleaming. Gerard mirrored the other wolf's movements, lips drawn back in a snarl.

Frank reached for his gun, then withdrew his hand slowly. He wasn't sure a gun would even do any damage, and even in his current state of shock he was reluctant to do anything that might hurt Gerard. The two wolves hadn't stopped pacing for a moment. There wasn't any warning before they sprang at each other, teeth bared. Spit went flying, and they tumbled across the dirt floor in a tangle of limbs, growls nearly deafening. Frank edged closer to the door jamb, trying to stay out of the way. The second wolf lunged in his direction, and Gerard leapt again, rebounding off the wooden door with a sickening thud. He was slow to get up that time, patches of blood gleaming black in the dim light. Frank's chest felt tight, and he frantically looked around the barn for anything to use as a weapon. There was nothing. Nothing he'd reach before the strange wolf could reach him.

The bigger wolf had picked itself up more quickly, and was advancing on them with a slow, menacing pace, teeth bared in a predator's smile. Gerard darted towards the other wolf, furry bodies tumbling across the floor again, but the other wolf had the advantage of size and soon twisted out of Gerard's range. Frank heard an animal's scream of pain. “Gerard!” he cried out, following before he could think, rushing bodily between the two wolves just as Gerard gathered himself to spring. He felt a sickening hot rush of pain and looked down to see his own forearm ripped open by gleaming fangs. He stumbled back, first his shoulder then his head smacking against the concrete-hard dirt floor as he fell.

Everything went dim and swooping. He heard an unearthly howl, the thud of flesh colliding with flesh, a throaty whine, and then silence, broken only by a low, continuous growl and a shuffling sound. One of the wolves was gone. The last thing he felt before the world went black was a rough tongue soothing over his torn, bleeding skin.

*~*~*

As soon as Gerard's limbs were all back in their proper positions, he struggled to his knees and looked down at Frank. He was pale, but his breathing was steady. Gerard reached down and scooped him up into his arms and stood on still-trembling legs. Even as he braced himself to support Frank’s weight, the trapdoor in the floor opened and Ray and Mikey clambered out.

"Get me hot water and some bandages," he called out to Ray and Mikey without even looking at them. He didn’t even bother with clothing, just carried Frank out of the barn and straight up to his room and laid him gently down on his bed. He told himself it was because the bed was bigger - because it was - but he really just wanted to keep Frank in his own space. He stripped the remains of Frank's shirt off him and examined the wound in his arm. He'd seen worse, but it still wasn't pretty. He ran his tongue over his teeth and grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing a hand over his forehead. Frank would never forgive him.

"You did what you could, Gerard," Mikey said from behind him and patted his shoulder. "Ray's boiling the water now. Should be a couple more minutes. Why don't you get dressed?" He’d gathered Gerard’s clothes from the barn floor and he handed over the little bundle.

Gerard nodded and tugged them back on. Ray came in the door with a basin of steaming water and set it on Gerard's night table, and Gerard sat back down next to Frank. Ray made to sit down and take care of Frank's wounds, but Gerard shook his head and waved him away. Mikey handed him a clean washcloth, and he dipped it in the water and cleaned Frank's arm, washing the blood and dirt carefully out of the wound before wrapping it tightly in bandages. He gently ran his fingers through Frank's hair. There was a bump from where he hit his head, but no blood. Gerard left his hand in Frank's hair a beat too long, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Gee," Ray said quietly, "Come downstairs and let me check you out. I think Gabe got you pretty good this time."

"Go," Mikey said. "I'll stay with him."

Gerard nodded and followed Ray down the stairs. Now that all his attention wasn't focused on Frank, he could feel the cuts from Gabe's claws and teeth pulling whenever he moved. Run-ins with Gabe were not usually that violent. But then, there wasn't usually a human to be protected. There wasn't usually his human to be protected. Gerard scrubbed his hands through his hair and sat on the chair Ray pointed at, stripping off his shirt. The problem was ... Frank wasn't human anymore at all.

"It's not your fault," Ray said.

Gerard nodded automatically, but Frank - if he survived - was going to be a werewolf now, and it was Gerard's bite that had done it, so he wasn't sure who else's fault it could possibly be. Frank was going to hate them all, now. He'd seen it happen before.

"He realized it was you," Ray murmured. "He called you Gerard, I heard him. If he was going to hate you, you'd know it already."

Gerard shook his head. Sometimes Ray could read him almost as well as Mikey. It was a little frightening.

"Coming to terms with the fact that a person you work with is a werewolf and coming to turns with that person you work with turning you into a werewolf are two very different things." Gerard rubbed his forehead again. God, his head hurt.

Ray made a noncommittal noise. "Okay, I think that's done. Unless I need to look at your legs."

"No, they're fine. They’ll heal fast." Gerard got up and picked the percolator up off the stove to see if there was anything left in it. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found it partly full and grabbed a mug, poured the last of the previous afternoon's coffee into it and downed it with a grimace. Then he headed back up the stairs, shrugging back into his shirt as he went.

He stopped in the doorway of his bedroom and watched. Mikey was sitting quietly in a chair next to the bed reading a book. Mikey glanced up at him when he stepped across the threshold, but went back to reading. There was nothing to do now but wait. Frank was still and pale, looking small in the big iron bed, and Gerard's stomach lurched. He started pacing. He couldn't stand to look at Frank, and he didn't want to leave the room, and he knew he'd never be able to sit still like Mikey.

