turps | Tints of Rainbow Hue 2/2

They leave the house and Frank decides he’s hungry, like starving. When he attempts to gnaw on Bob’s arm Ray makes a quick U-turn and heads toward the outskirts of town.

Twenty minutes and they’re all seated in a booth, one of the ones with plastic seats and lights that hang down low. It’s one of their favorite places, with cheap food and endlessly refilled drinks. It’s also slightly seedy, so no one cares that they’re all grimy with soil embedded under their nails.

Ordering is quick; a large cheese and tomato pizza to share and three sodas, and within minutes, Ray’s holding his glass, enjoying a cool drink.

“I like Gerard,” Frank says suddenly. He’s using his straw to chase ice cubes around the surface of his soda, eyebrows pulled together as he thinks. “He needs some friends.”

Ray agrees, the problem is, he isn’t sure how hard he should push, or if he should even push at all. In the end the only connection between them is a few pictures and tiny shared periods of time. It’s not really enough, even if Ray’s natural reaction is to help whenever he can.

“You need to give him space, he’ll come to us if he wants.” Bob takes a drink, never looking away from Frank when it looks like he’s going to protest. “I know you want to go in there and be his friend, but you can’t do that shit with everyone. Some people can’t deal all the time.”

He smiles to take the edge of his comment, and Frank visibly deflates. “We’ll go and see him again though, right?”

“If he’s up to it.”

Bob drinks again, and Ray can’t help wondering how he knows this, how to tread gentle and soft when needed. He vows to ask one day, when Bob’s not projecting serious no talking vibes and when Frank’s not squirming around in his seat, looking for his food while protesting he’s about to eat his own hand. Which leads to an intense and heated conversation about whether eating his own flesh is against the vegetarian code.

Hours later, when they’ve drank several glasses of soda and eaten two more pies, they’ve finally agreed to disagree when Bob suddenly swears and stands upright, patting at the pockets of his shorts.

“My phone,” Bob scowls down the table. “I took it out of my pocket when I got my bandanna out, back at the Way's. I must have forgotten to pick it up.”

“Do you need it tonight?” Ray asks, because it’s later than he thought and he really needs to study, but Bob’s mouth is curled down and he nods his head.

“Yeah, I phone my mom at night, she worries if I don’t.” He looks up, as if daring anyone to say a word. No one does.

“We’d better go now then,” Ray says, and digs in his wallet, quickly paying the bill.

“I can walk, you need to study.”

Ray suppresses a sigh. His friends are the stupidest people ever, as if he’d make Bob walk, especially so late. “Come on.” He doesn’t look back, just walks to the van and knows the others are close behind. It’s impossible to miss them when Frank is rushing around hyped on sugar, and Bob keeps trying to swat him away.

The Way house is spooky at night. The dragon birdbath looms, a darker shape against the gloom of the yard, and most of the windows are dark, just the one near the ground showing any light. Ray parks and looks toward the front door, then he steps out of the van. It’s cooler now, and he shivers slightly, wishing he was wearing more than jeans and a thin t-shirt.

“You should stay in the van, I’ll go.”

Bob appears at Ray’s side, his arms crossed across his chest as he looks at the house.

“I’m coming too,” Frank says from the back of the van, and when he carefully shuts the doors he’s wearing an old hoodie. It’s dirt stained and crumpled, but he’s snuggled deep inside it, the hood pulled up so all Ray can see is the tips of his hair, and his eyes that are shining bright.

“I guess we’re all going then.” Bob rolls his eyes, and starts toward the front door. He glances at the unicorn when he passes, but doesn’t stop. He knocks, says clearly, “Gerard. It’s Bob. Ray and Frank too. I left my phone.”

There’s no response, and Bob knocks again, and again. Then the light in the kitchen is switched on, and there’s the sound of locks being opened, and Gerard opens the door. He looks at them blankly and slouches against the doorframe, as if even the act of standing upright is beyond him. Ray would think he was drunk but there’s no smell of alcohol, just a look of bone weary exhaustion that’s clearly beyond the usual tiredness.

