Sound Tracking 2/5

[turps]

~~~

Bob takes another drink. It still tastes as bad as the first sip but the burn is welcome, slicing through the tedium of sitting, waiting for Pete to appear. It's been hours and even Gerard has stopped trying to talk, instead sitting slumped over the table, his cheek resting on his hand. The previous bartender had left some time before, and Joe is tending bar, standing propped in front of the snaking tubes of drinks and the ledge of glasses and tankards.

He seems to have an impressive memory for preferred drinks, easily flipping switches while sharing jokes and animated small talk. It's how Bob knows that Carla on the corner is having a bad day, Saul's craft had hit a meteor in the gamma sector, and the hosspig steak was tough today. Not that Bob needed to hear that to know that last one--his teeth are still aching after chewing his way through his own.

At least he has the info pad for entertainment, but even that gets old. There are only so many word-streams you can read before wanting to go insane, and Bob's never been one for the things. He's got no need to know what shops sell sweet space suits or fake cocoa bars; Bob's content with his old jump suit and replica wool socks.

Still, others are obviously interested, some of the comment threads running to the thousands, which really. Bob doesn't know how they have the time. Yawning, he covers his mouth and settles back in his chair. The bar is emptying now, people leaving for their crafts or one of the sleep spots and if he could, Bob would join them. He's tired, and the thought of his bunk is appealing. He takes another drink, knowing he has to wait.

He's on the last dregs of his drink when he hears a new voice. It's wrapped in a rhythmic beat and when he looks up he sees Joe, two other men behind him. One has his hat pulled low and glasses, and for some reason is frowning unhappily. The other is Pete. Like his beat, he seems to fill all the available space, greeting the patrons left with smiles and claps to the back.

When he looks across at Bob, his smile falters briefly as Gerard rubs at his eyes and sits up straight. It's a momentary blip. His smile is soon back in full force, and he makes his way to their table.

"I remember you, Bob Bryar. Did you find the person you were hunting?"

"I did," Bob says, remembering the satisfying rush of vengeance. "I'm looking for someone else now, two people."

Pete's remained standing, and Bob feels at a disadvantage looking up at him, but he stays in place, willing to play at non-threatening.

"We thought...." Gerard stops speaking, cut off by a harsh cough. When he's finished he scrubs at his face with the back of his arm. "We thought you could help us. I'm looking for my band."

"And you thought I'd have seen them?" Pete asks. "I see a lot of people here. I can't remember them all."

"You don't understand." Gerard's half out of his seat, and Pete's suddenly surrounded on all sides, Joe's hand brushing against his stunner.

Pete shrugs them away. "I don't understand what?"

"That you know people. Bob says you're the person to ask. I need to find them. I need to find Mikey."

Bob looks from Gerard to Pete. They're staring intently at one another and there's some connection between them that Bob can't begin to understand. It feels removed, but at the same time, part of the same melody and it's no surprise when Pete jerks his head toward the back of the room.

"Come with me."

They all follow. Pete then Gerard, Bob followed by Joe and the man with the hat.

The back room is small, more a corridor than an actual space. Boxes line the walls and Bob's thighs brush against them as he walks forward, waiting a moment while another door is opened. This one leads into a much bigger space, one complete with couches arranged in a corner and pull-down bunks on one wall. There's a coffee vendor on a bench, and Pete helps himself to a cup, taking a drink before he looks at Gerard and Bob.

"You want?"

Gerard nods eagerly, and Pete smiles as he pulls free another mug, passing it over. Bob shakes his head, wanting answers, not caffeine.

"I take it you can help us."

"I think I can fill in some blanks, I don't know how much help they'll be," Pete says. He sits on one of the couches, hunched over his coffee and keeps looking at Gerard as if he's something miraculous. "I had to check you out, especially Gerard, but once the prints matched I knew you were the real thing.”

“You lifted prints off our glasses?” Bob says. “That seems primitive.”

“Not your glasses, the data pad. As soon as you touched it your fingerprints were scanned and filed. It’s something Patrick thought up.” Pete turns to smile at the man in the glasses. “He’s a genius.”

Impatient, Bob steps forward. “Right, fine, you know who we are. That doesn’t explain you bringing us here.”

Pete’s smile fades. “I brought you here because Gerard shouldn’t be here. He’s supposed to be dead."

The statement makes no sense, and Bob hates having to untangle meanings and missing truths. He sits close to Pete, ignoring the warning looks sent his way. "Just tell us what you know."

Pete looks at Bob, but when he talks he directs his attention solely on Gerard. "You're Gerard Way. Your brother is Michael Way, you have a band and were playing a gig when it was stormed by the police who raided the club for an illegal music performance. You died that day."

"I didn't die." Gerard sits heavily, his mug tilting dangerously to one side. Bob reaches across and takes it, setting it on the floor.

"Mikey thought you did."

Bob thought Gerard had been pale before, but it's nothing to how he looks now, his face leeched of colour. "Mikey's here? That makes no sense."

"He was. Frank too. They left."

"What do you mean, left?"

"I mean I woke up one morning and they'd gone," Pete says, his own careful reply in direct contrast to Gerard's anger. "They hadn't said they were going, if they had I would have stopped them."

"Did you try and catch them? What were they even here for anyway? Why are you so special? Why didn't they come home?"

"Gerard." Bob grabs Gerard's arm and tries to break through the barrage of questions Gerard throws Pete's way. "You have to let him answer."

"Of course we tried to catch them." Patrick sounds angry as he steps forward, taking a position close to Pete's side. "Pete wanted them there, we wouldn’t have just let them go. We sent our best pilot and tracker, he followed their beat, but he wasn't close enough, he lost them."

"Patrick," Pete says, briefly resting his head against Patrick’s shoulder. "It's okay, they don't know." He looks at Bob then, back to Gerard. "I would have gone but we were setting off for a big raid that day. Two hundred slaves from a pleasure barge. I couldn't go after them."

He looks down, and his hands are clenched into tight fists. "I've regretted that every day."

"I don't understand." Gerard's still, none of his usual ticks visible as he stares at Pete.

"You run bars and write word-streams and answer questions, why would you even be raiding anything? And slavery? That’s something from the past, it doesn’t happen anymore."

“It does if you know where to look,” Patrick says, stepping close to Pete.

Pete leans into the touch and says, "And I was there because that's what I do. What we do. The bars, the clothes line, the word-streams, it's all a cover. We rescue slaves and set them up in new lives."

Bob looks directly at Pete. "So you’re telling us you’re some kind of freedom fighter? One that spends half his life hanging out in bars?

“It's a good way to get people to talk to me. We find out a lot of things that way. Like now, you two came to me."

Bob's attention is solely on Gerard, and he sense-sees the procession of emotions. Relief, happiness, then a sudden realisation that ends with trepidation and fear.

"And Mikey and Frank were here because?"

"Because they were slaves and we freed them," Pete says, simply, but his body language is tense.

Gerard takes a moment to calm himself, and the beat around him slows, steadies, twists into the slightest hint of melody with Pete's. Now that Bob's this close, has the beginnings of answers, he can see the similarities between them. The sound of Gerard that lingers in Pete's own, but at the same time, it's not Gerard at all. It's something deeper, more pronounced, despite its faintness, Bob knows it's an echo of Mikey, lingering on them both.

"Tell me everything," Gerard says, commanding, and Pete nods.

"I'll tell you, but not here." He stands, and while his loss is still apparent, his leadership skills are too, as he straightens his shoulders and steps away from Patrick. "Andy, stay and watch the bar. When Jadzen comes in tell him I'll contact him later. Joe, double check things are okay for tomorrow. Patrick, can you do the word-streams tonight? My notes are on the data pad."

"I guess I can try and decipher your notes," Patrick says, but he's already looking at a data pad, deftly scanning through pages.

Pete looks at him, expression stern. "No modifications this time. People thought I'd been hacked last time you did the word-streams."

"Well, if you'd use punctuation like a normal person, or stop being so cryptic that wouldn't be an issue, now, would it?"

"That's what I do," Pete says. "Just put in the coded co-ordinates and add in random facts about trees and the moon. I haven't done that for a while. Oh, or there's a sweet protein bar I tried last week. You could feature that."

"How about I not." Patrick shakes his head, still scanning pages as he looks over the top of his glasses. "I'll do them at the house."

"I don't need a babysitter," Pete says.

Patrick shrugs. "I know, but do you really think I’d let you do this alone?"
“I’m fine. I will be fine.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says. “That’s what you said last time, too.”