When Mikey sighed at him for the third or fourth time, Gerard forced himself to stop and look out the window. The sky was still more grey than anything else. He made himself lean against the window jamb and watch until the sky turned pink. It was going to be a beautiful morning, and he couldn’t even appreciate it.

Gerard heard Frank make a small waking noise and whirled around. Mikey snapped his book shut and sat up straighter. When Frank moaned, Mikey reached out and put a hand on his arm.

That should be me, Gerard thought. But if he touched Frank now, he wasn’t sure what he would do.

Frank moaned again and this time his eyes fluttered open. Then they went wide, and he sucked in a deep breath, clearly frightened. He glanced at Mikey first before his eyes settled on Gerard. Gerard tried to hold his gaze, but he couldn't. He turned back to the window and stared out, unseeing.

"It's okay," Mikey said.

"I... what happened?" Frank’s voice shook.

"Gabe Saporta and his guys decided to pay us a visit. They do that sometimes; there aren’t many packs around. They're mostly harmless but they like to come harass us. But, uh, obviously things were a little different this time," Mikey explained. Gerard almost laughed. Different was an understatement.

"So, what? Back up just a second. There are roving groups of werewolves running around?" Frank was nearly shrieking by the time he finished the question.

"Just the one, usually. At least here at the farm," Mikey said.

"All of you? You’re all - “ Mikey nodded. Frank took a deep, shuddery breath and pressed on. “You’re all werewolves.” He stumbled over the word; Gerard winced. “And you knew I was here.... "

"We smelled you," Mikey answered. Gerard could feel Mikey's eyes on him. "Gerard smelled you sooner than Ray and I, though."

“Why weren’t you all - “ Frank cut himself off.

“Outside, like Gerard? We didn’t know whether to expect Saporta this month so we were locked up in the barn; Gerard thought he’d be able to find you and head you off before he changed.”

Mikey’s eyes darted to Gerard, and Gerard nodded a tiny nod of acknowledgment. He kept his back to Frank, but he could practically feel Frank staring.

"So, am I going to be - " Frank's voice was small and horribly frightened and Gerard hated it.

"Yes," Mikey answered simply.

"Will I be able to...?" Frank trailed off.

"Smell people, that kind of thing?" Mikey asked. Gerard heard the rustle of the pillowcase under Frank's head when he nodded.

"Yes. Your senses will all sharpen. You'll be stronger. And faster. You'll heal faster. You, uh, won't be able to eat Sunday dinner with your mother's best silver anymore." Frank let out a hysterical giggle at Mikey's joke.

"What... how do I? Where should I go, what do I do?" Frank sounded terrified. Gerard couldn't take it anymore. He whirled around and strode right up to the bed and looked Frank in the eye.

"You are part of our pack now," he said fiercely. "We will take care of you."

Frank sagged back onto the pillow as if all the tension had left his body. He closed his eyes and nodded. Gerard couldn’t help himself, he sank down on the bed and squeezed Frank’s hand.

“We’ll take care of you,” he said again and got up swiftly before he curled up around Frank like he had the night before while he waited out the moonset.

Frank didn’t leave the farm for a week after the full moon. They turned down two runs, and Gerard and Mikey went on a third smaller run without him. It was probably a mistake; every second Gerard was away from the farm felt endless. Mikey, who had been watching him with a faint expression of reproach back at the farm, was now regarding him with something like pity, which grated. “We can go back tonight,” Mikey said finally, when they had emptied the Roadster and were circling cautiously away from the drop location.

“I’m not worried,” Gerard protested.

Mikey just looked at him. “Yes, you are.”

He’d been obsessively watching Frank’s wound for infection all week and insisting that he be the one to change the bandages. Mikey and Ray didn’t even try anymore, they just fetched him whenever it was time for the dressings to be changed. Frank eyed him with confusion, a hint of resentment, but didn’t try to talk to him like he did to Mikey and Ray. He was full of questions, and Gerard marvelled that he wasn’t more upset. But after all, he knew Mikey and Ray hadn’t done this to him.

After a few days of fever and exhaustion, Frank healed fast, yet another sign that his new form was asserting itself. He started to help Ray with an inventory of their remaining stock of hooch. Gerard felt relieved that he’d gotten involved in a project. It was easier to concentrate on his own work now that he knew Frank wasn’t upstairs recuperating in Gerard’s bed. But Frank found him hiding at the small desk in the corner of the dining room, which he used as an office, and cornered him before he could make an excuse to leave.

“Stop avoiding me,” Frank said quietly. He was standing close enough that Gerard could actually feel his chest rise and fall. It was maddening. His scent was changing too, becoming something more tantalizing every day. It lingered in Gerard’s nostrils and on his tongue even when Frank left a room. Gerard stared at his lips for a moment before he realized Frank was waiting for him to speak.

“I’m not - “

“You’re full of it,” Frank interrupted. “Look, man, I don’t blame you for this. It was an accident. I know that. But...it’s not all bad, is it?” Gerard just stared wordlessly at Frank till Frank closed his eyes, turned his face away. “Fine,” he mumbled. “You regret it. That’s great.“ His voice was tight, and Gerard could feel how tense he was holding himself, could feel it when he snapped. “That’s fucking fantastic!” Frank shouted, shoving at Gerard’s hands when Gerard tried to reach for his shoulder. “I guess I don’t belong anywhere!”