It makes Ray slightly uncomfortable, but Bob just looks and smiles gently.

“I left my cell; can I come in and get it?”

A slight delay, as if his thought processes are being slow to respond, and Gerard’s pushing himself up. “Come in.”

Bob steps inside, and Ray’s about to follow when he hears footsteps. He turns and there’s someone walking toward the house. Someone who’s got a bulging backpack on one shoulder and is looking through Ray as if he isn’t there. It has to be Mikey; Ray recognizes the expression despite the lack of uniform and thorns. He’s about to say hi when Frank steps back out of the house, and his grin is wide, bright like the sun.

“Mikey!”

Frank runs past Ray, a blur of color and motion, and he leaps toward Mikey and wraps his arms around Mikey's waist. For a moment Mikey looks confused, then he smiles too. Just briefly, but it’s enough to light up his face as he looks down at Frank, returns the hug and says, “hi.”

It’s tempting to stay outside. Watch as Frank starts talking, his words tumbling over one another as Mikey listens intently, his smile still lingering in the slight upturn of his mouth, the way he’s looking at Frank as if something magical has just conjured itself out of thin air.

Which is why Ray goes inside.

Gerard’s sitting at the kitchen table, looking anxiously toward the door, and somehow Bob is making coffee while telling Gerard some story about how Frank fell in a pond. His voice is pitched low and Ray didn’t even think Bob could talk for this long.

“So I fished him out, but the idiot had used scarlet hair dye that day, the cheap spray in kind. So it looked like someone had died in there.” Bob laughs and sets the coffee machine running and then looks at Gerard before moving to the sink. Casually, he starts to sort out the dirty dishes, separating plates and mugs before filling the sink with hot water and a healthy squeeze of detergent.

It’s like he does this every day, walk into someone’s home and just take over. He’s methodically washing the dishes as he continues his story, apparently not caring that Gerard isn’t responding at all.

“I made him change the filters before the fish ended up dyed red, that wouldn’t have been good.”

“Fish can be dyed like that?”

There’s a spark of something when Gerard responds, a hint of some exuberant nature that’s buried right now, but Bob hears it, turns around with a smile that could light up a room. Ray looks at him and thinks, oh.

“I dyed my lab partner once.” Bob looks over his shoulder as he washes a cup and sets it to one side to dry. “We were playing around with chemicals, mixing them to see what happens. Jepha ended up green.”

Gerard’s eyes are huge, and he’s looking at Bob like he’s imparting the wisdom of the world. “Like the Hulk?”

“If the Hulk was a skinny stoner.” Bob washes another cup and looks at the coffee. It’s slowly dripping, and Gerard’s looking between it and Bob as if he’s unsure which one to watch first. He’s also visibly slumping in his chair and Ray isn’t surprised when Bob rinses off a mug and fills it with the coffee that’s already dripped through. He places it in front of Gerard, and briefly rests his hand on his shoulder.

“We should go, Ray needs to study.”

“I do,” Ray immediately agrees. “I’ve got a textbook with my name on it.” He opens the door and when he looks outside Frank and Mikey are still standing close, chatting about wrestlers if Ray hears right. He looks back at Gerard. “I was thinking, daisies would look nice next to the porch. I’ve some spare, we’ll bring them tomorrow.”

Gerard takes a sip of the coffee, but stays sitting down. He looks at Ray, and then to Bob, says, “thank you.”

Bob shrugs, says. “All I did was wash some cups.”

~*~*~*~

Gerard sips at his coffee and listens to the soft murmur of voices just outside the door. It’s been a long day and coping with the first visit had worn him out. This second one has stripped him to the bone. He grips the mug harder, focusing on the heat against his skin, anything but the constant tiredness, the sorrow that fights to drag him down.