~~~~

Pete keeps his vehicle behind the bar. It's spotlighted under the lights attached to the wall, shining bright and painted a particularly lurid shade of yellow, and seems big enough to carry a large amount of people. It makes Bob's eyes hurt just looking at it.

"It's awesome, right?" Pete's grinning wide as he presses his palm against the vehicle. Immediately a side panel opens and he steps aside. "After you."

Hand against Gerard's back, Bob urges him to enter first. There's room to stand upright inside, scarlet plush seats arranged in a U shape with space at the back for a long counter and shallow cupboards. The ceiling is transparent and a drinks unit is attached to one wall.

"I had it custom made," Pete says. He steps inside and sprawls on a seat opposite Bob and Gerard, lifting his legs and resting them over Patrick's when he sits by his side. "With the modifications we could live in here for weeks."

"Technically, anyway." Patrick pokes Pete hard in the thigh. "We've managed three days so far."

"Because you threw me out and threatened to kill me if I came back inside." Pete looks at Gerard and Bob, his expression mournful. "It was cold. We were watching a trafficker group. I could have died.

"We were watching via long-range surveillance, and I gave you a blanket."

"After I stood shivering for an hour."

"You shouldn't be such an annoying fucker, then," Patrick says, obviously unrepentant.

"All I did was message you."

"And yet I was right here, in the same vehicle. Nowhere where you needed to send me a message a minute for nearly four hours."

"I missed you though." Pete's trying to maintain his mournful expression, but the twitch of his lips give him away as he appeals to Bob and Gerard. "I bet you wouldn't have thrown me into the cold."

"I wouldn't have lasted ten minutes before throwing you out," Bob says. It's true. Even now, in such close proximity Pete's hard to be near. He's too much in too concentrated a package and Bob has to remind himself that there's more to Pete than the easy grin and his exaggerated personality.

"I would have thrown myself out even sooner," Pete admits. He leans back in his seat, turns so he can rest his head against Patrick's shoulder. "We ended up freeing five slaves that time, they're relocated now."

"That must feel good," Gerard says, his voice a little wistful. "Saving people."

"There's always more we can't save." For a moment, Pete's beat is slow, deep, allowing Bob to hear the underlying tone. Then it changes, because lighter, more carefree as Pete reaches out for a small control box. He presses a series of buttons and they start to move as the sides of the vehicle become transparent, so it feels like they're in a ground-level version of the Love and Death.

Bob looks outside as they leave the areas that he knows and travel outwards, the cramped dingy buildings becoming larger and better maintained. The dusty sidewalks and stuttering travelators are replaced with climate-controlled neighbourhood bubbles and private vehicles parked outside each house. It's in sharp contrast to where the bar is situated, and the longer they travel the greater that contrast becomes. Eventually they come upon an area where the houses are isolated, each one surrounded by landscaped space.

"You live out here?" Gerard's turned in his seat so he can look behind him, taking in each distant brightly-lit house as they pass.

"I do, we all do," Pete says. He grins at Gerard. "Not like you're thinking though, Patrick keeps saying no."

"I told you, you're too much man for me," Patrick says automatically, like it's something he's said multiple times before. “And anyway, the pact, remember?”

"But I'd make an exception for you." Batting his eyelashes, Pete pushes himself up and away from Patrick who flips him off without even looking directly Pete's way.

"That's Pete's house."

Bob looks where Patrick's pointing. The house is one of the biggest they've seen, two floors of shining metal and glass, set under its own climate bubble and surrounded by what looks like actual grass. When they stop and exit the vehicle, Bob can't resist stretching out his foot, pressing his toe against the green springy surface.

"I grow it myself, from imported seed." Pete looks over his shoulder and indicates the expanse of grass with a sweep of his hand. "It's good to lie on and star watch."

"That's kind of a waste of money," Gerard says. He's trying for a blank expression but his disapproval is seeping through anyway. Something that Pete obviously feels too as he turns, and while he's not smiling, he's close.

"Mikey said that too, though he waited a while. In fact, I think it was after he'd helped cut it the first time. I think he managed all of five minutes."

"That sounds like him." Gerard is smiling as he looks at the grass. "He hates chores; he tried to make a sonic scrub once. He'd seen one at a friend's house and always hated washing up, so he got this old unit and tried to hook it up. We were picking bits of plate out of the walls for weeks." Gerard's smile fades then, memories of then being replaced by the sorrow of now. "I miss him." Gerard squeezes his eyes shut. "I miss them all." Then, whipping his face up to look at Pete, he pleads, "Tell me about them; please."