“No!” snapped Gerard, and Frank’s head snapped up. “That’s not true. Pack is pack,” he added awkwardly. “I told you we’d take care of you.”

“How?” Gerard opened his mouth to answer, but Frank talked right over him. “How are you going to take care of me when you regret having me here?”

“I don’t! Fucking ... of course I regret changing you,” Gerard spat back. “I took away any chance you had of having a normal life!”

“Like I had a chance before,” Frank growled, but the fight was fading out of him. He turned away, and Gerard stopped him with a hand on his cheek.

“You’re ours now,” he said gently. “I promise.”

“Yours,” Frank repeated. “I already was,” he mumbled. Gerard froze, kept himself from responding - verbally, or by grabbing a suspender and yanking Frank closer - with a great effort. Frank’s eyes glowed; Gerard didn’t know if he meant - but no. Impossible.

“We can’t skip any more runs; we need you back behind the wheel. Tomorrow. Be ready,” was his measured response.

“I was born ready,” Frank shot back, but Gerard could have sworn he looked disappointed when he turned and walked away.

*~*~*

Once Frank started doing runs again, things settled back into more familiar patterns. Frank didn't really feel any different, so what happened slipped largely from his mind, and he let it. Except he was at the farm more than he'd ever been before and Ray and Mikey were treating him like he was one of them. And he had a new scar on his arm. Frank still couldn't figure out Gerard, though. He wasn't being so obvious about avoiding Frank like he had been before. He didn't leave every time Frank entered a room anymore, but the mood was still strange and uncomfortable. He could feel, actually physically feel every time Gerard was nearby. He constantly strained his senses for hints of his movements. He had no idea why it mattered; he just had to know.

Frank started to wake up feeling hungover. It didn't matter if he'd had a drop of alcohol the night before or not. Everything was too bright, the slightest smells made him feel queasy, and everything hurt. He was exhausted whether he slept through the night or tossed and turned. He kept expecting for it to descend into his lungs and become his usual case of bronchitis, but it never happened.

And then Gabe Saporta showed his face at the town house. Frank didn’t know he was there till he walked into the kitchen and it hit him; a presence, a smell that was wrong, that was - not pack, his brain supplied. Frank shuddered. When he turned the corner he saw Saporta’s lanky form draped over a kitchen chair, leaning close to talk to Gerard.

He felt the growl building in his throat, and caught it before it escaped, but Gerard looked at him anyway. “Frankie,” he said warningly. “Saporta came to apologize, and to tell us he’s keeping his guys away from the farm for a while.”

“Yeah, kid, no hard feelings, right? Accidents happen and all that?” Saporta grinned lazily. Frank saw red - he had left his revolver upstairs in the room he’d commandeered, but he didn’t even want to shoot him; his legs trembled with how much he wanted to leap and bite him. And the only thing that was stopping him was the feel of Gerard’s eyes on him, clearly warning him to simmer down.

“Yeah, accidents happen,” he muttered under his breath. He’d meant to wash up for dinner, but he turned and fled to the basement instead, throwing himself into mindless manual labor. Frank didn't even notice he was slamming crates of product around until Ray pointedly cleared his throat.

"Sorry," Frank muttered then sighed. "I'm sorry." His voice was clearer and more sincere.

"We've been there," Mikey said from the doorway. Gerard was just behind him. Frank suddenly felt even more twitchy and irritable. He wanted to leave. To get in the Roadster and drive fast to anywhere Gerard Way wasn't. Instead, he took a deep breath and picked up another crate and set it down gently where it was supposed to go. Frank kept on working as Gerard and Mikey started looking at maps in the corner.

"We could go up Route 130 and then over to Trenton from there," Mikey suggested.

"No, the feds tend to patrol 130 more often than some of the other roads. It’s too close to the river. We'll take 206," Gerard vetoed. Frank moved over to where Gerard and Mikey were standing and pointed at the map.

"We could take 130 and I could pay off a guy I know to make sure nobody's on the road at the time." Frank challenged. He knew it was stupid. He knew he should just keep his mouth shut and do his job. But somehow, he couldn't.

"I don't trust outsiders," Gerard said firmly. It made Frank want to break things.

"You don't trust me." Frank heard himself yelling. Within seconds, Gerard had him pinned against the wall.

"You are crossing the line, Frank." Gerard's voice sounded like it was made of iron. Frank squirmed against his grip. He was vaguely aware of Mikey and Ray leaving the room, but all he could really think about was Gerard's body pressed against his. Strangely, he felt better than he had for days and days. Gerard was touching him and god, he smelled amazing. Frank sagged against the wall. Practically the only thing holding him up anymore was Gerard. They stood like that for what felt like a long time, just breathing, until all Frank could feel was tingling.

"I don't think of you as an outsider. You have to know that," Gerard murmured in Frank's ear, but pulled back without waiting for an answer. Frank let himself slide down the wall and onto the floor. He pulled his knees up and put his head in his hands. Gerard sat on a crate a couple of feet away. "It will get worse before it gets better." Frank wanted to laugh hysterically. Instead, he nodded. "But you get used to it. Every noise and beam of sunlight won't make your head pound, every smell won't make you feel sick."

Frank nodded again and they sat quietly until Mikey called to say that he and Ray had fixed dinner.