He looks at the freshly washed dishes, and feels even worse, because it’s such a simple thing. Anyone can wash a mug, but it takes him all his time to climb out of bed, to keep on going and pretend he’s actually living at all. That effort takes all he’s got to give most days, and he feels bitter shame that he can’t give more.

All he wants to do is go downstairs, climb into bed and pull up the covers, but he forces himself to sit still, finding that extra reserve that lets him wait until Mikey comes inside.

Mikey drops his bag on the floor, and looks at Gerard, always assessing, carefully walking a line between too much and not enough. He sits, knee pressing against Gerard’s and take the mug of coffee out of Gerard’s hand, taking a drink.

“There’s more in the machine,” Gerard says.

“I know,” Mikey says.

They sit, enjoying the quiet, taking alternate sips of coffee from the same mug and Gerard sees how Mikey seems a little less tense, more relaxed in the subtlest of ways.

“Who were you talking to outside?” Gerard asks finally, refusing the mug so Mikey can have the last drink.

Mikey dips his head, looks at Gerard through his product sticky bangs. “Frank, he remembered me.”

“Of course he remembers you, why shouldn’t he?” Gerard demands, and he doesn’t understand why Mikey doesn’t see how perfect he is, how talented. It’s inconceivable to him that anyone could ever forget Mikey.

Mikey smiles a little and bumps Gerard with his knee. “Maybe because we’ve talked for all of an hour before?”

“But you like him, right?”

Mikey rubs absently at his hair until it stand up at crazy angles. “He’s okay.”

“You should ask him out.”

“No.” Mikey holds out his hand, palm close to Gerard’s mouth. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

Gerard knows he should drop this, but he wants Mikey to be happy, and he’d sounded happy when he was talking outside, happier than he’s been for a while. “He seems nice.”

“He is nice.” Mikey’s expression is blank and he deliberately looks away. “I’m not talking about this.”

“Why?” Despite how pathetic it is there are tears prickling against Gerard’s eyes, because he knows Mikey and can see past the words to the meaning inside.

“Because you’re my brother, because Frank’s nice but he’s got his life and I’ve got mine.”

“Because of me,” Gerard cuts in, and this day is just getting worse, because even as Mikey opens his mouth in denial, Gerard knows. He’s known for a while, that all he’s doing is dragging Mikey down.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Gerard.” Mikey sounds tired, and he takes off his glasses so he can rub his eyes. “Everything isn’t about you.” He stands and then hesitates before stepping away. “I’m going to get an early night, do you need anything?”

Gerard shakes his head, right now all he wants is his bed and a chance to lie down and close his eyes, which isn’t the same as what he needs, but it’s as close as he can achieve.

“Fine,” Mikey says, and when he stands he squeezes Gerard’s shoulder. “Night, Gee.”

“Night,” Gerard says, and waits until Mikey’s left the room. He leans forward then, hands fisted and pushed against his eyes, listens to the thumping of his own heart, and tries not to cry.

~*~*~*~

Rays’s eyes feel gritty and he yawns as he drives, half listening to Frank discussing everything from the best kinds of bagels to the tattoos he intends to get as soon as he turns eighteen.

What he hasn’t mentioned is Gerard or Mikey, but when Ray turns toward their area of town, Frank sits up straighter; smiling happily as he finally falls silent.

When they arrive he’s the first outside, scrambling over Bob’s lap, and then he waits expectantly as Ray opens the van, and picks up the daisy plant that’s carefully stored inside. Its flowers are brilliant white, its petals yellow, and Ray imagines how it’ll look planted next to the lavender, moving its head as it follows the sun.

“Mikey’ll be at work,” Frank says, and Ray wonders how they managed to discuss so much while Mikey didn’t seem to talk much at all. “But do you think Gerard’s in?

“He’ll come out if he wants to see us,” Bob says, and he takes the daisy from Ray, petals brushing against his face as he makes for the tiny garden that’s circling out from the basement window. Once there he kneels, plaid shirt pulled tight against his back as he uses a trowel to make a hole, steadily digging until the daisy can be planted safely, its roots deep in the ground.