The plea is harrowing in its intensity, but Bob isn't sure that Gerard's up to learning unpleasant truths right now.

"Why don't you sleep first? Pete can...."

"No," Gerard interrupts before Bob can even finish his words. "I've waited long enough."

"Fine, but I'm giving you a pain patch when we get in. You sound terrible."

"Whatever," Gerard says. He looks at Pete. "I want to know everything."

Pete looks torn, but he takes a breath, nodding. "And I'll tell you. Inside."

Stooping a little, Pete presses his face next to the scanner fixed on the wall. A flash of light and the front door slides open, the lights turning on in the hall. They step inside and immediately Bob is struck by the obvious wealth. He looks around, at the mixture of furniture, everything from an antique lazyboy recliner tucked against one wall to the latest in Harparian orb design. There's also a rack of stunners lined at the foot of the anti grav stair tube and a heavily armed bot standing sentinel in a corner.

"I have to protect the house," Pete says. He pulls off his coat, hangs it on a hook in the wall and looks at Patrick, who's busy arming the security system. "I'll be in the den."

Patrick nods, and there's some kind of communication going on between them that Bob can't understand. It's not on an aural level, he can sense that, this is more a language based on the tilt of eyebrows and unspoken words and Bob's not surprised when Patrick suddenly sighs and looks his way.

"Do you want to come with me? I can show you around. We've got a fantastic entertainment center. The 4D room is amazing."

It's not an unexpected offer. Bob's not Gerard and he doesn't even know Mikey or Frank. It's why he's about to go with Patrick when Gerard reaches out and grabs hold, his fingers tight around Bob's wrist.

"Stay with me."

Worrying at the hem of his shirt, Pete looks tired suddenly, unsure. "It's not a pretty story. I don't know if they'd want him to know."

Which is a statement that makes Bob feel better, because if Pete is willing to keep their secrets, it suggests his involvement is genuine, that Mikey and Frank are more than just names to him.

"They would," Gerard says. "They don't know Bob, but I do. And I know them. They won't mind him knowing."

He sounds convinced, and Bob can't help the flush of satisfaction at the fact that Gerard trusts him so totally. Not that he lets that show; he just waits patiently until Pete gives in with an uncertain, "Fine."

Patrick seems reluctant, but he eventually leaves and the three of them go to a room that's filled with deep couches and display units featuring clear domes behind which lie actual paper books. Bob's never seen one before, but he's seen pictures. Urging them to sit, Pete presses a button and a wall flickers and becomes transparent, showing distant mountains and grass that seems to stretch forever.

"Mikey used to sit in here a lot. He liked the illusion of space." Pete crosses his arms and looks outside. "But I'm getting ahead of myself. I've got pain patches if you want to use them, and you'll need drinks."

He turns his back to the view, snapping into host mode as he hurries away, coming back soon with a bag looped over his shoulder and holding a tray of drinks. Setting down the tray he kneels and unpeels the top of the bag, revealing medical supplies that Bob could only wish to own. Rummaging through the contents, Pete selects a pain patch, handing it to Gerard.

"Your neck," Pete says carefully. "I've anti-scar gel."

Gerard shakes his head as he takes the patch and sticks it to his upper arm. "No. Thanks, but no."

He doesn't offer explanations and Pete doesn't ask. Just re-seals the bag and pushes it to one side. Standing, he hands cups to Bob and Gerard. Taking one for himself, Pete settles on a couch, tucking up his feet. Cup balanced on his knees, he says. "It's Archalvanian fruit tea. I find it soothing."

He takes a sip, and Bob does the same, he takes a longer pull when he finds himself enjoying the light, sweet flavor and the way the tea seems to coat his throat in gentle warmth. Gerard's drinking too, seemingly unable to hold back a sound of contentment as he swallows. Bob looks at Pete, acknowledging the subtle kindness with a tilt of his head.

Pete smiles briefly, just the slightest curl of his lip. Then he wraps his hands around his cup and looks at Gerard.

"Tell me," Gerard says.

It takes a while for Pete to talk, his reluctance obvious, but eventually he does. "From what I understand, the police took Mikey and the others away and then sold them to the traffickers. He was kept with Frank at first."

Gerard swallows hard, and it's obvious he's struggling to hang onto his composure. "What about Ray and Matt?"

"They got separated from Mikey and Frank before they left your home planet, sorry." Pete twists the cup in his hands, looking inside instead of at Gerard. "Mikey and Frank ended up being celled close together. At first anyway."

"He wouldn't leave Mikey alone, not willingly."

"No, not willingly." Again, Pete's story falters as he looks at Gerard, as if gauging his reaction. "I picked their stories up bit by bit, but I know Mikey had nightmares about Frank yelling as he was taken away."

"Fuck, fuck. Fuck." Gerard's making no attempt to hide how he feels, and Bob reaches out, comforting the best he can.

Ignoring the interruption, Pete keeps speaking. "Mikey was left alone, and … Well, from what I was able to get from him, he pretty much shut down."

"What did they? I mean..."

Bob squeezes Gerard's hand. "Do you really want to know?"

"No. Yes. I don't know." Pulling out of Bob's hold, Gerard presses his hands against his thighs, trying to hide how he's shaking. "How did he end up here?"

Pete takes a drink, then sets his cup on the floor. "I told you that we free slaves. We were on a raid and I felt Mikey as soon as we got close. It was like he was calling me." Pete sounds distant for a moment, then shakes his head. "To cut a long story short, when I freed him I brought him home with me. Usually we send freed-peoples to new lives, but I couldn't with Mikey. Patrick said I was insane, but it felt right. The same way it felt right when I found Frank."

"He was in the same place?" Bob asks.

"No, we found him weeks later; he was in the med room of a punishment craft. He'd been body-controlled for months, and was about to be sold on again."

"Body-controlled?"

Pete looks blankly back at Bob, his voice level as he says, "It's a form of punishment used on excessively troublesome slaves. They’re made to wear a collar that’s linked to tiny electrodes that burrow into your neck and coil around your spine. Basically the threat of pain keeps the slaves in a pre-determined space."

"Frank would have hated that, he's always moving," Gerard says faintly.

"He nearly gutted Andy with a laser scalpel when he set him free," Pete says. "I'm just glad Mikey had told me about you all, when I saw the name and the matching description I brought Frank here. He settled down then. Having to take care of Mikey saved him."

