turps | Mr. Bob 3/3

Mikey feels clammy, his t-shirt clinging at the small of his back and under his arms. Using the flat of his hand he wipes at his neck as he makes his way back to their table, hoping to see Bob. There's only Frank, and the still weird picture of Gerard sitting holding hands with Lindsey, and Mikey feels a pang of disappointment as he sits and picks up a cup of beer, drinking it down in one go, grimacing when he realizes it's warm.

"Did you see Bob?" Gerard asks. He looks worried, forehead creased as he looks at Mikey. "He went looking for you then came back here and took off, saying he was going home."

Mikey shakes his head and keeps clutching the empty cup. "I took Dan back to his girl, the fucker nearly barfed on my neck. She’s taking him home.”

"Classy," Frank says, looking Mikey up and down as if he's expecting him to be covered in vomit. "Though not surprising, you've so much shit in your hair anyone would barf coming close."

"Yeah?" Mikey says, and runs his hands through his hair so they're coated in gel. "Want a close up?"

Mikey pounces, aiming for Frank's face, and while Frank might be small and quick, when he wants Mikey can move fast too, and they're circling the table, laughing as Gerard holds on to his drink and tries to keep out of the way. Eventually, when Mikey's cracked his knees against the chairs at least three times and Frank's spilled the remaining cups of beer, Gerard holds out his hand, grabbing hold of Mikey's t-shirt and holding him in place.

"Aren't you going to call Bob, see what's up?"

Instantly Mikey feels guilty. He's been having so much fun with Frank he's forgotten about Bob. About to pull out his phone, he stops and wipes his hands on his thighs, then heads for outside where he'll be able to talk and be heard. "Back soon."

It takes a while to get out of the club. Mikey waves greetings to his friends and ends up in four conversations until, finally he's getting his hand stamped and pushing his way outside.

Heading away from the queue he leans against the wall and calls Bob's number, listening to it ring out, and eventually go to voice mail. Hanging up, Mikey tries again, and again, but each time no one picks up. Worry gnawing, this time he leaves a message, says, "Hi, Bob. I hope you're okay. Gee said you had to go home."

Hanging up, Mikey stares at his phone, knowing he's missed out the most important part of his message. Writing always easier than actual words, Mikey types a new text, sends Call me?. Then closes his phone and goes back inside.

~*~*~*~

Bob doesn't reply to Mikey's messages, either voice or text.

He's deleted them all before he's even half way home.

~*~*~*~

It's something that happens in an instant. Bob's watching Ronan come down the small slide when Reba comes hurtling toward him. She's laughing, caught up in some kind of kid game, arms wide and head down as she runs and Bob tries to step to the side before he takes another hit to his crotch.

He doesn't see the ball that's rolled close, just feels it under his foot as he throws out his arms, trying for balance. It doesn't work, Bob feels himself falling and all he can do is twist to the side, ensuring he doesn't land on any of his kids.