*~*~*

Frank was absolutely miserable. His skin felt like it was on fire, every tiny movement hurt all the way down to his bones, and his head was pounding. He was trying to help Ray with the still and get everything set for the moon and for the runs coming up after. He did the things Ray told him to and lifted the crates Ray pointed at until he nearly dropped a crate and had to sit down for a minute.

"Frank, go back to the house."

"Sorry," he breathed out, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Ray said and patted his shoulder gently. "It's the day before your first moon. You're allowed to feel terrible."

Frank sighed.

"I know, it's frustrating. But you'll adjust and things will get better." Frank was getting tired of hearing everyone tell him he would adjust, but Ray was being kind and Frank wasn't pulling his weight, so he kept his mouth shut and started walking back to the house. He slipped through the kitchen door and sat down heavily on a bench next to the door. He wished he'd used the other door. The smells were overwhelming him and he felt nauseous. He closed his eyes and breathed as shallowly as possible.

"Frank?"

Frank cracked open an eye and peered over at Mikey leaning into the room from the hallway.

"You feel like hell, don't you?"

Frank nodded.

"I'll make you some tea. It tastes like shit, but it's from this herb or whatever that really does help." Mikey moved quietly about the kitchen. Frank breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't think he could deal with Mikey's usual style of cooking, which tended to involve lots of clanging metal.

Soon, a pungent scent filled the air. It was almost soothing, though.

"Here," Mikey handed Frank a cup and sat down next to him. Frank took a sip and swallowed, and then another. His head felt a little less like it was going to fall off his shoulders.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." They drained their cups of tea before Mikey spoke again. "You should rest for the rest of the afternoon. We'll wake you when it's time."

Frank nodded and stumbled into the parlor and collapsed onto the settee. He closed his eyes, expecting not to fall asleep for a while, but the next thing he knew, Gerard was shaking him awake.

Gerard pulled him to his feet, a hand under his elbow. Frank frowned, but realized as he tried to get his balance back that he probably would have fallen.

“That’s normal,” Gerard murmured, like he was reading Frank’s mind. “Just follow me.” The last streaks of sunset were in the sky, and Frank felt like they should have been ready ages before, but clearly they were all used to this. He followed Gerard. Mikey stared at his feet, shuffling along beside them, and Ray went ahead to unlatch the big barn doors so they could be closed behind them.

Frank stopped in front of the trapdoors and stared. He felt his hair stand on end. He hadn't expected to feel like this. To feel like being locked up was wrong. “It’s the best thing we’ve tried,” Ray said apologetically, climbing down the ladder. Frank felt a hand on his shoulder, guiding him gently toward the opening. He expected it to be Mikey, but when he glanced back, he saw that it was Gerard. He felt strangely better about being locked in a cage if Gerard was going to be there with him.

They others started removing their clothes and Frank was momentarily confused until he realized that the transformation was probably hell on the wardrobe. Frank fumbled at the buttons on his shirt. He was still so tired and his hands felt bigger than normal, but he got his clothes off and up onto the shelf with the others' just as pain unlike anything he'd ever experienced began shooting up and down his limbs. He couldn't remain upright any longer and arms, he couldn't even tell whose, he was so overwhelmed, caught him and lowered him to the ground.

He'd felt bad before. Now he felt like he was dying. He felt like all his limbs were going to fall off, like his head was going to explode. He thought maybe someone was stroking his hair and his back and talking to him, but he couldn't hold onto that thought for more than a few seconds before he was overwhelmed by pain. He didn't know how much longer he could stand this. The last thing he registered before passing out was a wolf howling.

*~*~*

Gerard was almost glad of the change when it came over him. He couldn't keep his eyes open to watch Frank writhe in pain anymore.

When Gerard became aware of himself again, the first thing that hit him was the smell. It wasn't a new smell, but it was so much stronger now. So much better. Gerard knew instantly that everything he'd been trying to avoid thinking about for the past month was true. He squirmed over to Frank's prone form and pushed his nose up under Frank's front paw and nuzzled his neck. He smelled amazing.

Frank whined, lifted his head, and blinked at Gerard. Gerard stood up and nosed him again. Frank seemed to get the hint and rolled up onto his feet. He was a little unsteady and lurched a bit at first. He walked around the perimeter of the cage and Gerard fell into step with him. In his peripheral vision, Gerard could see Mikey and Ray sitting on their haunches in the middle of the room, following their movements. Once Frank seemed steady on his feet, Gerard nosed at him again. This time Frank nosed back. Gerard yipped and skittered around toward Mikey and Ray and jumped at Mikey. Mikey tumbled back with a put-upon whuffle. Gerard nipped at his ears. It hadn't felt so good to be a wolf in a really long time.

He bounded back to Frank and rammed into his shoulder. There was a brief moment of stillness and then Frank leapt at Gerard like Gerard had Mikey. Gerard went down, letting Frank hold him there for a moment before growling and flipping Frank over. Frank's head fell back immediately, exposing his throat. Gerard bit gently at it before bounding over to Ray and nipping at his ankles and dashing off. Frank finally seemed to get the idea and raced after him.

They ran around wrestling and chasing each other for hours. Even Mikey joined in more actively after a while. Gerard couldn't remember the last time they had that much fun together as wolves. Eventually, Frank started drooping, his tail swishing less enthusiastically. Gerard nosed him over to a pile of blankets and he flopped down, panting. Gerard curled up beside him and licked his ears.