"So they had each other, that's good." Gerard presses the heels of his fists against his eyes. "I just … I don't understand why they're not here now. They were safe. Why did they leave?"

"If I knew, I'd tell you," Pete says. "They talked to me, but obviously not enough."

There's bitterness in his tone, in the beat that surrounds him, and Bob winces at the harsh melody that fills the room. "I'm exhausted. I think we'd better go back to the Love and Death."

"What? No. We came for answers," Gerard protests, and pushes himself upright, swaying slightly.

"And we got them. Tomorrow we'll work out a plan, but you need to sleep."

"I agree," Pete says. "But stay here. I've plenty of room." He stands, looking down at Gerard. "You can use Mikey's bed."

Gerard nods, slowly says, "Okay."

~~~~

It feels strange being in an actual bed. Bob's used to narrow spaces and thin mattresses, the sound of his craft all around as he sleeps. Pete's beds are like something from another era; the mattresses made of Chicag foam and topped with heavy sheets that reach all the way to the floor. There are also actual fur blankets, which have to be artificial, though Bob still jumps a little when he turns over and ends with his nose pressed against the pointed snout of a Black bear.

Yawning, Bob rubs at his eyes and sits. It feels early still, the beats around him muted, soft, and he can tell Gerard's sleeping, curled up tightly in the middle of the other bed. He'd fallen asleep instantly the night before, but it had taken Bob a while to settle down, always mistrustful of situations in which he has little control. Still, he'd slept eventually, and feels refreshed now, enough that he swings his legs to the floor, stretching as he looks around.

In daylight the shadows of the previous evening take on actual form. The data pads stacked near the beds, a chair topped with a neatly folded selection of clothes. It's those that attract Bob's attention, and he stands, walking silently across the room. Crouching, he looks through the pile, holding up pants made of material that ripples with colours with each touch, a wide belt made of some kind of animal skin and several shirts, each one different shades of black.

"I tried to get him into other coloured t-shirts, but he was insistent on black."

Guiltily, Bob folds the clothes and turns to look at Pete. He's standing in the doorway and indicates with a jerk of his head that Bob should follow. Bob does, covering Gerard with another blanket before heading downstairs. Stepping into an anti grav tube is always a trip, and Bob wiggles his bare toes when he's lowered gently to the ground floor. Pete's waiting, looking wide-awake despite the early hour.

"I sent some messages and called in some favours." Pete says, and leads Bob into a room toward the back of the house. There's a terminal set in the wall and when Pete clicks his fingers rays of light beam onto the desk. Deftly moving his fingers between them, Pete brings up a 3D map that floats close to him and Bob. "That's Minkus. It's a class D planet in sector three and for the last year it's been getting mined for dust that's then processed into a hallucinogenic drug. We've been watching for a while."

Pete wiggles his fingers through the beams, and the map changes, zooming in on a mine. "Slaves are being used for the work. Thousands of them." The map changes again, showing a close up of a humanoid, its back bowed as it pushes a hover cart. Bob narrows his eyes, tries to see any features, but the slave's head is down and it's wearing a jump suit so baggy and stained that any details are completely hidden.

"I take it you're telling me this for a reason," Bob says.

"Word is an assignment of slaves came from Steriska the same time as Matt and Ray were taken. I'm working on getting actual names, but they tend to be lost in the cracks. Slaves are bodies, nothing more. Still, I'm almost certain they'll be there."

"So what, we raid and hope they're there and we can find them?" Bob stares at the map, considering. "I don't know their sound, but Gerard does, and Matt's a drummer, so that'll make it easier."

A snap of his hand and Pete shuts down the map. He leans against the desk, hip propped against the edge. "It's not that easy. Minkus is a shatter planet."

"Of course it is," Bob says, wearily, because it's not like anything can ever be simple. He finds Gerard and has to steal him from his home planet. They find Pete, and Mikey and Frank are already gone. This latest setback is just another in a long list, though this one carries the additional threat of possible death or madness, both things Bob tries to avoid.

"We'd have staged a raid months ago, but the sunspot activity was against us. And after the last time...."

"The last time?"

Pete stands and starts rearranging the data pads on the desk. "We sent someone to a shatter planet on recon. He was low-level, barely-trained." Pete's silent for a moment, and when he speaks again, there's a brush of guilt behind his words, "We thought he'd be okay. Turns out the resonances got him anyway."

"He died?"

Pete picks up a pad, swipes his thumb over the screen and tilts his hand so Bob can see a picture of a young man, his smile wide and feathers tied into his hair. "I go and read to him on the weekends. Sometimes it stops him screaming."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Pete flicks off the picture and stacks the data pad with the others, making them clatter together.

"You mentioned sunspots, how often do they appear?"

Pete tilts his head slightly, looking at Bob. "I had you researched last night. All reports suggest you're a lone-wolf now and shouldn't have been traveling with company at all. And yet here you are, with Gerard, and seemingly wanting to free slaves. You don't seem like someone prone to grand gestures."

"I'm not."

"So why the need for sunspot info?"

Bob glances up, automatically sensing outward until he can more clearly hear Gerard. "If Ray and Matt are on that planet, I need to go get them."

Seeming surprised, Pete steps closer. "It didn't say you had a death-wish either. I can feel you. Hear you. If you get caught in the resonances you could go mad."

"Or die," Bob says. "I know. But I'm still going to find them. For Gerard."

Pete's still looking, eyes narrowed as he stares at Bob. "No, not for Gerard. At least, not only. I've been hearing a melody, but I thought it was just Gerard reaching out for the echoes of Mikey and Frank, but it's not. It's you too. You're building a new crew."

"I've got a crew," Bob says, anger flaring.

"No, you had a crew." Pete doesn't back down at Bob's glare, or even at the warning sound he makes in the back of his throat. He charges ahead, saying, "You have to hear it, you and Gerard are tied together, and there's space for the others too."

"I don't have to do anything." Deliberately, Bob steps away. "Sunspots, or do I have to look it up myself and do it totally alone?"

"No, I'll help." Activating the terminal, Pete brings up the map once more. "Any way I can."

Which is something Bob would never turn down, but it does leave one question. He looks at Pete. "Why?"

"Why what?" Pete's looking away, his foot turned on its side.

"No games, Pete. You know what I mean." Because the facts are, Pete's got nothing to gain in helping them. They're two strangers looking for more strangers and if things had played according to the universe's laws as Bob knows them, Pete's group should have sent them on their way the night before.

"Because of Mikey and Frank," Pete says eventually. "Because I love…loved them and they love Gerard." He points at the map, finger over bright flares of light. "There's a pattern, sort of. One clear hour every month."

"I don't suppose I have a month to prepare?"

Pete says, "How about three days?"