He hits hard, hands taking all the impact and even if the court yard is covered in a spongy surface, it isn't enough.

~~~~~

"You need to go check those out," Ray says flatly. He's standing over Bob, frowning as he looks at the damp towels Bob's got draped over his wrists. "I can watch your class."

Bob shakes his head. His kids are already unsettled after seeing him fall, disappearing now would make things even worse. Grimacing, he flexes his fingers. "It's not that bad."

"Stubborn bastard," Ray says, and sits down on the chair next to Bob's. From outside there's the clink of cutlery and Bob worries about Jamia having to supervise both classes at lunch, about Reba who he couldn't stop crying, the pain in his wrists nothing compared to the way her face crumpled when she'd realized she'd made Bob fall.

Bob flexes his fingers again, biting back a groan at the pain that flairs up both arms. "They'll be fine. The doctors said they're as good as new after the ops."

It's not an outright lie, more a bending of the truth especially as Bob knows that Ray can't afford to take a hit on his deductible, even if he has managed to get insurance for them all. Ray doesn't look convinced, but eventually pulls in a breath, says, "Stay here until the afternoon session, I'll go get you something to eat."

Ray leaves the staff room, and Bob sits still, eyes squeezes closed and steeling himself for the hours he'll have to endure before he can go home.

~*~*~*~

The knock at the door is unwelcome. Bob's nested on the futon, sheets over his lap and riding the haze of painkillers taken on an empty stomach. He's wearing his braces on each wrist, his hoodie sleeves pulled down low and his fingers throb as he rolls onto his hip and pushes himself up using his elbow.

"Coming," Bob snaps when there's yet another knock. Suspecting Ray, Bob's about to chew him out for mother-henning when he opens the door, his words drying up when he sees Mikey. It's been four days since Bob ran out of the club, and while he's been swapping texts with Mikey's they've been nothing more than banal small talk. Bob is keeping their relationship at the level he needs.

"Hey." Mikey's carrying a brown paper bag cradled against his chest and has another bigger bag looped over his shoulder. He's also wearing the same kind of outfit as usual, tight pants and t-shirt, his hair slicked back in a messy lump on top of his head.

Bob stares, says, "I thought you'd be at work?"

"I left early." Gently, Mikey pushes past Bob and puts the paper bag on the counter and drops the other next to the futon. "Frank said you were sick."

Bob bumps the door closed with his hip and stands watching as Mikey takes over his kitchen. He's unpacking cartons, polystyrene cups and brown paper wrapped parcels and Bob sniffs, recognizing the aroma of some kind of soup. Stomach growling, Bob strengthens his resolve to tell Mikey to go, because Bob's fine, he doesn't need anyone here. "I'm not sick."

"Sick, hurt, whatever," Mikey says easily. "Go sit down, I'll bring these over."

Irritation hits, all Bob wants to do is hide away from the world and lick his wounds, even if it is only for one night. "Look, I appreciate the effort but I'm not hungry, or up for company."

It's a pointed hint but Mikey takes no notice. Just starts to fill up the kettle before turning and looking directly at Bob. "I'm thinking you've taken painkillers on an empty stomach and that's a bad scene. Have some soup at least."

"You're fucking annoying," Bob says, but he's hurting too much to fight and gives in with bad grace, lowering himself back onto his heaped nest of blankets and pillows.

"But I bring good soup." Mikey thumbs off the top of one of the cartons, peering inside. Seemingly satisfied he blows on the top before wandering over to Bob.

Bob frowns, not endeared at all. "Want to spoon feed me it too?"

"If you want me to," Mikey says, impervious to Bob's bad mood. He crouches, holding out the soup. "It's chicken noodle, it's good when you're not feeling so hot."

"I'm feeling fine," Bob all but growls, and he takes the soup with bad grace, holding it gingerly as he takes a cautious sip.

"Told you it was good," Mikey says, not even looking as he heads back to the kitchen. He's busy unwrapping sandwiches and making mugs of instant coffee, and Bob would make some remark about Mikey making himself at home, but the truth is, he doesn't care. The soup tastes good and Mikey's making no attempt at lame small talk and Bob's happy to lie back and drink, the warmth soothing even if it's not helping the actual pain.

"I got Bologna sandwiches." Mikey kicks off his shoes -- his slip-ons today -- and folds himself down opposite Bob. He's got a plate containing two sandwiches in one hand, two mugs of coffee held by the handles in the other. The sandwiches are cut into small pieces and Bob looks, frowning over his soup as he waits for Mikey to make some bullshit excuse, like he likes them that way or else it lessens the mess.