He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing Gerard knew, his body was starting to tingle with the first pangs of the moonset. Frank whimpered next to him. The only thing Gerard could do was nuzzle him. It wasn't long before the change overtook them both. The next thing Gerard knew, his hands were running over the skin of Frank's very human back. He couldn't bring himself to care. He ran a hand through Frank's hair and down his side, and Frank just made a tiny rasping noise, so Gerard pushed himself up and retrieved their clothes, helping Frank dress, buttoning his shirt for him, and helping him slip into his shoes. He wrapped an arm around Frank's waist and walked him back to the house, Ray and Mikey trailing behind.

Gerard helped Frank into his bed and pulled the covers up over him. The wolf-impulses were still fighting with his human ones. He tried not to think about how much he wanted to just crawl in behind Frank and sleep there, close to him.

When he slipped out the door and into the hall, he found Mikey leaning against the wall opposite the door.

"Gerard," Mikey started, but Gerard cut him off.

"Not now, Mikey." He was so tired. Mikey nodded.

"It was fun last night," Mikey said.

"Yes, it was."

"Well, sleep well," Mikey said and walked the few paces to his own room and slipped inside. Gerard lingered outside Frank's door for a few minutes before going to his room and crawling in bed alone.

*~*~*

Mikey slammed into the town house late one night covered in mud and smelling like gunpowder. Gerard was in the kitchen, poring over maps spread out on the table and listening to the sounds of Ray and Frank shifting stock in the basement. He was on his feet in an instant, though, grabbing his little brother and steering him into a chair. Mikey shook him off irritably. “I’m fine, Gee,” he grumbled.

“What the hell is going on?” Gerard growled. He heard footsteps on the stairs - Frank and Ray appeared in the doorway.

“Had to dodge some potshots on the way home from the gin joint with Jon and his crew.” Mikey pulled his glasses off, rubbed wearily at his eyes. “Something bad’s going down, Gerard. I think Luciano’s making a move on the Capo’s business. Three runner teams were gunned down this week, and they were all seasoned guys with direct ties to the Capo.”

“You think Luciano’s behind the goons that’ve been coming after us?” Ray asked. “Why would he bother? We’re small-time.”

“He’d be trying to shake everyone up, make the Capo look weak. That’s what I’d do,” Gerard said. “But I don’t know why us.”

“Because of me,” Frank said from the head of the steps. “Because of my uncle,” he amended thoughtfully. “Waste my crew, you send a message. Scare us enough to make us turn, you make my uncle and the Capo look weak, like Gerard says.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Gerard insisted.

“Which part of it?” Frank asked quietly.

“Any of it. I’d sooner get out than get in deeper with those Five Points thugs. And you’re pack, Frank, we take care of pack,” he added quietly, something clawing to free itself from the vise grip of his chest. Frank was eyeing him with something like gratitude...or more. “We’ve got the farm. We’ve got money put by. We can get out.” He looked from Mikey, to Ray, to Frank. “All of us. We can be done with this. I used to think it was worth the risk, but - “

He watched them carefully. It was the first time he’d actually suggested it out loud. Get out. Ray was nodding - he’d known nothing about chemistry when they’d started, had learned it specifically so they could start distilling liquor. He’d tackle anything new with that same energy. Mikey didn’t have as many tells, but Gerard could tell he was thinking of his pretty brunette flapper. And Frank -

“We have to finish this last shipment,” Frank said seriously, fingers twisting his work gloves. “It’s not like we can return the advance.”

“What if they come after us next?” Mikey asked.

“Then we’ll just have to be ready,” Gerard said, stepping closer to Frank. Frank shot him a sidelong look, but Gerard didn’t back down.

The drop the next night went perfectly at first. They got the booze offloaded with no problems; then, as if they’d been watching - which they certainly had been - the warehouse was hemmed in by armed goons. Cut off from each other in different areas of the warehouse, their weapons were out immediately. Mikey knelt behind a crate and trained his tommy gun on the intruders, but it clicked uselessly when he pulled the trigger. Jammed. Gerard swore mentally. They’d gotten several bad magazines in their latest batch of ammo; if they were staying in the business, they’d have to switch suppliers. But they weren’t and Gerard just wanted them survive to get out.

Gerard was backed into a corner; he pulled his own Thompson and started strafing the area. In between rounds, he frantically searched for a protected way out. Frank’s Browning had a 13-round magazine, and there was no time to reload; he watched Frank bare-knuckle his way to Mikey and laid down cover fire of his own from his corner so Frank could shove Mikey out the door towards the car. “If I’m not out with him in sixty seconds, leave,” he heard Frank yell.

Then Frank turned back, and he met Gerard’s eye. Gerard nodded and jerked his head towards a side door. The way there was short on cover. He watched as Frank ducked behind a stack of crates and pulled out a full bottle. Cracking the top off on the side of the crate, he pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and stuffed it in the neck of the bottle. He winked at Gerard, lit the cloth, and lobbed the whole contraption at an open crate of booze across the floor. The resulting fire distracted the nearby attackers for long enough that Gerard could dash across the open floor, tumbling in beside Frank and rolling to his feet. He covered Frank while he reloaded.

They heard the roar of an engine outside, and Gerard prayed it was Mikey following Frank’s instructions. At least one of them had to get out of here. Frank slammed another clip into his pistol and turned back to back with Gerard. Enough of the goons were sidetracked by the fire and the fleeing car that they made it to the door after a few close calls. They sidled around the outside of the building. The car was gone, and Gerard let out a breath, scanning the area. Frank nudged his arm and gestured with his gun towards a cluster of buildings further down the docks. “Gonna have to run for it,” he whispered.