~~~

If he were pushed, Bob would admit that he's enjoying his time at Pete's. The beds are comfortable and the food good, even the fake steaks that Andy likes to serve are okay. He likes the novelty of solid ground under his feet, knowing that when he wakes in the morning he'll still occupy the same place in the universe, and the feel of wind in his hair. It won't last, of course, it never does, the itch of travel is a persistent thing and Bob's spent his life skimming through space. He could never stay here permanently, but for now, as Pete organises his group and tracks down info and supplies, Bob's content.

"I've been researching. I could fly down and get them. The resonances shouldn't affect me."

Bob turns his head and the grass tickles against his cheek. Shading his eyes with his hand, he looks up at Gerard who's clutching a data pad in his hand, looking determined. It's a preferable look to the worried frown he's worn since being told of Bob's plan, still, Bob reaches out and tugs at Gerard's ankle.

"One, you can't fly. Two, even if you could, you haven't got a craft, and don't even think about asking to use the Love and Death. Three. In the few days since you've known about the beat you've started to pick out rhythms on your own. You're a natural. Being down there is too risky." Bob closes his eyes, basking in the sun. "Plus, it's not like you're fit right now. I'd only have to come save your ass again."

Gerard sits, his frustration crashing around him like waves. "And who's going to save your ass when you're a dribbling mess on the floor?"

"That's not going to happen. Patrick's done the math. I've almost an hour to find them and get out.”

"That's if Pete's info is right about where they'll be, or you don't get stopped by guards. Or caught flying in. Or fall over and break your legs, and if you do, well…" Gerard screws up his face. "Don't come running to me."

"I won't," Bob says, because the facts are, Gerard's concerns are valid. The chances are something will go wrong, and the odds are against him finding Matt or Ray, never mind finding them, getting them out and coming home. The thing is, though, despite all these facts, Bob has to try. He's spent years alone, trying to pretend that the gaps in his own melody were deliberate, but now, his sound is changing, becoming something more, fuller. And as irritated as it makes him feel, he knows he'd miss these new additions.

Gerard lies down, close but not touching. He's looking up at the sky, his eyes wide, and suddenly says. "I keep wondering what I'll do if we're too late."

"You'll survive," Bob says. He looks at Gerard who's rubbing the material of his… Mikey's shirt between his fingers. "Life goes on, the universe keeps growing and you'll eventually forget."

Gerard rolls on his side and props his head on his hand, his fingers against the scars on his neck. "Did you?"

Bob thinks about pretending to misunderstand, but somehow, this moment seems made for truths. "No."

Pushing back the hair that's fallen in front of his eyes, Gerard says, "Tell me about them."

Bob doesn't know where to start. The first time he met Bert and realised the crazy fucker with the lank hair and insane smile was the one who'd pulled him close? That first insane journey where they'd learned to live in cramped conditions? Falling over one another and invading scant personal space? Concerts on tiny planets with an audience you could count on two hands? Fights and arguments and struggling to survive each day?

Flying with Quinn sitting behind him, yelling with delight as they flashed through space.

Waking up with Jepha crammed into the same bunk, his face pressed against Bob's neck.

Cleaning down the ceiling when Bert experimented with firecracker soup.

Running with Branden, them both holding drums, a muskhog nipping at their heels.

Bob could tell those memories and a thousand others. They're the ones he should remember, but time and distance has made them blurred at the edges as opposed to others that remain crystal clear. The ones with cutting edges and sharp corners and even now, Bob can recall every detail like it happened yesterday. Sticky blood and pale skin. Crooked limbs and final pleas, the scent of fire and piss and shit. Shaking hands against raw wounds and having to sit as the beats around him slowed. Slowed. Gone.

"They were fantastic," Bob says. "They were my crew."

Gerard reaches out, entwines his fingers with Bob's and holds on.

~~~

It takes Pete nearly two days to get the information they need. He uploads the data to the Love and Death, co-ordinates from where the slaves were last seen and Patrick's careful calculations, the time Bob can land painstakingly detailed. Bob's got a stunner nestled against each hip and a bag filled with fake steak sandwiches, pushed into his hands by Andy, who'd left without saying goodbye. Now all Bob has to do is leave, but Gerard's nowhere to be seen.

"We'll have to go," Bob says, and he can sense Gerard, but he doesn't appear, even when they get into the vehicle that will take them to the port.

"We'll look after him," Pete says. He jumps inside, laughing when Patrick does the same and stumbles slightly. "Lost your footing, Trick?" He grins over at Patrick and sits close, leaning against him.

Patrick rolls his eyes and doesn't reply.

Bob can sense the comfort they have in each other and he's focusing on that--the way their melody is based on love and warmth and friendship--when he hears Gerard yell. He's running from the house and when he's close he jumps inside, despite them not moving at all.

"I'm coming with you. I know you said I shouldn't, but I’m coming anyway." Shoulders squared and chin up, he looks at Bob. At Pete and Patrick. "Aren't you going to talk me out of it?"

Bob pushes his bag into Gerard's hands, says, "No.”

"I see where Mikey gets his stubborn streak from," Pete says, pulling Gerard into a hug.

"It's good you're going." Patrick's looking at a data pad, scanning calculations once again. "You'll be able to withstand the resonances longer than Bob and you'll be able to feel Ray and Matt better when you're together."

"And you couldn't have said that before?" Gerard says.

Patrick looks up from the data pad. "You weren't going before."

"And now I am," Gerard says. "So what? We hold hands or hug or what?"

Grinning, Pete shakes his head. "Well you could, but no. Just being close will do it, your sound is joined anyway."

"It is?"

Gerard sounds surprised but pleased, and when he sits close, Bob lets him, his hand against Gerard's side as they're taken toward the port.

The mood changes when they approach the Love and Death. Bob rubs his palm along her hull and unseals the door. It hisses open and when he steps inside he knows as much as he's enjoyed the stay at Pete's, this is home.

"Nice," Patrick says. He's looking around, taking in the small kitchen and living area. Pete does the same, but his looking extends to touching too, including checking out the data pad in Gerard's bunk.

"Oh hey, this picture is terrible." Pete holds up the data pad which is still set to his word-streams. "That bovine hat is terrible."

"I told you not to get it." Patrick stands next to Pete, and he shakes his head as he looks at the picture. "You look like a rabid chilipic."

"I hear the rabid look is in this season, very now," Pete says.

"If you're a chilipic. I swear, they see you coming."

Pete taps the screen, and the picture blinks out of sight. "I traded good food and medicine for that hat. It's awesome."

Patrick looks at Pete, considering. "Yeah, it kinda is."

Stowing the fake steaks, Bob revisits his craft, enjoying the feel of her full of people, the beats inside of her vibrant and alive. Except, Pete and Patrick are standing, getting ready to leave.

"You need to go soon," Patrick says. "If you get the chance, note down security points. Who knows if we can raid in the future?"

"I will," Bob promises.

"And come back." Pete's at the door now, his smile nothing but a memory. "And if you don't want to come back, let us know what happens. Don't just disappear."

Gerard looks directly at Pete. "We won't. We're coming back."

Pete fakes a smile then. "Good luck, and be careful."