Ray waters it then, using the liquid fertilizer they keep in the van, because today there’s no twitch of the curtain, or any signs that Gerard’s home at all.

Frank indicates the unicorn. “Maybe he left a note?”

Ray debates about dismissing the idea, because Frank’s been itching to move the unicorn since they arrived, but he’s not heartless, and Frank’s hopeful expression is his undoing. “You should go check.” Sometimes, Ray thinks, he’s a saint.

Frank’s wearing skull painted rain boots today, and they gape from his legs as he kneels. He grins wide when he moves the unicorn, exposing a note. Frank opens it, and even from so far away, Ray can see his blush.

“Well,” Bob says, and he sticks the trowels in his back pocket and walks toward Frank with Ray.

Frank’s still blushing when they arrive, but also looks pleased, which Ray understands when he grabs Frank’s hand, lifting it up so they can read the note. There’s another picture of Frank, this time he’s wearing a school uniform, and next to him is Mikey, looking awkward and knock-kneed and smiling as he looks at Frank. Above them both is a scattering of red hearts, and a brief message. My brother is an idiot, you want to date him, yes/yes?

Ray wants to laugh, because Frank’s grin can’t possibly get any wider. Instead he pulls a pencil from behind his ear, hands it over and watches as Frank ceremoniously writes, yes.

~*~*~*~

The problem with sleeping so much is, you miss the best parts of the day. Gerard wakes, and rolls over, pressing his face against the pillow as he waits for the apathy to descend. He’s surprised when it doesn’t, and when he slowly rolls out of bed, it feels he’s breathing easily for the first time in forever. He doesn’t feel good, but he’ll settle for okay, and he gives thanks for these occasional not so bad days.

A quick trip to the bathroom, and he goes upstairs. It’s Mikey’s day off, and Gerard can hear the radio playing, but when he walks in the kitchen he sees Mikey is sitting at the table, looking down at the phone.

“Frank called,” Mikey says, and he doesn’t look at Gerard at all. “He told me about your note, and asked if I wanted to go to the movies. His treat.”

“That’s good,” Gerard says hesitantly, because Mikey’s still not moving, even when Gerard sits next to him, their bodies pressed close.

“It’s not, Gerard. Not at all. So I said no.”

Gerard bites at his thumb nail, hating how Mikey’s shut down tight. “It’s just a date, you’d have fun.”

“You don’t get it.” Mikey looks up then, and he’s too calm, projecting a bland ease. “Frank’s seventeen. He plays in a band at the weekends; he works for Ray part time. He’s going to college in the fall. I’ve got a job that keeps me out most nights, responsibilities here. I go out partying and work the scene. We’re nothing alike.”

“Oh, Mikey,” Gerard says, and the weight in his chest expands, overflows as he stands and pulls Mikey into a hug. “You’re seventeen too.”

“Not really,” Mikey says, talking against Gerard’s chest. “Not for a while.”

Gerard wraps his arms around Mikey, holds him securely, being the big brother he’s supposed to be. Staying like that until Mikey starts to wiggle, and Gerard lets go as he steels himself and takes a step back and picks up the phone.

“Call him, say you’ve changed your mind,” Gerard says. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could be an axe murderer who hacks me to pieces and eats my spleen,” Mikey says, then looks away as Gerard waits, until finally, “I could like him, and then he could leave.”

It’s what Gerard expected, but it doesn’t hurt any less, and Gerard wishes he could promise that won’t happen, that yet another person won’t leave, but he can’t and he won’t, because life just doesn’t happen that way.

“He could,” Gerard says. “And if he does that would suck, but it doesn’t mean you can’t try.” He pushes the phone at Mikey again and plays his trump card. “Call him, for me.”

It’s a low trick, because Mikey will always try to do what Gerard wants, and Gerard doesn’t miss the flash of anger as Mikey picks up the phone. Then he immediately puts it down as he looks at Gerard and says, “I can’t.”