Staying under cover meant taking a zigzag route from truck to pylon to shipping container, through intermittent gunfire. They were practically there when Gerard heard Frank swear and stumble. He turned and grabbed him, tugged him back onto his feet, growling in alarm at the sudden scent of blood. “M’hit,” Frank hissed, swearing. “No, fuck, keep going!” They burst through a set of doors at the first building they reached, and Gerard was already turning to inspect Frank’s injury when he noticed they’d stumbled into the center of a restaurant, some little canalworkers’ dive.

There were only a few grizzled dock workers and a bored-looking bartender inside, but they were all armed, and Gerard and Frank found themselves staring down half a dozen barrels. Gerard raised his arms high, Thompson barrel loose in his fingers, and Frank followed suit, letting his pistol spin on the trigger guard till it was pointed towards the floor. “We’re the ones being chased,” Gerard said to the bartender. “Show us your side door, and you won’t end up in the middle of a gunfight.”

The bartender didn’t say anything for a moment. Finally, he spat on the floor and jerked his head towards the wall behind the bar. Gerard and Frank ran, hearing the front door crash open just as they slipped out the side, only to teeter on the very edge of a dock. “Fuck,” Gerard swore, “that asshole. We’re trapped.”

“Not if you can swim,” Frank snapped grimly, shoving him into the water and jumping in after him. Gerard flailed his way to the surface and gasped in a breath when his head was clear; the water was cold. Frank was already swimming for the other side of the canal and Gerard followed as quietly as he could, letting him lead them on a zig-zag path through the water, helping boost him up the ladder on the other side. He was still favoring his left arm, and Gerard grabbed him by the other arm as they dodged through a dark building complex and endless stockyards, finally taking shelter in a small shed that butted up against the edge of the woods beyond.

“We should be safe here till sunrise.” Sunrise, when the first shift would return to the docks and the men with guns would have to disappear. Then they could bribe a captain, or steal a car - whichever, as long as they could get to the rendezvous. Mikey would meet them there, if he was still.... Gerard frowned, distracted himself by looking around.

The building looked like an old watchman’s shack, dilapidated and thankfully deserted, but still stocked with a few helpful items. Lighting the lantern on the table would have been dangerous, even if they could be sure there was still lamp oil, but there was enough light trickling in from small, boarded-over windows that they could see the outlines of the furniture. Such as it was. A ticking-striped mattress on a rough shelf built out from one wall. A pot-bellied stove. A chair. There were several rough woollen blankets folded at the head of the cot, though, and that was the important part. They were both soaked to the skin from their impromptu swim, and shucking their coats only emphasized the chill in the air. Grumbling, Gerard grabbed one of the blankets and wrapped it around Frank.

Frank swore, and Gerard cursed right back. “Shit, sorry, sorry!” He’d forgotten about Frank’s arm. “Let me look - where’s your lighter?” He fumbled at Frank’s shirt buttons, pushing the wet material down far enough to look at the wound. It was just a deep graze, really - probably burned like hell, but the bleeding was already stopping. “We should bandage this till it finishes healing,” Gerard said.

“Use my shirt,” Frank said, shrugging out of it completely. “It’s ruined anyway.” Gerard ripped the sleeve off and tied a strip of fabric around Frank’s bicep.

“Regular bullets probably won’t kill you now, but that doesn’t mean you should go around getting shot,” Gerard griped.

“Yes, because I tried to get shot,” Frank shot back.

“You mean like you tried to push me in the fucking canal?” Gerard asked. “What if I couldn’t swim?”

The flash of Frank’s smile was very white in the gloom. “I was pretty sure - you could at least - doggie paddle - “ he wheezed, bending at the waist as he laughed almost soundlessly. Gerard let out a strangled noise and shoved him hard on his good shoulder. Frank twisted away then bounced back, shoving Gerard over onto his back on the tiny mattress and hovering above him with a mischievous grin.

Gerard froze, muscles tense against the urge to roll Frank over and pin him. He didn’t want to hurt him, so he concentrated on breathing, on relaxing his muscles. Frank froze a moment later as he realized what he’d done, a tiny whine escaping from his throat. Gerard could barely breathe for wanting to touch him. He pushed himself to a sitting position, snaking an arm around Frank’s waist to keep him close. “Frank,” he muttered, curling a hand through wet hair and tugging. Frank tilted his head back to expose his neck, and Gerard watched his throat move as he swallowed. Damp heat was rising from his bare skin, and from Gerard’s shirt. “Frank, I can’t - I have to - “

“Please,” Frank breathed, curling his hands into Gerard’s collar. “God, I’ve wanted - “ Gerard dipped his head and licked a broad stripe up Frank’s neck, along the jugular, nosing back into his hair, and Frank moaned in his ear. The rush of satisfaction Gerard felt at that sound sent tremors down his spine, and he pulled Frank closer, nipped his earlobe, his jaw, finally bringing their mouths together. Gerard kissed him until Frank slumped bonelessly against his chest, pawing between them for the buttons of Gerard’s shirt. When he’d unfastened the buttons and pushed the material inside, he pulled back, digging splayed fingertips into Gerard’s shoulder, running a finger down the line of his sternum. Gerard let go of Frank’s hair and tipped his chin up with a finger till they were eye-to-eye.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I wouldn’t blame you if - I was afraid you hated me.”