~~~~

Through careful planning they arrive at Minkus close to the one hour safety window. Nervous, and maintaining an orbit safely outside of detection range, Bob sits at the conn and looks down at the planet. From this distance it looks an even dusky red, but up close that changes to a dense layer of cloud and constant arcs of electricity that streak through the sky. Even here Bob can feel the faint effects of a planet that's never still, the resonances an itch against his skin. Absently, he scratches his nails against his arm and then looks back when he hears the door slide open.

"You've been up here a long time," Gerard says. He sounds much better now, only a slight huskiness hinting at the damage he did to his throat. He also looks better, physically at least, the strain still apparent around his mouth and eyes.

Bob turns in his seat, grooves pressing against his thighs. "I was thinking."

"Really?" Gerard sits, pushes his hair out of his eyes. "We go in, we've got sixty minutes to look. If we get in trouble I let you deal. If I fire the stunner without imminent personal danger you're going to kick my ass. Have I missed anything?"

"I think that about sums it up," Bob says, because they've gone over this simple plan multiple times already. It's the only thing they can do being as they're dependent on an hour window and a possible location for Ray and Matt that may already be months out of date. "I was thinking about if the worst happens."

Gerard sighs. "I'm not going to get myself killed."

"Probably not," Bob allows. "If you listen to me anyway. Like you should do now." He waits a moment, until he's sure Gerard's staying silent. "If the worst happens and we don't get out in time, you need to kill me."

"What?!" Gerard sits forward in his seat so he look at Bob. "Why?"

"Because you don't want to be carting around some gibbering loon."

"So what? I slit your throat and do what? Survive by myself on a planet where the only inhabitants are slaves and their jailers. Can you see me eating leaves and living in a cave? Or should I eat you? Some nice leg. Oh, but it would have to be raw because it's not like I could make a fucking fire. Or I could just pull your corpse back to the Love and Death, shove you in your bunk and eat fake steaks and wait to be discovered. Just me and your corpse, hanging out."



"You finished?" Bob asks, when it looks like Gerard's run out of steam.

"Yeah," Gerard looks away, anywhere but at Bob. "I can't kill you."

"Before, you said you couldn't pay. But now you can. Promise me."

Bob hates pushing so hard. Gerard's responding sense of betrayal is breath-taking, but Bob doesn't back down, just waits. Because while he's willing to risk madness, no way does he want to live with it. And he needs Gerard to understand.

"Fine. Okay." Gerard stands, and while he's saying yes, everything else about him is screaming no.