~*~*~*~

“How long are you going to keep this up?” Mikey asks as he suddenly appears from behind Gerard’s back.

Heart racing, Gerard turns and sees that Mikey is holding a stack of drawings, each one featuring Frank in some way. Frank smiling, his hair a vibrant violet. Frank dressed in orange overalls, digging in the earth. Frank standing next to Mikey, a chain of hearts between their heads. There are dozens of different Franks in dozens of different situations. Gerard knows, he’s drawn each one. He’s also taped them to the walls, to the fridge, the ceiling above Mikey’s head.

“I can’t believe you’re even doing this,” Mikey says, looking down at the top picture. It’s one of Gerard’s favorites, Frank and Mikey holding hands and surrounded by flowers, and Gerard knows Mikey likes it too. It’s obvious in the way his expression softens and his mouth curls slightly as he carefully rests the tips of his fingers over the page.

Sensing an advantage, Gerard picks up the phone and holds it out. “I’m sure he’ll still want to go.”

Mikey stares at Gerard, but finally steps forward and grabs the phone. “Fine. But I’m only calling so you’ll stop bugging me. I’m sick of finding pictures in my bed.”

“Whatever,” Gerard says, and he can’t help smiling to himself as he goes downstairs, leaving Mikey to his call.

~*~*~*~

Frank arrives at seven that night. When Gerard opens the door he sees Frank is dressed in non-holy jeans and a black shirt, his hair shining and edged with purple. For once he’s not smiling, and seems nervous as Gerard invites him inside. They stand making awkward small talk until Mikey appears.

He’s wearing tight low-slung jeans, a baby doll t-shirt and the faintest brush of liner under his eyes. It’s a Mikey version of dressed down and as Frank and Mikey look at one another, Gerard can’t help wondering if he’s made a horrible mistake.

“You look, wow.” Frank’s eyes are wide, and the familiar grin is back in place as he brings his hand from behind his back, and shows he’s holding a bunch of yellow pansies, slightly wilted and crushed and he’s blushing as hands them to Mikey.

Immediately Mikey selects two from the bunch, and carefully pushes one behind Frank’s ear, then does the same for himself. The rest he passes to Gerard, and he and Frank leave without saying another word. Gerard watches them go, two boys going on a date, flowers in their hair, Frank’s hand resting casually on Mikey’s back.

Gerard doesn’t know why Mikey was worried. Despite their differences, they’re both as weird as each other. There’s no way the date can fail.

Reassured, Gerard shuts the door. The day has been a good one, but he can feel the familiar creep of exhaustion, a reminder that this okay period is almost over. It’s what he hates about this, that the ups and downs are so unpredictable, and his hands are trembling as he starts to make his way to his room.

Then someone knocks.

Gerard wants to ignore it, go hide downstairs, but he forces himself to change direction and open the door, unable to hide his surprise when he sees Bob.

“I know Frank’s going out with Mikey, so I thought I’d bring dinner,” Bob says, and lifts up his hands to show he’s holding a pizza box and two cans of soda. “Or I could just go.”

Gerard realizes he hasn’t replied and steps back, letting Bob inside.

“It’s good to see you,” Gerard says, and hopes Bob sees he means every word. It’s just, Gerard’s defenses are crumbling and he isn’t sure if he can sit and make small talk, even with someone he wants to know.

Breathing deep, Gerard vows he can do this, he can gather two plates, two glasses, can sit and talk. Then Bob’s at his side, his hand wrapped around Gerard’s arm as he ushers him toward a chair.

“Sit down, I’m doing dinner.” Like before he moves around the kitchen like it’s his own home. Washing plates and glasses, throwing away the dried coffee filters that litter the bench and the moldy remains of a loaf of bread. Gerard can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed that Bob’s seeing the kitchen like this. It’s been worse, and will be again. The only thing that changes is Gerard’s ability to care.