“Am I sure? Do I look like I’m not?” He leaned in, pressed his forehead against Gerard’s neck. “You didn’t like me much when we met...maybe I should be asking you.” His lips brushed Gerard’s skin as he talked; his tongue flicked out and tasted. This time, Gerard did roll him over. Frank didn’t complain, just stretched out on the mattress and looked up at Gerard from heavy-lidded eyes.

“The first time I met you,” Gerard said slowly, pressing his hips down against Frank’s, “I wanted to taste you. Every day, ever since, I’ve wanted to. I was sure you knew. I was sick when I changed you, thinking you’d think I did it on purpose.”

“I didn’t - I never thought that.”

“You’ve been - “ Gerard growled, reaching for the fastening of his trousers, “ - such a - “ he fumbled Frank’s fly open too, “ - distraction.” Frank hissed and writhed when Gerard’s hand closed around him, and Gerard grinned down at him. “You’re mine now,” he whispered.

Frank shuddered and stuck both hands down the back of Gerard’s trousers, pushing roughly till the wet fabric was bunched as far down his thighs as he could get it. “Take these off,” he growled, impatient. Gerard rolled off of him, shoving at the wet wool. Their legs tangled together as Frank pushed his own pants down until they were both naked, chilly skin slipping against chilly skin.

Gerard wound his fingers back into Frank’s hair, pulling him close again to sink his teeth gently into the side of his neck, soothing the bite with the flat of his tongue before returning to Frank’s lips. “This is crazy,” he mumbled into Frank’s mouth.

“I’ll show you crazy,” Frank murmured back, pulling free from Gerard’s grasp and slithering down his body. And he did, because the moment Gerard felt Frank’s lips wrap around him every nerve ending fizzed and all he could do was gasp, and run his fingers through Frank’s damp hair, and rock his hips gently upward. Frank only moaned in response, his hands soothing over the bones of Gerard’s hips, and the vibration was enough to break Gerard’s rhythm, make him thrust erratically up into Frank’s mouth once, twice, three times before he froze, tugging frantically at Frank’s hair. Frank pulled off but held still, letting Gerard come with wet pulses over his lips and chin.

Gerard stared. Frank looked half shocked, half challenging, hot around the eyes, and Gerard had to get his hands on him or he’d die. A groan stuck in his chest and he tugged frantically at Frank’s shoulders. “You’re so - ” Gerard gasped, fingers slipping through the mess on Frank’s cheek as he crushed their mouths together, pulled back to mumble, “Fuck, Frank.“

Words failed him, and he reached for Frank’s cock again, twisting to pin Frank between his body, the mattress, and the wall as he jerked him off hard, and fast. Frank just whined and pushed back, hips flexing, grasping at handfuls of Gerard’s hair as he dragged him as close as possible, till Gerard’s fist was bumping against his own belly with every pull, till Frank was swearing into his mouth and arching his back, coming hard into Gerard’s hand.

Gerard listened to Frank pant into his ear for a little while, while Frank traced patterns on his skin with blunt nails. “Could have been doing that for months,” he said finally, nipping at Gerard’s ear and stretching, draping himself further over Gerard.

“Wanted to,” Gerard answered. “So much.” He traced a fingertip over Frank’s eyebrow. It had been so long since he’d been with anyone, and Frank was warm and solid and everything good, and he could go again right fucking now, but - “We should get ready,” he said finally, and Frank grumbled.

"Let's have a cigarette first." Frank rubbed his face on Gerard's chest. Gerard wanted nothing more than to smoke a few cigarettes and definitely not let go of Frank for a while.

"You dunked them in the river," Gerard pointed out and ran a hand through Frank's hair and down his good arm. Frank sighed but pushed himself up so he could slide off the end of the mattress.

Gerard reached for his clothes and tugged them on. They were cold, and damp, and thoroughly disgusting, and Gerard grimaced as he reached for his boots. Frank was already dressed, breaking down the Browning, probably mostly by feel in the gloom. His lighter flicked. “Hope no one tries to shoot us,” he said. “This gun’s gonna need a good cleaning, but a dunking beats getting shot. Shot worse,” Frank amended, flexing his arm irritably.

Gerard frowned. “No more getting shot,” he said seriously. “At all.”

Frank spun the Browning’s cylinder absently before slamming it back into place. “Sounds like a good plan to me. Let’s get back to the farm.” He looked up at Gerard; his eyes shone faintly in the dark building. Gerard finished checking over his Thompson and stood up, slinging the strap over his shoulder.

“Sounds like a plan.”

It wasn’t difficult, with their night vision, to run nearly soundlessly through the woods. The sky was just starting to brighten in the east when they crossed a highway and found a truck stop. Frank ran straight to an old Ford and lifted the hood, fiddling for literally seconds before the engine coughed and turned over. Gerard barked a short laugh, disbelieving, and Frank shot a look over his shoulder. “What?”

“Nothing. That was just so quick - you’re something else, aren’t you?”

“Years of practice,” Frank answered, somewhat grimly. He raised an eyebrow. Gerard got in the passenger side of the car while Frank hopped behind the wheel, easing the car out of park and cruising out of the dirt lot without headlights.

They were quiet on the road, Frank’s eyes flicking back and forth between the windows and the mirrors. He kept to a reasonable speed, but there was no sign of pursuit. “They won’t be chasing us anymore,” Gerard commented.