"They're easier for you to eat that way," Mikey says, and sets down the mugs on the floor and puts the plate on his lap. "It can't feel good."

"You don't know the half of it." Bob winces when he curls his fingers further around the cup, the tendons in each wrist protesting the movement.

Mikey picks up a piece of sandwich and takes a bite, eating while he talks. "Frank told me your wrists exploded and you've got robot tendons."

"Something like that," Bob says, it's something they've never talked about, and he thinks about the scars under each splint, silvery now but each one containing the memory of rehab, pain and broken dreams.

Mikey keeps eating, lost in thought, then says, "Robot tendons would be cool, they could burst out of your skin when you needed them, like Wolverine's claws."

Bob doesn't know what to say, because Wolverine's claws? Seriously? He stares at Mikey who's eating like he hasn't been fed for a week. Sauce at the corner of his mouth and eyes shining, like he's really having fun sitting here with Bob and talking about robot tendons. Which Bob doesn't get, because Mikey's not supposed to be here like this, doing nice things and seemingly not wanting a thing in return. What they have is no strings only, good times with no expectations and that doesn't include Mikey actually caring. Before Bob can even think what he's saying he says, "I'm not up for sex tonight."

For a moment Mikey looks hurt, his shoulders stiffening and mouth opening as if he's about to protest. Then he snaps his mouth closed, waits a moment and then says levelly, "It's okay, I wasn't planning on staying anyway. I only stopped by for a few minutes." Cramming a last piece of sandwich in his mouth Mikey stands and puts on his shoes. Hands clenched, he looks around and then picks up his other bag, setting it down next to Bob. "There's DVDs in there, and my laptop, I know you haven't got a player."

More than anything, Bob wants to take back his last words, because even if Mikey is easy, there's no need to throw it in his face. But already Mikey's heading for the door and Bob looks in the bag, seeing a pile of DVDs and a laptop, an assortment of band stickers decorating the top. "I can't keep these."

Mikey shrugs, never looking back "You need something to entertain you when you're staying in, your TV's shit."

Without another word he leaves, and Bob stares from the laptop to the abandoned mugs of coffee, each one still steaming.

~*~*~*~

Gerard is sitting on Mikey's bed, and it's obvious he's not intending to move any time soon. He's pretending to read a comic, but after half an hour of Gerard peering at him from over the top of the page, Mikey throws himself down on the bed and says, "Spill it already."

"I don't get why you're not mad," Gerard says, and his mouth is all twisted as he stares at Mikey. "You took him soup and he implied you only wanted him for sex."

Mikey shrugs. "It was more than an implication."

"That doesn't make it better," Gerard points out, and he sounds so caught between misery and anger that Mikey's regretting telling him at all. "I should punch him in his fucking face."

Mikey thinks about Gerard trying to do that, and for the first time in hours he thinks he could smile. "I think he could take you."

"Maybe," Gerard admits, and bunches his hands into fists, his expression fierce as he adds, "But I'd still do it. No one gets to say you're some kind of slut."

Gerard's protectiveness is welcome and Mikey loves him for his constant support, but in this specific case Mikey thinks it's misguided, and he pushes himself back so he's sitting next to Gerard. "He was in a lot of pain and didn't actually say those words."

"Don't." Gerard's hands are in his hair and he bites at his lip, says, "You're making excuses for him, even if he didn't say those words he hurt your feelings and I don't get why you're letting that go."

Mikey hesitates a moment, because while he's got reasons, explaining will be breaking open wounds that have been scabbed over for years. But Gerard's sitting waiting, expectant. Mikey pulls in a breath, says simply, "If I took offence at everyone lashing out at me I'd have walked away from you back then."

Usually so mobile, it's weird to see Gerard's face so still, frozen as he looks down at his clenched hands. "You're telling me I made you into a doormat?"

That's not what Mikey's saying at all, and he hastens to explain. "I'm telling you that sometimes people lash out and don't mean it."

Gerard doesn't look convinced and he pulls up his legs, resting his arms on his knees. "I get where you're coming from, I do, but the situations are different. I was off my fucking head but I never stopped loving you. Ever. He doesn't even know you well, he doesn't get that out."