It has to be enough.

~~~~

"Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Gerard says. He looks tense, pulled in on himself as he sits in the chair behind Bob. It's regrettable, but Bob needed that promise, and now that he has it he can concentrate fully on the task ahead.

Below, Minkus is slowly changing colour, dusky red bleeding into pale pink, and Bob knows the sunspots are about to fully bloom. He reaches for the headset and pulls it down, fingers brushing against his chest to set off the timer before he fully engages with his craft. They've got an hour, and that includes landing and take off. One hour in which to find two men amongst thousands.

Bob's always liked a challenge. "Let's go."

He pulls the headset down completely, and is at once aligned perfectly with his craft, able to manipulate the lines of light at his fingertips as he guides his craft through the tangled waves and ribbons of sound twisting through space. Instinctively Bob selects the one that'll guide them to the surface and the co-ordinates supplied by Pete. Bob moves his hands over invisible controls as the Love and Death speeds through space and starts to plummet down. Consciousness pulled outward, he becomes one with the universe, can hear the beat of life from thousands of directions. He senses them all as a jumbled mass, and takes in their sound, their rhythm, as he follows co-ordinates, his craft circling earth pitted with mining tunnels and make-shift buildings that seem to blend into the rocks on which they stand.

Concentrating, Bob tries to find the two specific beats within the multitude pulsing from below. The ones he can sense are faint and sickly, made weak from living in a place where to be at one with the beat of the universe is to die or be driven mad, Bob can feel the pain in each pulse. It is seeped into the ground and makes everything feel wrong--a taint that makes him cringe, his own rhythm soured as he takes on the twisted melodies of those below.

Still, he has to land, and he pushes on, gaining range when he desperately reaches out, and feels Gerard reaching out in return, his sound joining Bob's, making it stronger, helping ward off the residual wrongness of this place.

Bob lands the Love and Death, sweating, his body aching as pulls off his headset, looks back and says, "Thank you."

"It was nothing," Gerard says, and looks at his own timer. "Let's go."

Bob does. He stands, staggers a little--his hand against the back of his chair--then follows Gerard into the main cabin where he's slinging on one of the bags they'd left in readiness. The bags contain medication, weapons, water, supplies needed for successful rescue and Bob holds onto faint optimism as he puts his own bag on his back.

"Five minutes gone," Gerard says, and he's unsealing the door. They both step outside.

It feels wrong, dead, and every part of Bob's body is crawling. Like he's walking into a vacuum, except this vacuum is littered with white noise. Sound that's taking these brief moments to try and be heard. These sounds, though, are of the dead and dying, and Bob's faltering when Gerard grabs his hand, squeezing tight.

"Listen for them, please."

It's not like it was when Bob was pulled toward Gerard, or even Pete. This is like listening for a negative sound, something that should be there and isn't, and Bob's head is throbbing with pain as he looks around. He walks slowly forward, Gerard's hand securely in his own.

"Wait. Is that…?"

Bob's heard it too. The faintest hint of a beat, made familiar by Gerard's proximity. Bob reaches out toward the sound, feels as it nudges against his own, easing into a melody that immediately feels right, another two parts clicking into place.

The beats are distant, too distant. Bob asks, "Do we fly or run?"

Gerard's shifting in place, rocking foot to foot, impatient but obviously much more comfortable than Bob feels. Squinting against the solar flares that are bleaching the ground white, Bob narrows down the origin of the sound, pushing through the ache in his head until he's sure of a direction. He remembers seeing buildings there, the mine that Patrick had carefully marked on the map of this area. The way Joe schooled his expression as he recounted discovered facts, amounts of slaves, what they did and when.

"We'll be seen if we fly," Bob points out.

"And we'll run out of time if we run," Gerard says. He pulls at his shirt, peeling it from his body and already he looks flushed.

Making a quick decision, Bob runs back to his craft. "We'll fly." He steps back inside and throws himself into the pilot's seat, trusting Gerard to seal the door.

It's a short flight, one where they barely skim the ground as Bob steers them past rocky outcrops and tunnels cut into the mountainside. He lands close to a group of buildings, pulling his stunner out of its holster as he opens the door. At first everything is still, and then there's an explosion of noise, laser fire and a bot whirring as it appears from where it was guarding the mine entrance. Dropping back, Bob fires, swearing as the bot evades, twisting in mid air.

Bob yells, "Can you keep that busy while I go look?"

Gerard's plastered against the other side of the doorway, and he nods, focused only on the bot. "Go, I'll watch your back."

Which is enough reassurance for Bob, and he jump-rolls, scrambling to his feet and running toward the nearest building. He keeps firing as he runs, and when a guard appears from one of the buildings, yelling as he charges toward him, Bob does not hesitate to take him down with one perfectly aimed shot.

Sheltering behind a metallic wall, he glances over at Gerard who's peering around the doorway, firing in wavering arcs. He's flinching with each hit and explosion of sound, but when Bob hesitates, worried about leaving him alone, Gerard looks his ways and yells, "Go!"

Bob does. Glancing at his timer, he reaches out, focusing only on the sounds that feel right, the ones that are amplified by Gerard's presence. The problem is, those sounds are pulling Bob in two differing ways--one toward the mine and the other in the opposite direction and obviously further away.

"Fuck." Bob's torn, but practicalities win out, and he starts running toward the dark entrance of the mine. He blinks when he gets inside, plunged into darkness after the bright light of outside. Hands outstretched, he presses himself against the wall, the sharp stones catching at his hands as he walks. Bob needs speed but has to remain cautious, too. His head is spinning. The deeper he goes the less he can hear, and he doesn’t know if it’s some natural phenomenon or something deliberately created to help control the slaves. Whatever it is it feels like part of his existence has been cut away, leaving him off balance as he listens for what should be there.

But it's not. It's becoming silent, nothing to hear, no voices or echoes, just dead nothingness and Bob's forced back into his own head, remembered snippets of memories and conversations attempting to fill in for the absence of sound. The beat he's following fades, is gone, and he's not even sure if he's going the right way. He goes on anyway, having to trust his own decisions, even if the urge to turn back is strong.

Bob looks at the timer on his chest. Nine minutes gone and he's stuck in a tunnel with no end in sight and no way of knowing if he's going the right way. Bob speeds up, running now, his fingers trailing against the wall. Two more minutes pass and he's sprinting, feeling his feet pound against rock, then, finally, he sees a light. It's a faint glow bleeding on the walls and floor, and Bob slows. He's panting for breath, can feel the air leave his lungs and be pulled back in, but without sound it's as if it's not happening at all, and he breathes harder, holding up his hand in front of his face so he can feel the expulsion of air, needing the reassurance.

Heart racing, Bob inches forward, always aware of time ticking away. But he keeps it slow, steady, and when he eases around a corner he finally sees the slaves.

They're in groups, each one using matter breaker rods on sections of the walls. They're wearing masks, and slowly passing the rods in concise sweeps, letting the resulting dust float to the floor where it lands in shallow troughs. None of the slaves speak, or move anything but the rods. Bob sees Humanoids and Tocassups, their tentacles dry and scaly against the ground. There's even a small group of Swalens, their skin rippling with each pass. What Bob doesn't see is Matt or Ray. Not that he expected to, it couldn't be that easy, but the problem is, without sound he doesn't know how to find them.

Hoping he's hidden in a shadow, he looks for guards and sees two standing on either side of the cavern. They're both holding stunners and watching the slaves, apparently not concerned with the entrance at all. It's the break Bob needs, and he holds both of his stunners, aiming and firing both before anyone can look his way. The lasers cut across the room, and both guards collapse heavily to the ground.

"Ray Toro! Matt Pelissier!" Bob yells, and keeps yelling despite the lack of resulting sound. He runs forward, pushing into the mass of slaves that line the walls. Instantly they cringe from him, dropping to their knees with their heads bowed and Bob hates how frightened they appear as he looks at each one, having no choice but to cup his hand under their chins and lift their heads so he can see.