“I see a therapist,” Bob says suddenly, as if he’s picking up a conversation started long before. “For anger issues. It’s why I left Chicago, for a new start.” He sits at the table and places two slices of pizza on each plate. Taking one himself, he pushes the other across to Gerard. “I’m not saying it’s the same, or even that I understand. Just, I get feeling lost when your brain seems to hate you.”

Gerard takes a bite of pizza. He doesn’t know what to do with what Bob’s telling him, or even if Bob expects a reply at all. So he says nothing, just slowly eats while Bob talks about their latest gardening job, and how Frank had spent the afternoon dancing, on one memorable occasion even cart wheeling across a lawn.

When Bob finishes his slices he washes his plate. Puts the rest of the pizza in the fridge and gathers all the garbage, placing the bag next to the door. It should be intrusive, but Gerard doesn’t feel like that at all, and when Bob walks close and rests his hand on Gerard’s arm, Gerard tilts his head so his cheek is against Bob’s arm.

“I’ll stop by tomorrow,” Bob says, and he squeezes his hand. “I’m glad you don’t have a skin suit made out of Mikey.”

Gerard frowns, “It wouldn’t fit anyway, he has less skin than me.”

Bob smiles and shakes his head, and Gerard feels the movement through his cheek, listens to the sound of Bob’s internal laughter.

“You’re a weird one, Gerard Way.”

Which is something Gerard’s heard many times before, but this time he knows it’s a fond observation, nothing more. It’s something that buoys him when Bob leaves, and Gerard washes his plate and walks downstairs to collapse on his bed, finally gets to give in to sleep.

~*~*~*~

Vision blurring, Ray scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands then takes another drink of coffee. His blood has to be part caffeine by now, but it’s the only way he can stay awake -- and he has to. While tax deductibles are tedious and boring, he needs to know this stuff, his business rides on it.

Still, Ray would rather be doing anything but sitting at his desk, and taking notes in the still of night.

What he wants to do is finish reading the catalogues that were delivered earlier. Plan new planting schemes with the flowers that he’s itching to buy, junipers and honeysuckle and formal roses. He wants to be kneeling on dewy grass, the scent of summer in the air, the sun warm against his back as he listens to Frank chatter about his latest date with Mikey and Bob reply with one word answers that don’t deter Frank at all. He wants to be in bed, sleeping off another long day.

There are a thousand things Ray would rather do, but what he does is pick up his pen. Thoughts of flowers and summer pushed aside until the next day.

~*~*~*~

“Just go. Please,” Gerard says, and he looks through a curtain of his hair, his knuckles pressing hard against his cheeks.

“I’m staying here,” Mikey says, projecting calm as he crouches down, his hand resting on Gerard’s knee. “We can go to the movies anytime. Frank’ll understand.”

Gerard looks behind Mikey, and can see Frank, looking worried and uncertain. Immediately the shame becomes even more, choking him, because even if Frank knows, he hasn’t seen when it gets this bad. When Gerard proves he’s such a fuck up he can’t even pull himself together long enough to allow his brother to go on a date.

“I’m sorry,” Gerard says. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” And it’s too much, everything crashing over him and he feels every shaky defense crumble at once. “I try and it’s not getting any better and it’s not fair on you and --” He presses his fists against his eyes, feels the tears slide between his fingers.

“Don’t, you’ve nothing to be sorry for.” Mikey says, and he’s crowding in close, his face against Gerard’s clenched hands, and when Gerard feels the wetness, Mikey’s tears and his own, it amplifies every bad thought and emotion.

He’s not supposed to make Mikey cry and he wants to reach out, tell him things will be okay, but he can’t. Gerard can’t speak through the crushing misery and the knowledge that nothing he does works, and all he’s doing is dragging Mikey down too.

