Grey Crimson Skies 2/5

[turps]

"Gerard, I need to get ready for work," Mikey runs his hand down Gerard's arm. It tickles but in an abstract way, like Mikey's touching Gerard through thick cotton. "Gee, you need to eat something today, come on." Clambering over Gerard, Mikey slides to the floor and rests against the bed on his elbows. He pushes Gerard's hair out of his face, says. "For me, please."

The thought of getting out of bed is exhausting, but Mikey's not moving, just sits and waits and even through the feeling of wrong, Gerard will always try his hardest for Mikey. "I'm tired."

"I know you are." Mikey moves so he's half lying on the bed, sharing the same pillow as Gerard. "But I need you to eat and take your meds at least."

"I'm not hungry," Gerard lets his eyes close, then opens them again when Mikey moves even closer, so that their foreheads are pressed together.

"Well I am, so come keep me company," Mikey says, and sits up, pulling off the blanket. He grabs Gerard's arm and urges him up and it's just easier to give in and sit, even though every movement takes effort. If it wasn't for the way Mikey is standing watching, looking rumpled as he rubs at his chest with his hand, Gerard would lie back down, but Mikey is watching so Gerard slowly gets to his feet, staggering slightly when he's upright.

"I was thinking pop-tarts for breakfast. I think there's some of the chocolate ones left." Mikey shoves his feet into his sneakers, leaving the laces loose as he walks toward the stairs. "I'll go put the coffee on."

He goes upstairs, and Gerard hears him coughing when he reaches the top, then the sound of water running and cupboards being opened and closed. Gerard starts to walk toward the stairs, he doesn't look back at his bed because he knows if he does he'll lie down and not get back up. As it is it takes him all his time to get over the mound of laundry and up the steps, clinging on to the banister as he hauls himself up. When he does so he sits at the kitchen table, chin resting against his hands as he watches Mikey pull out a box of pop-tarts, frowning when he sees there's one left inside.

Dropping it in the toaster, he gathers two mugs, setting them next to the coffee machine, then leans against the counter, waiting as it drips. When there's enough, Mikey fills the two mugs and takes the pop-tart out of the toaster, putting it on a plate and carefully cuts it in half. Mugs and plate in hand, he sits at the table and gives Gerard his coffee before taking a long drink of his own.

"You should phone your therapist later, tell her you need an emergency appointment." Mikey keeps his hands wrapped around his mug, his knuckles white as he looks at Gerard. Eventually he says, his words low, "Your meds, have they been helping at all?"

It's not a question Gerard wants to answer, he already feels wrong, disgusting and worthless, admitting to lying all this time is playing in to that lack of worth and his hands are shaking, making coffee slop over the side of his mug. He hisses out a breath when it scalds his skin.

"Hey, it's okay." Mikey reaches out and takes Gerard's mug and then goes to the sink, grabbing a sock from the pile on the counter, soaking it with cold water. Coming back to the table he pulls his chair close, then wraps the sock around Gerard's hand, holding it there with his own. "You should have told me if they weren't. I would have sorted something out."

"I know," Gerard says. "I wanted to be the big brother for once."

"You've always been my big brother," Mikey says. "The best fucking big brother in the world."

Gerard wishes he could believe that, and Mikey seems to sense that disbelief, is about to speak again when there's the sound of footsteps from outside, and the kitchen door opens, letting in Frank, Bob, Ray, and some guy Gerard's never seen before.

"What happened?" Frank almost runs over, dropping to his knees as he looks at Gerard's hand. He also wraps his arm around Mikey's waist, holding on tight.

"It's just a coffee spill, no big deal," Mikey says, and lists to the side so he's leaning against Frank. "He's fine."

"And what about you?" Frank asks, looking up at Mikey. "You sound congested as fuck."

Mikey shrugs. "I'm fine, too. It's just a cold."

Frank doesn't look sure, and Gerard wants to sink into the floor, because he never noticed anything was wrong at all. "You're sick?"

"I've a cold, a small one," Mikey says, and he picks at the corner of the pop-tart, breaking off a piece of pastry.

"We brought breakfast, doughnuts and shit," Frank says, and reaches into his overall pocket, bringing out a large bag of popcorn. "And I brought you this. It's got caramel."

"Good choice, thank you." Mikey takes the bag and bends forward, kissing Frank on the cheek. "I need to go get changed. Save me some breakfast?"

Frank grins. "How about Bob saves you breakfast and I come help pick out your outfit?"

Mikey smiles slightly, says, "Deal."

They leave once Mikey's checked Gerard's hand, Frank running up the stairs, Mikey following more slowly. Only then does Gerard turn his attention to the others, Bob who's making more coffee, Ray who's putting a selection of pastries and doughnuts on a plate, and the strange guy, who's hanging back and taking in every inch of the room. When he sees Gerard looking, he steps forward, says, "As Bob's being an ignorant bastard and not introducing me, hi, I'm Brian."

"Hey," Gerard says, and tries to remember what Bob told him about his friend. It's not much, but Gerard knows how important he is to Bob and can't help wishing he'd met him on a time when he wasn't an emotional fuck-up who'd obviously slept in his clothes.

Bob looks over at Brian. "I would have introduced you eventually."

"Sure you would, the same way you shoved me in Ray's van and didn't tell me he was my new boss until we'd driven half-way here."

"What, the Ray's Gardening Firm on the side wasn't a clue?" Bob rolls his eyes and takes a drink of his coffee before grabbing the plate, clearing aside the bills, forms and letters on the table before he sets it down. He pushes the plate toward Gerard. "Eat."