"Maybe," Mikey allows, because maybe Gerard is right but the fact is, Mikey likes spending time with Bob. He likes Bob full stop, and that's why Mikey's letting this go, even when logically he knows that he shouldn't.

~*~*~*~

Bob's sitting at his desk, marking off pages of a book to copy when he becomes aware of being watched. His kids are coloring in, the sound of pens against paper a background to their chatter, but in the last few seconds that noise has lessened, and Bob looks up, seeing twelve pairs of eyes looking his way.

It's disconcerting, every one of them watching and Bob looks right back, about to ask what's going on when Emma stands and walks to the front of the class. Her eyes are wet and her fingers stained with various colors, when she gets close she stares at Bob's wrists, and the braces that aren't completely hidden under his shirt sleeves. Confused, Bob asks, "What's up?"

"You fell." Emma takes another step closer and then back to her classmates before suddenly running forward and wrapping her arms around Bob's waist. "You hurted yourself."

"Hurt myself," Bob corrects, and puts his arm over Emma's thin shoulders. He's supposed to be careful about getting too close, but Emma's clinging on, and it seems the rest of the class have similar plans, as they all leave their places and circle Bob, touching him any way that they can.

The only one missing is Jed, who's at the other side of Bob's desk, where he keeps the rolls of stickers. "You need a star."

Bob shakes his head. "No I don't."

"You do," Jed says, and peels a star sticker off the roll. Pushing his way through the crowd, he presses the sticker on top of one of Bob's braces, a patch of bright yellow against the beige. "There, that's 'cos you're a brave soldier."

Bob wants to say that he's not brave at all. He's bitched about his wrists and cursed and hated his body for letting him down, but that's nothing his kids need to know, and he sits frozen, arms outstretched as each one of his kids peel off a sticker and adds them to one of Bob's braces. When they're done both are covered in yellow, a galaxy of shining stars against the evidence of Bob's pain.

~*~*~*~

Gerard's coming to the school after five and while he's unable to help paint, Bob's decided to wait, hanging out with Jamia and Ray. He's got Mikey's laptop and DVDs locked in his classroom cupboard and hopes, like last time, Mikey will tag along so Bob can hand them back. Feet on the low coffee table, Bob relaxes in the sinfully comfortable armchair, listening as Jamia and Ray discuss plans for a potential end of semester celebration.

"You have to do something," Jamia says. "You'll have been open a whole semester, and they said you'd fold after a few weeks."

Bob tilts his head so he can see them both. "I agree, you need to show the fuckers that you've done it, and the school's a success."

"A small one maybe," Ray says, loosening his tie. "We still need more enrolments and I can't find anyone to teach here permanently and we can't afford half the stuff we need."

For a long moment Bob thinks what to say, then drops his feet to the ground and sits up using his elbows as leverage. "Fuck that shit, you know how many kids this place helps. Maybe there isn't enough for everything right now but there will be."

Ray looks over at Bob. "That's your pep talk?"

"Do I look like a cheerleader?" Bob asks.

"And I'm not ruffling any pom poms either," Jamia puts in, she's standing next to the staff room notice board, next to curling print outs about meetings and fliers for bands pinned up next to drawings made by their kids. "We should put on a show. The kids, some instruments and their parents watching. We can celebrate and fund raise."

It's an interesting idea, because even if they're all teachers right now, going to shows is what they all do. Music and performing, and there's no reason it can't be combined with their actual jobs.

Ray takes out his PDA and starts pushing buttons, then looks up, already caught in the idea. It's something Bob's missed, seeing Ray so excited, because while the school is one of his dreams, lately it’s been dimmed by the drudgery of practicalities.

"We can perform the songs I've been teaching them in music hour. Each class getting a solo then we'll do a school song."

"Sounds good to me," Bob says, and Jamia nods her agreement as she notes things down.

The door buzzer sounds then, the same quick fire barrage of buzzes as last time. Jamia goes to answer, stowing her diary in her bag. "I'll go let them in."

"And I need to go make a call," Ray says with a sigh. "Tell Gerard I'll be out in five minutes, and don't let him paint anything but snakes."

"I'll try," Bob says, and heads out of the room.