"Come on, come on," Bob says, and he's looking at each obvious humanoid, all too aware of the time that's slipping away. He's regretting leaving Gerard behind, because he at least knows Matt and Ray. Bob's going off holo pictures and descriptions that are bound to have changed in the year they've been away.

Bob's nearly half way around the cavern when he finds someone resembling Matt. He's much thinner than the picture, and his hair is long, pulled back and slick to his head with sweat and dust. But there's something about him that makes Bob pause, hook his finger in the strap of the mask and pull it free.

"Matt?"

There's no reply. Bob wouldn't have expected one even if Matt could hear. Still, Bob knows it's him, even with the lack of beat there's something there, a lingering feeling that indicates this is someone special to Gerard--part of his band. If Bob wasn't stuck in a soundless cavern, the unconscious guard lying close by and one more person to rescue before potential madness or death could possibly overtake him, he'd celebrate. As it is, all he does is grab Matt's hand and start to pull him toward the tunnel.

Thankfully he follows passively, head down and deliberately looking away from Bob.

"You need to run," Bob says--mouthes--trying to hurry their pace. It doesn't go well. Matt's slow, stumbling often and he keeps wincing and pressing his hand against his ear as they come closer to the entrance. Physically he's out of shape, gasping for breath and weakening the further they attempt to run. But as the silence is stripped away, Bob can feel him, his beat faint but there, already merging with Bob's own and reaching out, joining with Gerard's. It's a relief because the last thing Bob needs is to rescue the wrong man. Still, by the time they see the light that signifies the entrance Bob's practically holding Matt up, which of course is nothing new, apparently Bob's new calling in life is holding up Gerard and his band.

"You're not Them." Matt finally looks at Bob and he sounds hesitant, as if he's remembering how to pick out words.

"I'm a friend of Gerard's," Bob says simply.

Abruptly, Matt pulls away, putting space between him and Bob. "You're not fucking with my mind like that. He's dead, had been for a while."

"So people keep telling me, but he's fine." Bob takes a step toward Matt, but he cringes away and looks back along the tunnel.

"You can't-- You can't get me like this. I've survived too long. I'm not mad. I'm not. Gerard's dead. So fuck off and leave me alone."

"I swear I'll punch you out and carry you if I have to." It's a threat Bob's prepared to carry out, but for now he keeps taking. "I know it's hard to believe, and you don't even know this stuff, but just listen."

Back to the wall, Matt looks at Bob. "Listen to what? More lies?"

"The beat that surrounds you, the currents in the air, the fucking internal thing that's always there. I know it's faint here but Gerard said you were tuned in, so listen already."

It's a last ditch attempt, and Bob's curling his hand into a fist when Matt tilts his head to one side. He keeps looking at Bob, suspicion in the way he holds himself back, as if Bob's about to attack. Then, slowly, he says, "You feel like Gerard." Eyes widening, Matt presses his hands against his face. "I'm going mad. All this time and I go mad thinking about Gerard. Fucking typical."

"You really need to shut up," Bob says. Unable to wait any longer he grabs for Matt and starts to pull him toward the entrance. "You're not going mad. Gerard's waiting outside."

"Gerard's dead."

Hanging onto his patience, Bob tightens his hold. "He's really not. See."

They step outside, both blinking against the harsh light. Relieved, Bob sees that Gerard is still at the doorway of the Love and Death, holding the stunner laxly, the remains of a bot a pile of smoking metal at his feet.

"Fuck, Gee's got a gun. Now I know I've gone mad."

"You and me both," Bob mutters, when Gerard yells in delight and runs toward them, not checking his surroundings at all.

"Matt!"

Bob steps to one side when Gerard pulls Matt into a tight hug. He holds onto him, hands tight against Matt's back, and the beat around them strengthens, becomes louder, their melody more complete.

"I thought you were dead." Matt pulls back, his hands still on Gerard's sides. "We saw you go down. They killed you."

"No, I was pulled into the audience, I was hidden," Gerard says, his smile fading. "I tried to get out, but there were too many, and when I did you were all gone, and I would have come after you but..."

"Promise me you're real. Promise."

Gerard holds up his hand, links his little finger around Matt's. "I promise."

It's a powerful moment, the first step of things sliding into place and Bob would allow it to linger, give them the reunion they deserve, but he can't. Time is passing and he's still one man down. Plus, there's the ever present danger of guards. They've been lucky so far but that can't last, the alarm has to have been raised by now.

"We really need to find Ray and get out of here." He glances at his timer, twenty-two minutes now and all he's got is the faintest hint of a beat with more guards no doubt on their way. Overhead the flares are increasing in frequency, nearly at their peak, and after that it's a countdown until they fade again, allowing the resonances to take over once more.

Finally looking away from Matt, Gerard asks Bob, "Can you feel Ray?"

With the addition of Gerard and Matt, it's easier to listen, to sense the faint beat that is Ray. It's pulling Bob away from the mine, but more problematically, away from the Love and Death. Trying to work out where Ray could be, Bob attempts to remember the long distance aerial maps he'd been shown, but the details aren't forthcoming, hazy with the constant awareness of time and the threat of detection. Frustrated, he closes his eyes and tries to picture details, the way they'd sat and watched Pete bring up the maps, how Gerard had circled the floating 3D image, looking intent, his face tinged with colour from the lines.

"Gerard," Bob says. "Back at Pete's, you said something about a wheel."

"Yeah. It reminded me of the history data pad I was reading." Gerard drops to his knees and uses his finger to score lines in the dirt. Sketching quickly, he looks up, pushing his hair out of his eyes in a gesture of impatience. "They used a kind of wheel on carts. Not hover carts, though -- they were pulled by something called horses. Can you imagine using animals to work like that?"

"They had to get around somehow," Bob says, and crouches so he can look at the crudely drawn map. He points to the center of the sketch. "It feels like it's coming from that direction. Matt, that's the processing area, right?"

Matt shades his eyes, looking in the direction that Bob's pointing. "Yeah."

"How close is it?"

"About an hours walk," Matt says. "I've never worked there. Only the non-combatives can, but we pass it on the way to the mines."

Mouth a thin line, Gerard stands and rests his hand against Matt's arm. "They make you walk all that way?"

"We're slaves, Gee. Slaves don't get rides."

"You were a slave," Gerard says, his beat one of determination, sure ringing sound. "You're free now."

Part Three.
Master Post

Comments

[turloughishere.livejournal.com]

I LOST MY INTERNET CONNECTION TEN O'CLOCK LAST NIGHT!!!! I'd this part open but not the rest so I couldn't finish it!!! *rage* *rage* *rage* To be on the safe side I'm going to load all of the chapters now, I couldn't stand it if my net connection went down again and I couldn't read it!!

Anyway, I love how you're writing Pete and Patrick here, silly and serious and dorky and with so much love between them. And Bob remembering his band will never stop being heartbreaking, no matter how many times I read it.

PS Another couple of collapsed paragrahps in this part too:

"Patrick," Pete says, briefly resting his head against Patrick’s shoulder. "It's okay, they don't know." He looks at Bob then, back to Gerard. "I would have gone but we were setting off for a big raid that day. Two hundred slaves from a pleasure barge. I couldn't go after them."
He looks down, and his hands are clenched into tight fists. "I've regretted that every day."

"Five minutes gone," Gerard says, and he's unsealing the door. They both step outside.
It feels wrong, dead, and every part of Bob's body is crawling. Like he's walking into a vacuum, except this vacuum is littered with white noise. Sound that's taking these brief moments to try and be heard. These sounds, though, are of the dead and dying, and Bob's faltering when Gerard grabs his hand, squeezing tight.

[turps33.livejournal.com]

I somehow missed replying to this one. Sorry /o\

I've mentioned Patrick and Pete before, but yeah. I had fun with their friendship. They're there for each other always :)

[nimmy.livejournal.com]

I'm really enjoying this, I love the universe that you've created

[turps33.livejournal.com]

I'm glad. This AU is close to my heart, which I know I say often, but the stories I love the most tend to stick with me.

So, I'm glad you enjoying it, too.