Gerard really isn't hungry, but Bob's not looking away, just keeps pointedly staring until Gerard picks up a doughnut covered with chocolate sprinkles. He breaks off a piece, putting it in his mouth, more to please Bob than any pleasure in eating.

"We're teaching Brian to make striped lawns today," Bob says, and pushes out a chair with his foot, indicating that Brian should sit. "Eat up, you'll need your strength."

"For cutting grass?" Brian grabs a muffin, looking dubious, while all Ray looks is pained as he sits at the remaining chair.

"Creating a good lawn's more than just cutting the grass, it takes attention to detail to get those stripes."

"I'm good at details," Brian says, eating his way through the muffin.

"I'm glad someone is." Ray looks at the ceiling when there's a crash from upstairs followed by the sound of Frank laughing. "Frank keeps wanting to cut designs in the lawns. I left him alone once and he cut crop circles in the long grass."

Brian grins. "How did your client take it?"

"They didn't see, thankfully," Ray says. "Frank cut the lot before they got back, but still, I lost a few years off my life that day."

"That lawn looked awesome," Frank yells from upstairs, then there's the thump of feet and Gerard looks at the stairs and sees Frank appear, a blur of color as he takes the stairs three at a time. "You could charge extra for my design skills."

"Or I could stick to stripes and keep my customers," Ray says, and hands Frank a rainbow sprinkled doughnut. "You want a ride to school?"

Frank shakes his head. "Class isn't until ten, I'll hang here until Mikey leaves for work."

Gerard bites at the inside of his cheek. He's barely coping right now, surrounded by people and all he wants to do is go back downstairs and get into bed. If Frank stays it means Gerard can't do that. Not for hours at least and he hates himself even more when he feels his eyes film with tears.

"You sure?" Bob asks, and Gerard ducks his head so he doesn't have to see the way Bob's looking at Frank, trying to convey a message without words.

"I'm sure," Frank says, sounding determined, and Gerard does look up then, seeing the way Frank's standing his ground.

"We'd better get going, we've a lot on today." Ray stands, swallowing the last of his muffin. "Tell Mikey we'll see him later."

Gerard nods, and stays sitting as Brian stands too, smiling a goodbye as he follows Ray to the door, which leaves Bob, who pulls his chair close, enough that his leg is pressing against Gerard's. "You're phoning your therapist today?"

"I'll try," Gerard says, and that's all he's got to give, he can't promise because he's got no promises in him right now.

"Good enough." Bob rests his hand against Gerard's shoulder, so solid and there that Gerard can't resist tilting his head so he's resting his cheek against Bob's arm. They sit in silence, Gerard listening to the sound of their breathing, until eventually there's the sound of the van starting and Bob says, "I have to go."

"Okay," Gerard says, and lifts his head as Bob stands then crouches down so he can see Gerard.

"I'll be back after work. If you need anything, call me. I mean it."

"I will," Gerard says, but he doubts he will, his only plans are to get back in bed and pull up the covers.

A last look and Bob leaves, and it's only Gerard and Frank. Which shouldn't be a problem because while Frank is Mikey's boyfriend, he's also become Gerard's friend, but it doesn't feel okay. Gerard feels gross and stupid and he looks at the stairs to the basement, needing to hide.

"Gerard," Frank says, and he hesitantly walks forward, sitting in the chair Bob just left. He sits still, and his downcast expression looks wrong against the shock of orange in his hair. "I know I'm not Bob or Mikey, but I am your friend. And it's probably stupid because I know it doesn't fix anything, but I really like hugs. Like, a lot, and I guess. I'm just saying, I know I'm small but I give good hugs, and if you need one, I'm here."

Gerard's looking down at Frank's knees, at the ladybugs he's painted around the holes in his jeans, but he looks up then, surprised Frank's making the offer when Gerard's so pathetic and gross. Breath hitching, Gerard says, "I just feel so sad."

"I'm sorry, so sorry," Frank says, his voice thick. "I wish I could help, could do something more than give hugs." He opens his arms then, pulling Gerard into a hug and holds on, Gerard's cheek against Frank's chest, listening to the thump of his heart and the sound of his voice as he keeps saying. "It'll be okay, it has to be. You'll be fine."

And even if Gerard doesn't believe him he keeps listening as Frank continues talking, only stopping when Mikey comes downstairs and says, "Room for one more?"

Frank moves one arm, leaving room for Mikey to wiggle close, says, "Always."

~*~*~*~

Bob digs the spade into the ground and leans against the handle. He's hot and the bandanna he's got wrapped around his head is soaked through, both with sweat and the water he uses to hose himself down. Nearby Ray's kneeling next to Brian, patiently showing him examples of weeds and demonstrating how to tease them out between the flowers. Brian listens intently, nodding as he takes hold of the weed and tugs.

Ray looks over his shoulder. "Does the lack of work mean it's time for lunch?"

On cue Bob's stomach growls, and he wipes his hands together as Ray and Brian stand, dusting off their knees. Together they head for the van and Ray unlocks the back, taking out a large cooler bag. Handing it over to Bob, he takes out bottles of water and passes two to Brian, keeping one for himself as he shuts the van doors.

"You provide lunch?" Brian asks, looking surprised.

"No, we expected you to eat grass," Bob says, grinning when Brian tries to jab him with a water bottle.