~~~~

Expecting to see Mikey, Bob's surprised when the only person outside is Gerard. He's standing in the middle of the playground at the back of the school, his eyes hidden by huge sunglasses and hair blowing into his face. When Bob steps into view Gerard looks his way, peering through the strands of hair. He doesn't smile, says coolly, "Bob, hey."

"You going solo?" Bob asks, feeling awkward, like he should be apologizing to Gerard somehow. Sitting on the low wall that runs parallel to the playground, Bob watches Gerard pace the perimeter of the area.

"Frank's gone off with Jamia, I didn't ask why," Gerard says and pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head, giving Bob a considered look before walking over to the wall, sitting so there's a large amount of space between them. "Ray says he wants snakes and ladders. Sea serpents are snakes, right?"

"Technically I guess." Bob waits, hoping Gerard will bring up Mikey himself, but all he does is pull a pen from behind his ear and start sketching on the back of his arm. There's some kind of serpent coiling from elbow to wrist before Bob finally asks, "Is Mikey not coming?"

Gerard colors in an oval eye, says, "He's working late today."

Disappointment hits, so hard Bob's shocked, and he needs to cover before he shows too much. "I've got his stuff. Can you take it back to him?"

"I can," Gerard says, and the nib of his pen digs into his arm. "But it would be better if you took them, and apologized at the same time."

Bob hasn't known Gerard long, but in all the times he's met him he's never heard him sound so cold. Knowing he's the cause makes Bob's stomach clench and he feels sick as he remembers past demands for apologies, Callum standing over Bob's hospital bed, furious as he demanded an apology for Bob allowing things to get so bad, Jessica packing up her things, saying Bob needed to say sorry for working so hard that she had to go elsewhere for attention. They're both conversations that are seared in Bob's memory and he protects himself by going on the attack, the way he's learnt is best. "I've nothing to apologize for. We've never had a relationship, he's nothing but a good fuck."

If he was thinking clearly Bob would have expected the punch, as it is he's not, he's tired and in pain and the next thing he's aware of is lying on the ground, cold leeching through his clothes and his jaw thumping as Gerard stands over him and rubs his fist.

"I told Mikey that I wouldn't do that, but fuck you. You don't get to say that about him." Gerard starts to stalk away then turns back, still furious. "He's been willing to take what you'll give him, but fuck that. He's worth more and you'd better keep away from him."

At the last Gerard disappears in the direction of the school. Hearing the door close, Bob thinks about sitting up, but the effort seems too much and he lies still, looking up at sky.

The door opens again and Bob hears running footsteps, then suddenly Ray's in view, peering down at Bob. "Oh fuck, he really did punch you in the face." Ray kneels down, his hand on Bob's chest. "Can you get up?"

"He didn't hit that hard," Bob says, and doesn't admit that mostly he's staying down because he landed awkwardly and his wrist joints feel like fire. Thankfully it seems Ray understands, and he eases his hands behind Bob's shoulders and pulls him up. Steadying until Bob's sitting with his back against the wall. "Thanks."

Ray sits too, his face twisted with worry. "What the hell did you say? Gerard never hits anyone."

Bob would protest the assumption that it's Bob at fault. But this is Ray, who's been there for all the bad times, in person, phone and emails, and right now Bob's too tired for lies, even the kind he tells to himself. "He said I should apologize to Mikey, and it brought back some shit."

"Callum?" Ray asks, and Bob nods, because like so often, it always gets back to Callum in the end. Even finding Jessica in bed with another guy was nothing compared to Callum announcing he was leaving. Bob's kept the details of that last meeting locked away, even from Ray, but now he's pushed to his limit and the words come tumbling out, he just hopes if he does some of the hurt he's carrying will finally fade.