All that exists is Mikey and the ties that are pulling even tighter, enough that Gerard can’t breathe, and his eyes are wide, black spots expanding when Mikey suddenly stands and stumbles away, and Bob is suddenly there, a centre of calm in this out of control scene.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.” He wraps his arms around Gerard’s shoulders, hands against his chest, holding on. “Take Mikey for a walk, I’ve got Gerard.”

The voice pushes past the thundering in Gerard’s head, and he looks over at Mikey, at the liner that’s running down each cheek. He looks young and defeated as Frank wraps him in a hug, murmurs words of comfort as he steers him outside.

It says everything that Mikey actually goes, and Gerard’s shivering as Bob momentarily leaves, coming back with a blanket that he drapes across Gerard’s shoulders before filling a glass with water, placing it in Gerard’s hand.

Gerard drinks then presses the glass against his overheated cheeks. On some level he knows he should be humiliated, but he’s feeling nothing. Just blank, and that scares him the most of all.

“I punched through a window once,” Bob says, and he doesn’t even look at Gerard as he picks up the flowers that are scattered on the floor. “I can’t even remember what for now, just that the stitches fucking hurt.” He straightens, puts the flowers on the bench. “I’m going to give you the number of my therapist. She’s good, and you need help.”

It’s not a judgment or pity. Just Bob, who uses one of Gerard’s pens to write down a number, then slides the sheet of paper onto the table.

“Did I tell you Ray got his hair tangled in a rose bush yesterday?”

Bob keeps talking as Gerard picks up the paper, studies the number then reaches for the phone.

~*~*~*~

Gerard wakes when Mikey shakes his shoulder, his fingers digging in painfully hard.

“You have to come see,” Mikey says, and Gerard’s heart is thundering as he thinks fire or flood or some other disaster that has Mikey looking wide-eyed and frantic as he pulls Gerard out of his bed.

They run upstairs, and then outside, and Gerard wants to beat Mikey about the head when he points at the unicorn and says, “look!”

There’s a posy of yellow pansies tied around the unicorn’s neck and a flower-shaped balloon tied round one hoof. In that moment Gerard decides he loves Frank as he watches his brother brush his fingers across the flowers, his expression one of wonder before he pretends he doesn’t care at all.

~*~*~*~

For once Ray is managing to study on one of their lunch breaks. At least he has his textbook open on his knee. In actuality what he’s doing is reading the same line repeatedly, his attention pulled toward Frank and Bob.

They’re sitting in the shade of a tree, a pile of sandwiches between them and for once Frank’s still, his bare feet pushed into the grass as he drinks his soda and occasionally glances at Bob, obviously wanting to talk.

“Spit it out, already,” Bob finally says, but there’s no heat behind the words at all.

Frank immediately speaks. “Gerard, he’s going to be okay, right?”

“I don’t know,” Bob says. “He’ll get better or he won’t.”

“That’s bullshit.” Frank bites out the reply and scowls at Bob. “He’s going to therapy now. He’s got Mikey, and you. We can help.”

“Sometimes that’s not enough,” Bob says simply. “Gerard’s fucked in the head, Mikey too, there’s nothing we can do about that.” He sounds resigned, like it’s a truth he was forced to swallow long before, then his shoulders straighten and he looks directly at Frank. “But what I can do is be there if he needs me. I can’t solve his problems or make them go away, but if he falls I’ll help him up, if he stays down too long I’ll kick his ass.”

Bob looks fierce, glaring at Frank who looks back at him and slowly nods. “Good, I think he needs that.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Bob says dryly. “You might have to do the same for Mikey too, if you ever need help…”

Frank holds out his hand. “I do not need help with Mikey’s ass, Bob Bryar. In fact…”

Frank’s words are cut off when Bob suddenly pushes him back, his hand over Frank’s mouth.

“I don’t need to know. I don’t want to know, you little flower freak.”

Frank grins around Bob’s hand, looking cool and unconcerned at being pinned down.

“Remember we need him to cut the ivy later,” Ray says casually, giving up on his book and snapping it shut. “So if you break something, make sure it’s not a hand or foot.”