"It's not part of the job description," Ray says, and heads for a shady spot under the oak tree that dominates that corner of the garden. "But Frank kept forgetting his lunch so I started making more sandwiches." He shrugs, folding himself down onto the grass, legs crossed Indian style. "Now it's just a thing, I don't mind."

"He makes good sandwiches." Bob sits too, opening the cooler bag and taking out three stacks of sandwiches, all of them wrapped in foil. Setting them on the ground he opens them all, eying the contents before selecting a sandwich that seems to contain thick slices of cheese and pickle. "When Frank's working he puts little green flags on the vegetarian choices."

"Fuck off, I did that once." Ray takes a moment to flip Bob off before picking up his own sandwich. He looks at Brian, says, "Help yourself, there's roast ham, cheese and that one's tuna."

Taking a ham sandwich, Brian takes a large bite and leans against the trunk of the tree, and for the first time since he got off the bus he looks truly relaxed. Which is surprising, because it's obvious Brian's not a natural gardener, spending more time glaring at the weeds than actually pulling them, like they're going to wilt at his scowled command. Which is all kinds of amusing, not that Bob will ever say so, he's too grateful to see Brian finally lose some of the tension that's plagued him since he stepped off the bus.

It takes all of ten minutes for all of the sandwiches to be eaten and Bob feels full and sleepy as he lies back, enjoying the sun that's dappled through the branches of the tree. They'll have to get up and finish this job soon, but for now he's content to lie still and enjoy the company of his friends.

"I was thinking," Ray says, and crumples up the foil, putting it into the bag. "I know someone who's got discounted paint, and we've got no jobs on Sunday afternoon."

"Apart from you doing the books you mean," Bob says, and feels a rush of affection when all Ray does is shrug and zip shut the bag.

"I can do those on the night."

Which is technically true but Bob knows how much Ray hates doing the accounts, especially at the end of a long day. "If you're planning on helping Gerard by painting his room, it would be quicker with two."

"Make that three." At Bob's look Brian frowns, says, "What? Just because I've only met him once doesn't mean I can't help."

Bob's pretty sure for many people it would mean exactly that, but he knows Brian's sincere in his offer to help. Crossing his hands behind his head, Bob squints against the brightness of the sun and sends a silent thanks for having such amazing friends.

~*~*~*~

Gerard sits at the kitchen table, a sheet of paper in front of him, the new appointment time and date with his therapist scrawled across the middle -- red pen against white paper, a spreading ink blotch at one end. That he phoned at all feels like some kind of victory, which in turn makes Gerard feel washed out and pathetic, that even a phone call is so hard.

Pushing the paper to one side he stands, needing to take a nap, then freezes in place when he hears someone start to open the door. For a moment Gerard thinks about running downstairs and hiding away, because he can't deal right now, not even with his friends. He takes a step toward the basement, then stops, confused when Mikey walks into the kitchen and drops his bag to the floor.

"Mikey?" Mikey's far too early, he doesn't finish work for hours yet and concern pierces through the apathy as Gerard notices how Mikey is leaning against the counter, trying to catch his breath.

"I'm okay," Mikey says, waving Gerard back. "They just sent me home as a precaution."

"A precaution for what?" Gerard moves close and rests his hand against Mikey's cheek. "You're burning up."

Mikey ducks out of the way. "It's hot out there and I walked home." He sways slightly and grabs for Gerard's arm, holding on. "I'm going to watch TV for a while."

"Okay." Together they walk into the living room, Gerard watching as Mikey sits and kicks off his sneakers before curling up in the corner of the sofa, shivering as he gropes for the blanket that's draped over the back. Grabbing it, Gerard unfolds it with a flick of his hands and carefully makes sure Mikey's covered. "You want something to drink?"

"Juice, please," Mikey says, his eyes already half-closed.

"I'll be back in a minute." A last concerned look and Gerard goes back to the kitchen, filling a glass with juice. Holding it steady, he takes it to Mikey, but finds he's already asleep, his mouth open and breathing heavy and wet sounding. Sinking down in the chair, Gerard sets the juice on the coffee table and worries at the side of his thumbnail with his teeth, thinking about money and Mikey's lack of insurance -- Gerard's never felt so alone.

~~~~

Mikey sleeps for almost an hour and Gerard stands guard, sitting in the easy chair, his legs bent and arms wrapped around his knees. When Mikey starts coughing in his sleep, his face going red as he wakes himself up, eyes wide as he fights for breath, Gerard tumbles forward, his knee striking against the floor with a crack as he crawls over to Mikey's side.

"Mikey, Mikey, you're okay, breathe." Gerard rubs Mikey's back, feeling how hot he is, his t-shirt clinging with sweat. "Mikey, come on, wake up, have a drink." Hand shaking, Gerard reaches for the juice and helps Mikey sit up slightly, holding him as he drinks. When he's finished Mikey slumps back and Gerard eases him against the cushions. "You need to see a doctor."

"No," Mikey says, his head against the side of the sofa, as if he can't keep himself upright. "We can't afford it."

Gerard wants to argue, but he knows Mikey's telling the truth, and he sits on the floor, his hand against Mikey's side, listening to each shuddering breath. When he thinks Mikey's asleep, Gerard gently takes off his glasses and sets them safely to the side, then stands and goes to look for his phone, eventually finding it next to the pastries left on the kitchen table. Picking it up, Gerard presses the number for Bob.

It takes him a while to answer, and Gerard's about to hang up when he hears Bob's, "Hello, Gerard?"

"I need to go get Mikey some medicine, but I don't want to leave him alone. After work, can you come here and watch him? I shouldn't be gone long but he won't go to the doctor and he needs stuff, medicine and shit and...."

"Gerard. Gee. Slow down." There's the sound of footsteps and muffled talking, as if Bob's covered the phone, then he says, "Go on."

Making the effort to calm down, Gerard moves so he can see Mikey, but stays out of the room so he won't wake him up as he talks. "Mikey's been sent home from work and he's sick. Like, really fucking sick. He's burning up and coughing and I don't understand, he wasn't this bad this morning."

"Sometimes stuff like this comes on fast," Bob says, sounding so calm that Gerard can't help be slightly reassured. "Get him to drink fluids if you can, and I'll be over as soon as soon as I finish here."

"Yeah, I can do that," Gerard says, and even though he wants to slide to the ground he locks his knees and ends the call as he goes to sit by Mikey. He's still asleep, pale apart from his flushed cheeks and Gerard can't help but worry that he's going to fuck this up somehow and make Mikey worse. "I'm sorry." Gerard runs his fingers over Mikey's cheek, feeling the heat. "I should have known you were getting this sick. I should have made you stay home. I'm the worst brother ever."

Mikey doesn't reply.