"I told you he said he didn't want to be with me if I couldn't drum in the band. I didn't say he said that when I was still in the hospital." Bob rubs at his wrists, and each breath he takes is tainted with the sense memory of antiseptic and blood, the pain of his wrists wrapped in thick splints, an IV in the crook of his arm and unable to dry his own tears. "He'd talked to my doctor, said if I couldn't drum he wasn't sticking around, that he was only there for the fame that came with the band."

"I fucking hate that bastard," Ray all but snarls. "If I ever meet him...."

"You won't," Bob says, knowing Callum is long gone. Bob just wishes the memories would go so easily. "He knew before I did, that the operation had failed. He was down as my partner so the doctor told him before I came around. It gave him a chance to make plans. I found out he'd taken his stuff from our place by the next day."

"You should have told me," Ray says, and even though normally they're not one for hugging, Ray puts his arm around Bob, holding him close. "I would have helped."

Which Bob doesn't understand, because Ray did help, he has for every part of Bob's life. He leans against Ray, allowing himself this comfort. "You did help, and I didn't know how to say my wrists were fucked, my career was over and my long term boyfriend blamed me for ruining the band."

Ray rubs his fingers over Bob's shoulder, says, "You've told me now, and I'm going to tell you that Callum's a vindictive, spineless, limp-dicked, moronic bastard who's not worthy to lick your shoes, and you need to let him go."

Bob doesn't try to pretend he doesn't understand. "I don't know if I can."

"Yeah you can," Ray says, "because you're Bob fucking Bryar, and you've already turned your life around, now you just need to finish the job. Starting with going inside so Gerard can see he didn't actually kill you."

"Not even close." Gently, Bob touches his face, poking at the sore spot where Gerard's fist grazed his chin. "But he meant to hit hard, and I deserved it."

"Probably, he's protective of Mikey," Ray says, and with a last squeeze of Bob's shoulder he gets to his feet, and, without being asked, tucks his hand under Bob's elbow, helping him upright. "But you can make it right."

Bob glances over at the school door. "That's if he'll talk to me."

Ray laughs and urges Bob forward. "He'll be in there pacing, torn between wanting to hit you again and making sure you're okay."

It turns out that Ray knows Gerard perfectly. Inside Frank and Jamia are watching as Gerard paces the corridor, and when Bob walks into view Gerard’s face lights up, before he scowls, as if he's remembering he's supposed to be angry. "I meant that, and if you ever say anything like that about Mikey again you'll get another punch. But I hope you're okay."

Bob thinks about brushing off the punch and saying it doesn't hurt at all. But Gerard looks fierce, and Bob's glad Mikey's got someone so loyal on his side. Instead he says simply, "I'll live, and I'm sorry, for making you do that and saying what I said."

"It's okay," Gerard says, and while he's not as touchy feely as usual there's a definite thawing of his attitude. "But you really need to tell Mikey that, not me."

Bob knows, he does, but saying sorry to Gerard is one thing, Mikey is another, especially when all Bob can think of is the way Mikey's face crumpled in the seconds before his barriers crashed down. Still, it is a needed apology and Bob hooks his watch out of his pocket, looking at the time. "I'll call and arrange to meet him after work."

Gerard smiles. "Good, he really likes you, you know."

There's part of Bob that tells himself that Gerard's lying, that while they have been having fun it's never been serious, that all the time Mikey's been out with other men. There's also the part where he can tell Gerard believes what he's saying, and how both Jamia and Frank are nodding.

"He does," Frank says, and he glances at Jamia as if checking he should say anything at all. "He has from the start, but then you wanted no-strings and he went along with that. You're lucky he does like you so much, especially after what you said the other night."

"I wasn't thinking straight." It's not an excuse, Bob meant what he said at the time, but now, he's thinking he was wrong. He groans, says, "I've been stupid."