“I can work with that,” Bob says, eyes narrowed at he looks at Frank. “If I let you go and you say anything about Mikey…”

Frank sits, his legs crossed as he looks at Bob. “There’s nothing to tell.” He pauses then, looking thoughtful. “He does kiss nice though and he’s got nice hands.”

Ray pushes his textbook back in his bag, looks between Bob and Frank, starts counting down and hits one when Frank leaps to his feet. He’s laughing as he flees, and Bob waits a second and looks at Ray, shares a smile, and then Bob is running too.

~*~*~*~

“You’re sure this is okay?” Ray asks, because while he knows Gerard and Bob talk, it seems wrong they’re about to dig out all the old flower beds without Gerard or Mikey being there to agree.

“It’s fine.” Bob firmly plants his spade in the earth, pushing it down with his foot. “I said I’d do the work for free, and we’ve all those spare flowers.”

“Which you threatened out of the garden center boss,” Ray points out, and vows one day he’ll find out what Bob has on the guy, because the amount of flowers that are stacked against the wall is insane. They’re all hardy and easy to maintain and Ray knows when they’re finished the garden will look great.

Ray's turning over a section of turf, reclaiming the flower bed, when a cab pulls up in the street. Mikey and Gerard climb out of the back.

Gerard’s squinting against the sun and as always is pale, his eyes shadowed as he looks toward the house. For a moment Ray thinks he’s about to disappear straight inside, but Gerard doesn’t. Instead he turns to Mikey and they share a look, and for two people who’re saying nothing it says everything, as Gerard nods once then walks onto the grass.

“Mikey!”

Impressed that Frank waited so long, Ray watches as he flies toward Mikey, then stops, looking up, his head tilted to one side.

“I have something for you, Mikeyway,” Frank says, and ceremoniously holds up a chain of daisies that he carefully wraps around Mikey’s wrist.

Ray looks away, the grass suddenly fascinating. He looks up when he hears the thud of footsteps, and watches Frank lead Mikey toward a freshly dug patch of ground, telling him it’s time he learned how to plant.

It doesn’t go well, Mikey’s cheeks are grubby as he keeps rubbing at his face, and he keeps sneezing when the flowers brush against his nose. It doesn’t help that Frank’s more interested in trying to push grass down Mikey’s pants, or show him how to dig by guiding his hand, them both holding the same trowel. Ray suspects the marigolds are doomed, but somehow he doesn’t care

For a while Bob watches too, attention divided between Mikey and Frank, and Gerard who’s standing, watching, a bag held tightly in one hand. When he sees Bob watching, Gerard smiles slightly, and Bob nods approvingly, then starts digging again, arm muscles flexing as he teases out the old grass and clumped earth. He settles into an easy rhythm that means Ray has no guilt in abandoning his own spade and moving next to Gerard, who’s folded himself down, sitting Indian style on the grass.

“Hey,” Ray says, and sits too, shading his eyes against the sun. There’s silence then, and Ray’s content to sit and enjoy the warmth of the day, because while he knows Gerard’s been to his first therapy session he’s not about to ask. It’s Gerard’s story to tell.

“The garden looks good,” Gerard says, and he smiles slightly as he looks at the flowers that bring spots of color to the dried ground. Then he suddenly turns to Ray. “I need to go back once a week and take some drugs. She says it’ll take time to get the right combination, but it’s okay, I have plenty of that.”

“Like oak trees from an acorn,” Ray says, and he can’t help laughing when Gerard looks at him like he’s insane.

“Did you just compare my psychological issues to a tree?”

“I did,” Ray says solemnly and pats Gerard on the arm. “Some sun, good food and water, and you too will be as strong as a tree.” He grins then, laughter already bubbling free. “I’m sure Bob will help.”

Which is when Bob scowls and Gerard laughs and Frank flips Mikey so he’s lying on his back with his glasses askew and soil stuck in his hair.

Ray grins as he looks at them all. Being a gardener is the best job in the world.