~~~~~

When Bob arrives Gerard's sitting on the couch with Mikey, practically holding him upright as he coughs. He can feel the heat radiating from Mikey's body and Gerard's scared as he rubs Mikey's back and sees how he's trying not to shake.

"Jesus, kid, we can't leave you for five minutes."

Relieved, Gerard looks up and sees Bob walk into the room. He's still wearing his work clothes and his hair is pulled back by a red bandanna, his boots left somewhere so he's walking in socked feet -- just seeing him makes Gerard feel better. "I've been giving him juice, but he's not that thirsty."

"Good." Bob crouches next to Gerard and rests his hand against Mikey's forehead. "Ray's taken Brian to the pharmacy, they'll be back soon. Until then, we'll get Mikey more comfortable."

"I don't know if he'll get upstairs," Gerard says, staying still as Mikey rests against him, his eyes closed.

"Down here will work," Bob says, and kneels up and carefully takes Mikey from Gerard. "Go get him pajama pants and t-shirts, lying in jeans can't be comfortable. A sheet from the bed, too. This blanket's too thick."

"But he's cold," Gerard protests, feeling the way Mikey's still shivering.

"He's shivering like that because he's too hot, we need to get him cooled down." Holding Mikey against him, Bob rubs circles on his back, being so gentle that Gerard gets to his feet, even though all he wants to do is take Mikey back.

A last look and he goes upstairs, pushing himself through the fog as he gathers an armful of sleep wear and a thin blanket. Holding the bundle in his arms, he goes back down, and sees that Bob has Mikey sitting upright, holding him steady.

"Okay kid," Bob says, his voice pitched low. "Here's Gerard, we're going to get you into something more comfortable."

"I'm okay. I'll have a nap and I'll be good to go," Mikey says, his voice hoarse and barely audible as he shakes his head.

"Sorry, it's non-negotiable." Bob indicates that Gerard come forward, ignoring the way Mikey's giving him a glassy-eyed glare. "Hands up."

A brief pause and Mikey does as he's told, holding up his arms so Gerard can peel off his t-shirt. Dropping it to the floor he uses the blanket to rub Mikey's back, and then slides a clean t-shirt over his head, helping him thread his hands into the arm holes and then tugs it down.

"Jeans next," Bob says, matter of fact, and he stands, helping Mikey upright.

"I've got it." Mikey unfastens his belt and button on his jeans, giving Bob a narrow-eyed look before sliding them down. When they're gathered around his knees he sits, and Gerard kneels, pulling the jeans off Mikey's feet. "I could have done that."

"I know," Gerard says simply, not phased about doing this at all. Grabbing the pajama pants, he bundles up a leg and slides it over Mikey's foot and then does the same for the others. "Stand up a moment." When Mikey stands Gerard tugs up the pajama pants, making sure they're straight before Mikey sits back down, immediately pulling up his legs and curling into the corner of the couch.

"Hold on, drink before sleep." Bob takes hold of the glass of juice and hands it over, keeping watching until Mikey takes a drink. "Ray's bringing you medicine that'll help ease your cough. I'm going to make something to eat."

Eyes closed, Mikey says, "I'm not hungry."

"Well I am, and I'm sure Gerard is." Bob holds out a hand when Gerard opens his mouth. "You can stop here, I'll bring you something."

Taking the other end of the couch, Gerard sits and Mikey stretches out his legs, putting his feet on Gerard's lap. Gerard rests his hand over Mikey's bony ankle, the touch helping keep him rooted in the now, an anchor against the sensation of being pulled back down.

"You okay, Gee?" Mikey's got the sheet pulled up to his chin, squinting his eyes as he looks at Gerard.

"Doesn't matter about me," Gerard says, and runs his thumb over Mikey's ankle, hating how washed-out he looks, as if he's finally let down his guard. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" Mikey asks, then holds out a hand as he starts to cough. When he's finished his cheeks are wet with tears and his face red. Gerard leans forward and picks up Mikey's discarded t-shirt, using it to dry his face.

"For that." Gerard drops the t-shirt and hands Mikey the glass of juice, making sure he swallows some before taking it back. "I should have known you were sick."