“No,” Frank replied. “They’ll just try again.” They were entering town; he turned off onto a side street and parked the stolen Ford in a small lot behind a breakfast joint. “They owe the Capo money,” he said dismissively, slipping through the weeds at the back of the property and setting out on foot for the Catholic cemetery three streets over. He walked fast, but Gerard fell into step easily, eyes peeled for signs of trouble. Frank didn’t look back. He’d found a driving cap on the front seat of the Ford, and it was pulled low over his forehead, his hair curling out from under it. Gerard hunched inside his own damp coat, hair fanning down to half-cover his face.

Mikey was leaning in the shadow of the gates when they rounded the corner, one foot propped against the stone. He jerked his chin at them. “Car’s on the other side,” he muttered, and they passed him without comment, heading side by side down the gravel path. Gerard could hear him follow, a few steps behind. Frank stooped, and Gerard’s muscles tensed instantly, but it was only to pick up a small purple flower that had fallen from an arrangement. He twirled it between his fingers for a few seconds before tucking it at the base of a marble angel as he walked by.

The car, with Ray’s unmistakable silhouette showing in the back seat, was right where it was supposed to be, tucked under the overhang of a large white pine. They climbed inside, exchanging nods with Ray. Only once they were inside did Gerard clutch at his brother’s shoulders and pull him in for a hug. “Shit, Mikey. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, Gee,” he mumbled against Gerard’s shoulder.

“Least you didn’t get shot,” Frank grumbled, shifting into gear and pulling the car out onto the street. Gerard reached over and set his hand on Frank’s thigh, feeling the muscles shift under his palm as Frank worked the pedals. Out of the corner of his eye, Gerard saw Mikey look from the hand to Gerard’s face. He lifted a brow. Gerard frowned, and Mikey smirked.

“Yeah, but how did you both get wet?” was all Mikey said in response. Gerard’s indrawn breath to complain and Frank’s groan followed quickly on each other’s heels. Mikey chuckled. “Never mind, don’t tell me.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the glass of the window, looking exhausted. After a moment, Gerard tipped his head back against the seat and did the same thing.

*~*~*

They didn’t have any close neighbors at the farm, but the ones who already knew them didn’t really blink when they started living there full time. Cohabitation was pretty common during these tough times. Finding jobs - legal ones - was harder. Alicia’s father had a stroke, and Mikey took over the bookkeeping for his department store. Ray managed to get a job at a pharmacy in the nearest town. It didn’t pay much, but it was close enough that he could hitch. Gas for both the cars was a little out of their price range now.

Frank and Gerard hadn’t managed to find jobs right away, and Frank got pretty restless and started fixing up and selling off most of the old farm equipment they’d inherited with the farm. A couple of the local farmers got wind of this and started calling him when they needed help with theirs. He protested that he had no idea what he was doing, but they always seemed appreciative, and paid him in food. He’d bring it home and hand it over to Gerard with a helpless expression. He and Mikey were best kept out of the kitchen.

Gerard couldn’t stop looking over his shoulder at first, sure that the Family would find them, but they had other things on their minds. Luciano assassinated Maranzano and took over his operation in September. Gerard’s nightmares were even worse after that, and he started writing them down, just to get them out of his head. By the time he’d convinced himself they were finally, actually safe, he had journal after journal of stories, verse, little sketches. He wouldn’t show them to anyone...not yet...but he didn’t get rid of them either. Life went on; things were easier when he could curl himself around Frank at night in their big iron bed and sleep without waking in a cold sweat at some ungodly hour.

He’d wake up anyway, sometimes. Frank was always right there, soft and warm and surrounding Gerard with his particular tantalizing scent. They didn’t get a lot of sleep, those nights, and Mikey glared in the mornings until he’d gotten his second or third cup of coffee.

Several more moons went by and Gerard finally felt like it was time to let the pack run in the woods again. He’d forgotten, almost, what it felt like. His pack had forgotten what it felt like. Frank had never done it before. Thoughts worked...differently when he was a wolf, but mostly the feelings were familiar. Family, pack, mate, happiness. Gerard hadn’t run so fast or so far in years, but he carefully led the pack back to the barn when he sensed the moon was starting to set.

As always, he groaned wearily when the change was over. This was often the worst part: getting up and moving on shaky human legs after all that. He heard Mikey and Ray rustling nearby, clearly getting dressed again.

“Blarrrrmph,” Frank moaned beside him. “I thought you said this gets easier.”

Gerard rolled onto his side and rubbed Frank’s shoulder. “It does. It always hurts, though. Sometimes more than others.”

“Great,” Frank said and sat up. He looked at their pile of clothes a couple of feet away in despair. Gerard couldn’t help but laugh.

“I know.” He rolled up onto his knees and stretched toward the clothes, grabbing them and handing them to Frank. Gerard dressed quickly and then helped Frank finish pulling everything on. Gerard kept his arm around Frank, as they slowly made their way back to the house.

Gerard could smell coffee percolating in the kitchen when they got in the door. He briefly contemplated getting some, but Frank looked dead on his feet, so Gerard steered them straight upstairs and into his bedroom. He pushed back the covers and pulled Frank into bed with him. He smoothed Frank’s hair back from his face and kissed his forehead before laying down and curling around him. Mine, he thought, satisfied.

“G’morning,” Frank murmured, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Good morning, Frankie.” Gerard smiled and fell asleep.