"I'll be fine by tomorrow," Mikey says, already mostly asleep.

~~~~~

By the night time Mikey's worse. Beside himself, Gerard's on the couch, holding Mikey upright so he can catch his breath. He's got his head resting against Gerard's, and is so hot that Gerard's sweating too, his shirt clinging at his back and under his arms. Keeping a firm hold on Mikey, Gerard watches Ray in the kitchen, where he's stirring a large pot on the stove while Brian sits at the table, reading something Gerard can't see. Bob's gone somewhere, Gerard's not sure where, just he made some phone calls then took off with the keys to Ray's van, promising to be back soon.

"Gee." Gerard turns his head when he hears Mikey speak, he's got his eyes closed still and his mouth slightly open, each breath labored. "I hate being sick."

"You'll be better soon," Gerard says, and pushes the hair out of Mikey's eyes. "Give the medicine a chance to work."

"It should taste like banana," Mikey says, and it takes Gerard a while to catch on, remembering the medicine their mom gave them when they were kids. "I think I can lie down now, you should go eat something and have you taken your meds?"

"You sure?" Gerard asks, and eases Mikey down onto the pile of pillows he's been lying on, where he curls around and immediately falls asleep. Taking hold of the sheet, Gerard pulls it up, then jumps when the kitchen door opens with a bang and Frank runs into view, his boots thudding against the floor as he hurries forward and skids to his knees in front of the couch.

"Mikey?" He reaches out, touching Mikey's side, looking so young and frightened that all Gerard wants to do is reassure him, but he can't, because it's a reassurance he needs himself.

"Don't wake him up," Bob says, carrying something that he sets down next to the couch.

"You should have called me, I would have skipped class," Frank says, never looking away from Mikey.

"Which is why I didn't call." Bob unwinds the cord from the back of the machine and plugs it in. "I called some people, they suspect Mikey's got bronchitis, not helped by him hanging out at the clubs. A humidifier will help and a hot water bottle to his chest, have you got one or do I need to go buy one?"

Gerard tries to think, but his thoughts feel like they're buried and it's all he can do to keep sitting upright. "I don't...."

"There's one in Mikey's room," Frank says, looking up. "It's at the bottom of his bed, it's shaped like an Ewok."

"Of course it is," Bob says, switching on the humidifier, he looks at Gerard. "Is it okay if I go get it?"

"Sure, Mikey won't mind." Gerard sits forward on the couch, feeling damp, sticky and gross. Running his hands through his hair, he needs to stay next to Mikey but also needs to get away. The knowledge that he's fucked up so badly is crushing.

Bob steps forward and holds out his hand to Gerard. "You know what? You can come help me look."

"I should stay here," Gerard says, looking when Frank slides to the floor, sitting at Mikey's head.

"Frank's watching Mikey, and it doesn't feel right going in his room alone," Bob says, and eventually Gerard nods then stands.

Going upstairs takes a while, Gerard feels simultaneously light-headed and weighted down, which is all kinds of weird and when he reaches Mikey's room he slumps down on his bed, his head in his hands.

"You know this isn't your fault." Bob's looking at the bottom of the bed, moving aside hoodies and the trailing blanket until he finally finds a hot water bottle with a matted Ewok cover.

"I should have seen he was getting sick," Gerard says, and keeps looking at the ground when Bob sits, making the bed dip. "I knew he was working too much. I told him, but he kept getting mad, Mikey mad where he didn't say anything but I could tell. I should have made him stay home."

"Would he have listened?" Bob asks, and Gerard wants to say of course, because Mikey always listens to him, except he knows that sometimes Mikey doesn't, especially when it's something that'll end up helping Gerard.

"I still should have seen, but as fucking always it was all about me. I'm fucking pathetic."

"What would Mikey say if he heard someone talk about you like that?" Bob asks, and he shifts closer to Gerard, so close that they're touching.

"He'd kick their asses," Gerard says reluctantly. "He's going to be okay, yeah?"

"He should feel a little better tomorrow, if he doesn't I'll take him to the free clinic."

It's not the answer Gerard needs, but it's enough, and he takes the Ewok from Bob. "We'd better fill this up."

~~~~~

"You need to eat," Ray says, and sets a bowl of soup in front of Gerard. "I made this myself, it's got extra noodles."

Picking up his spoon, Gerard runs it through the soup, making the noodles slip under the surface. He didn't even know they had noodles in the house, and they certainly didn't have any kind of chicken that wasn't part of a nugget. "You bought the stuff to make me soup?"

"To make us all soup, and it didn't cost much," Ray says, and pulls out a chair, his back to the counter which is covered with various types of drinks and medicine. Gerard doesn't want to look in the fridge, he knows he'll never be able to pay Ray back. "I don't, if you wait a few weeks I'll try and pay...."

Breaking a roll in half, Ray points it at Gerard. "Don't even finish that thought, we've all descended on you for dinner, the least I could do was buy."

Which doesn't explain the extra stuff at all but Ray's looking stern and Gerard knows this is one battle he needs to concede. "Thank you."

"You can thank me by eating," Ray says, and takes a bite of his own roll before leaning across the table when he sees what Brain's reading. "You're reading the accounts for the business?"

Brain looks embarrassed, but he doesn't shut the book, just keeps his finger on a column of figures. "Sorry, everyone was busy and I was just sitting here and you'd left them there and." He sighs and takes a deep breath. "I used to do this shit, back in the day but still. I couldn't help see that some of the figures are wrong. Not much, you've missed a decimal which has thrown off the calculations and I was thinking. Some of these schedules could be tweaked, like this one, if we...." Brian stops talking then, and this time he does shut the book. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Ray says, looking pained as Brian pushes the book to one side. "It's the part of the business I hate the most. If you have some insights I'll take them. After you've eaten."

"No problem," Brian says, and starts to stand and get some soup. Ray shakes his head, and pushes over his own bowl.

"Take this one, I haven't touched it yet."

"I'm not taking your food," Brian says, but all Ray does is stand and head for the stove.

"Consider it me buttering you up, I need all the help I can get with the accounts." Ladling soup into a bowl, he looks into the living room and Gerard looks in that direction too, even though he can't see anything but a wall and part of the couch through the doorway.

"Mikey still asleep?" Gerard asks, turning back and forcing himself to eat past the rock in his stomach.

"Looks like it, I couldn't really see past Frank," Ray says, and grips Gerard's shoulder before sitting. Holding onto his spoon, Gerard's hand aches as he looks down at his soup. "You know, this isn't your fault."

Gerard sets down his spoon and pushes the bowl aside. "Bob said that, too."

"Bob knows what he's talking about," Ray says, glancing at Gerard's pushed aside bowl. "Tell Frank I've got some vegetable soup for him."

"I will." Gerard stops when he's half standing, his hand on the table as he looks at Ray. "Your soup's delicious, it's just. I'm not that hungry."

"It's okay." Ray smiles, and Gerard can't help feeling reassured. He's already let down so many people today he doesn't want to make it more. "Go sit with Mikey, I'm going to talk figures with Brian."

Which sounds all kinds of tedious to Gerard and he escapes to the living room, where Frank's still half on-half off the sofa, his hand resting against Mikey's side, just under the Ewok hot water bottle that Gerard wedged between the pillows and his back. "Ray's got you soup."

"I'm not hungry." Frank doesn't look away from Mikey, just keeps watching him breathe and Gerard's glad that at least one person is attentive.

"Wrong answer." Standing from the easy chair, Bob pushes his phone in his pocket then reaches down, grabbing Frank under the arms and lifting him with one easy movement. Feet kicking, Frank glares but Bob easily keeps hold. "You're going to come eat, Mikey's fine just now and Gerard's more than capable of watching him."

Gerard isn't that sure, but at Bob's look, he sits on the edge of the sofa, instinctively reaching out to touch Mikey.

"Yell if you need anything," Bob says and carries Frank from the room.

Left alone, Gerard turns, one knee bent on the cushions and his hand on Mikey's ankle. He can hear the others talking in the next room but in here it's quiet apart from the sound of Mikey's breathing and the hum of the humidifier. Picking up that note, Gerard begins to hum too, something that's more melody than actual song, ghost notes from the past when his family was more than Mikey and Gerard was genuinely happy.

~~~~~

"Gee."

Scrubbing at his eyes, Gerard sits, pushing a blanket off his lap. His whole body feels stiff and his neck is aching from where he's been lying sleeping slumped to one side. Peering through the dim light of the lamp, he sees that Mikey's awake, his eyes open and his hand on his chest.

"You want something?" Gerard says, whisper soft. Carefully he shuffles along the couch, aware that Frank's fast asleep on the floor, while Bob's curled up in the easy chair, his legs dangling over the side.

Mikey shakes his head and slowly pushes himself upright, swaying a little until he's lying back against the stack of pillows. Squinting, he peers around. "Why are we camping out?"

"Because you're sick, moron," Gerard says, and worms forward until he's close to Mikey. It's a tight fit, but they've had years of fitting together and soon Mikey's lying heavily against Gerard, still far too hot and his breathing too harsh. "Ray and Brian have gone home but they'll be back in the morning."

"Frank's here?"

"He's on the floor, he kept awake as long as he could." Taking hold of Mikey's hand, Gerard holds it up, showing his palm and the red heart surrounded by flowers that have been drawn on it in red ink. "He says he loves you."

Mikey smiles, the briefest curl of his lips. "How are you feeling?"

"Worried about you," Gerard admits, and lets go of Mikey's hand so he can pull up the sheet. "You should have told me you were sick."

"You should have told me your medication wasn't working," Mikey replies, and this isn't the time for this conversation, when Mikey can barely talk and Gerard barely function, but Mikey's expression is set and Gerard knows he's not going to back down.

"I thought it would be okay, the grey isn't that bad, it's better than this," Gerard says, and Mikey lies still, pale, his eyes shadowed and it feels like a confessional, Gerard's words hushed and his heart racing. "You know what it was like at first, what I did, the gray’s nothing, like a world blanketed in fog but at least I'm not tearing at my own skin or being suffocated by black. I hate the black, it pushes me down into the pit and all I can do is look up, and then even that's too hard. The meds pulled me halfway out."

"To the grey," Mikey says, and rests his head close to Gerard's.

"The grey keeps me living," Gerard says, but Mikey shakes his head.

"You've forgotten what living actually is." He turns away then, hand in front of his mouth, trying to muffle his coughs as Frank wakes, already reaching for the bottle of water and Bob swings around his legs and sits. Gerard keeps rubbing Mikey's back, his own silent support.

~*~*~*~

Balanced on top of the ladder, Bob carefully trims the honeysuckle, snipping off the shoots that grow forward instead of staying twined around the lattice attached to the wall. It's not a job he particularly cares for, the bees are far too interested in what he's doing and he'd prefer to be at ground level rather than climbing on ladders, but he's got no choice. Frank's still at the Way's and Ray's in the middle of landscaping an entire flowerbed. Every few minutes he steps back and surveys the arrangement of plants and grasses, before going back in and making a minute change.

Looking over his shoulder, Bob watches as Ray swaps a bamboo for an elephant grass, frowning as he examines the new placement. Bob's sure they're back in the same place they were five minutes before, but he says nothing, just turns a little so he can see Brian, who's tackling his first solo lawn. So far he seems to be doing well, even if he does scowl at the mower and seems to be continuously muttering under his breath. Bob can't hear what he's saying, but knows it won't be polite.

Returning to his own job, Bob snips at another tendril, letting it drop to the ground as he swats at a bee that buzzes close to his head. Thankfully there's not much left to prune and with a last cut he pushes the secateurs into his pocket and climbs down, gathering the cuttings that are piled on the ground. Holding the bundle against his chest he heads for the compost heap that's tucked away at the back of the garden, throwing the cutting onto the grass clippings that are already there.

"Why stripes? That's what I fucking what to know." Bob grins when Brian approaches, his face red and the spikes of his hair flattened, a cigarette tucked behind one ear. His forehead is creased as he ensures the mower is straight, matching the stripes that decorate the lawn. "Who the fuck cares if your grass has stripes?"

"Mr. Bennet does," Bob says, and takes a moment to grab a bottle of water out of the cooler that's sitting in the shadow of the van. "Want a drink?"

He offers the bottle to Brian who shuts off the mower and holds out his hand. "I'm drier than a nun's pussy."

"Way to stay classy," Bob says, laughing when Brian throws back the bottle, the water arching from the open top.

"If you're going to water fight can you do it off the lawn?" Ray says, peering through a large grass. "It always takes forever to flatten the divots."

Brian tilts his head to one side, looking amused. "You often water fight?"

"Does he often water fight?" Stepping from behind the grass Ray puts his hands on his hips. "Between him and Frank I may as well offer an aquatic gardening service."

"That's because Frank is fucking insane," Bob says, because no matter what Ray says none of this is Bob's fault. Before he'd come here to work fights were fought with fists, not water. That things changed is totally down to Frank.

"You're both insane, sometimes I wonder how I keep this business at all," Ray says mildly, and he picks up his grass, ready to re-position it yet again.

"You keep it because you're the best gardener around." Taking the secateurs out of his shorts pocket, Bob looks at the remaining honeysuckle plants that cling along almost the whole side of the house. "You've also got kick-ass assistants."

"Frank has his moments," Ray says, sounding amused, the only part of him visible behind the grass his legs and two hands. "Thinking of, I take it we're going to the Way's after work."

"After we've been to Frank's, his mom's been making food for them." Bob moves the ladder and starts to climb, raising his voice so Ray and Brian can hear. "She's packed a bag for him, too. Apparently he's not going home until Mikey's better."

"Want me to pack you a bag, too?" Brian ask, his grin wide. Bob pretends he doesn't hear.

~~~~~

They leave work, but it still takes almost an hour before they get to the Way's; forty minutes of which is spent talking to Frank's mom and reassuring her Mikey really will be okay. Eventually, after a promise they'll pass on her good wishes and love, they leave with a bulging bag of Frank's clothes and enough home-made food to last weeks. Sitting in the van with three trays of lasagna on his lap, Bob leans against the door, his arm stretched along the open window.

It's a beautiful evening, the setting sun casting shadows that stretch across the road. Listening to Ray sing along to the radio, Brian squashed against his side, Bob feels perfectly happy, then unsettled when he realizes some of that happiness is because he's going to see Gerard -- because no matter what Brian seems to think, all Gerard can be is a friend. Bob's not going to complicate his life any further, and that means ignoring any feelings that are trying to be heard.

"Should we stop and get more groceries?" Ray drums his fingers against the steering wheel, keeping time with the song. "They could be out of juice."

"They've enough juice to last for a year," Bob says, fully understanding the need to provide provisions for Gerard and Mikey, because right now, they both look incredibly fragile, like two saplings that bend in the slightest breeze.

"I guess." Slowing for a stop sign Ray looks toward the back of the van. "I'll give the garden a look over while I'm there."

"You don't need my help, do you?" Brian asks, sounding so reluctant that Bob can't help but laugh. Brian turns in his seat as much as he can and jabs Bob hard in the side. "Fuck you, Bryar. When I close my eyes I still see fucking stripes in front of my eyes. Stripes. Who the hell needs stripes on their lawn?"

"My customers," Ray says easily. He pulls away and makes a left, his mouth twitching at one corner. "No gardening, promise. Not when you're off the clock."

Brian turns in the other direction, elbowing Bob in the ribs in the process. "Thank fucking God, but if you were stuck...."

"I'd ask Frank," Ray says with a grin, and goes back to tapping along to the song as they continue to drive, pulling outside of the Way's within five minutes.

"Is that a balloon tied to that unicorn?" Brian's staring past Bob and out of the side window, looking confused.

"It is," Bob says, and steps outside, juggling the lasagnas as he looks at the silver sparkly balloon, Get Well Soon written on the side. "It'll be for Mikey from Frank."

"But couldn't Frank just take it in?" Brian walks toward the unicorn, looking up at the balloon that's swaying in the breeze.

"It's their thing, it's best not to ask," Ray says, and opens the back of the van so he can grab some of the food and Frank's bag.

"A unicorn thing." Brian prods the balloon, making it spin in the air before he comes back and gathers an armful of Tupperware dishes, each one filled with meals sent by Frank's mom.

"Seriously, don't ask." Opening the door with his elbow, Bob goes inside and sets the lasagnas on the counter. Pushing them toward the back he sees the kitchen looks unusually clean, and the window is pushed open, letting in the fresh air. Following the faint sound of music he goes into the living room, and finds Gerard curled up in the easy chair, his chin on his bent knees, while Mikey is still resting against the mound of pillows, Frank lying against him, an iPod in his hand and an ear bud each in their ears.

"Hey." Bob steps in the room, and Gerard looks up and pushes the hair out of his eyes.

"They're asleep," Gerard says, and he looks like he needs sleep himself, the skin under his eyes almost black with shadows. "I've been watching, making sure he's okay."

Bob walks over to the couch so he can see Mikey, who thankfully doesn't look as ill as he did the night before. "He looks a little better."

"Frank's looking after him, he makes sure he takes his medicine and keeps the Ewok full of hot water."

"And you've done nothing to help I suppose," Bob says, refusing to let Gerard dismiss his own efforts to look after Mikey.

Gerard rubs at his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Too little, too late."

"Bullshit," Bob says, keeping his voice low. "Stop with the self pity, already, you know Mikey would kick your ass for saying that. Now come on, Ray needs help in the garden."

Gerard's eyes widen. "And you want me to help?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" Bob crosses his arms over his chest and waits for Gerard to move, silently sending an apology to Ray.

"Last time I helped I pulled up all the new seedlings."

"He's doing basic tidying today," Bob says, refusing to budge, because he knows Gerard won't have left the house today, hell, he'll be surprised if he's left this room. "Come on, you know he likes to talk plants."

"I need to watch Mikey," Gerard says, making no effort to move.

"Frank's here," Bob says, and spotting Brian moving in the kitchen, pushes the point. "And Brian wants an excuse to stay out of the garden. He can stay in here."

Apparently hearing his name, Brian comes into the room, but stays close to the door. "Gerard. How's Mikey doing?"

"Better I think, he doesn't cough as much as long as he lies still," Gerard says, his nervousness about someone new in his house fading as he gets to talk about Mikey. "If he wakes get him to drink some juice."

Brian shoots a look at Bob, obviously confused.

"Gerard's coming out to help in the garden, I told him you'd watch Mikey," Bob says, and hopes Brian gets what he's not saying. Thankfully, a history of communicating with few words means Brian walks further into the room, standing so he's close to Gerard.

"I'll get him to drink, promise."

"Okay, I guess I can go out then." Slowly, Gerard pushes himself upright using the arms of the chair. It's something that seems to need effort and Bob's kicking himself that he actually left this morning, but he couldn't leave Ray in the lurch and Gerard seemed to be coping as well as he could.

"Have you eaten?" Bob steps close, ready to catch Gerard if he stumbles, but he straightens up and with a last look at the couch, starts to leave the room.

"Frank made sandwiches, Gerard says, and attempts a smile at Ray, who's trying to stuff all the food in the small freezer. "Mikey ate half of one."

"What about you?" Bob asks, already planning what to make as a snack as he imagines Gerard picking at his food.

Gerard blinks against the golden light that floods into the room. "I had a sandwich too, Frank kept looking at me until I ate."

"Good." Satisfied Bob places his hand against the small of Gerard's back, urging him toward outside. He doesn't hold up much hope of keeping Gerard out there for long, but even five minutes will be better than nothing. "Come on, the weeds are waiting."

Once they get into the garden there's not that much to do, the plants are all hardy and Ray's been keeping them tidy, and even the grass is cut short -- without any stripes. Looking along the flower beds, Bob finally sees a clump of weeds, and heads straight for them, sinking to the grass in front of the bed. Hand shielding his eyes he looks over at Gerard, who's hovering near the doorway as if he's afraid to walk into the sun.

"Stop making like a vampire and come here." Bob pats the grass beside him and leans back on his hands as Gerard makes his way over the lawn and thumps to the ground in an ungainly heap. When he's settled, Bob points to the tiny green weeds just visible under the rows of marigolds and pansies. "See those? You need to pull them out."

"Okay." Gerard reaches out and grabs one of the weeds, tugging it free of the crumbly earth. He drops it on the grass and then goes for the next, his hand brushing against the vibrant petals of the flowers.

"Gerard," Bob says, and he's not sure if he should be even asking this yet, but it's the first time they've been alone for days and he decides to take a chance. "What color are the flowers?"

Pulling back his hand, Gerard runs his fingers over the top of the ruffled orange head of a marigold. "I know it's orange, my eyes see that. Orange like the sun on a late evening, but it's not orange at all." Gerard drops his head and takes his hand away from the flower. "I know it makes no sense, but it feels grey, my eyes see orange but my mind sees grey."

"Is everything like that?" Bob asks, hating the thought of Gerard seeing the world through a filter of grey, because the world is so much more, millions of colors that should be experienced and touched.

"Not always," Gerard says, his head resting on his hands. "Sometimes it's black, yesterday was black, my lungs were black and I couldn't breathe. Sometimes there's colors, mostly around Mikey, but sometimes you." Gerard looks up then, staring at Bob. "Sometimes you're break-throughs of blue."

It's Bob that looks away first, his heart beating fast. "You're going to see your therapist, yeah?"

"On Monday," Gerard says, and grabs hold of another weed, tugging it free with a jerk of his hand. "It won't do any good, it's just more money we can't afford and I do everything they say and it doesn't help and it's so fucking hard."

Bob reaches out, but stops before he touches Gerard. "No one ever said it would be easy."

"No one said it would be like this either." Without waiting for Bob to reply, Gerard gets to his feet. "I'm going in."

Bob gathers up the scattered weeds and watches him go.

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