"You're telling me." Frank takes a step forward and Bob's seen him laugh and joke and be serious as he talks about the things he believes. Now he just looks dangerous. "Hurt him again like that and I'll be the one to punch you, and I'm not Gerard, I don't do regrets."

"Frank." Ray steps between Bob and Frank, as if expecting them to start fighting. "This isn't helping."

Bob waves him away and looks directly at Frank. "I like Mikey and I'm sorry I hurt his feelings, it's not up to me to judge if he wants to sleep around."

"The hell?" Bob takes a step back when Gerard crowds close. "Sleep around? Who says he sleeps around?"
"I saw him," Bob says, the memory of Mikey on the dance-floor all too clear in his mind. "He was practically making out with some guy on the dance-floor."
"And you think that means he sleeps around? Gerard asks, sounding incredulous. "That's how he dances, and if you mean Dan he was trying not to puke on Mikey's neck."
"How the hell am I supposed to know if it's Dan?" Bob asks. "I just saw Mikey getting down and dirty with some stranger."
"So you decided he slept around," Frank says, "That's fucking lame."

"It wasn't just that, you said it too," Bob all but yells, because this is getting ridiculous. He gets that they're protective of Mikey, but Bob's not stupid, he heard what Frank had said. "The first time we met you said Mikey got more play than anyone."

"I was joking!" Frank is yelling, and looks around them all. "I always joke about that shit, it's just what I do. He hooks up, sure, but he's not some kind of slut. How could you even think I meant that?"

"I'd known you all of ten minutes," Bob snaps back. "How was I supposed to know it was some kind of in-joke?"

"Well it was, it is," Frank says, looking stricken. "Tell me it's not my fault you've been keeping Mikey at arms length."

It's temping to say yes. If he does it means Bob can heap all blame on Frank, but that wouldn't be fair, because as much as the misunderstanding is a part, it's not the whole cause, not by a long way. Bob cradles his arms against his chest and shakes his head. "Some of it was you, but most not. I'm plenty messed up in my head on my own."

It's an admission that feels wrong as soon as Bob says it out loud, admitting things that normally he keeps hidden. All he wants to do is get away, and to find and talk to Mikey. "I'm going, I'll see you all later," and gets all of a few steps when Gerard stands in front of Bob.

"Just tell him the truth and give him a chance to decide if you’re worth the hassle,” Gerard says, looking stern. “And don’t fuck it up this time."

"I'll try," Bob says, and that's the best he can do.

~*~*~*~

Getting a text to meet Bob at the cinema was unexpected, and Mikey's standing close to the entrance, waiting for Bob to turn up. He's already ten minutes late and Mikey's thinking about leaving, when he sees Bob hurry along the street, his earbuds in and hands held protectively in front of his body.

"Sorry I'm late." Bob pulls out the earbuds and carefully folds the wire before putting them into his pocket. "I needed to think so went for a walk, then got lost."

Mikey shrugs and checks his watch. "We've still got time to see the movie, the previews last forever. But you're buying the popcorn and candy."

"Deal," Bob says, and they start to walk inside when Bob suddenly stops in place, the entering crowd parting around him.

Concerned, Mikey touches Bob's arm. "You okay?"

"Not really," Bob says, and then, quieter. "I don't really want to see a movie, come for a coffee with me instead? We need to talk."

It's the first time Bob's admitted that things aren't okay, even when it was obvious he was lying. There's not a chance Mikey will say no. "Sure, there's a place around the corner."

They don't talk on the way and Mikey's thinking of what Bob wants to say. The only thing he can think of is he's leaving early, his job, his apartment, Mikey, and this is goodbye. Even if their relationship is only no-ties, Mikey likes Bob a lot, and the thought of him leaving hurts.

"I'll get them," Mikey says, as soon as they're inside. He's expecting Bob to protest and say he can manage, but instead he nods and makes his way to an empty table at the far corner of the room. One that's away from any other customers, and now Mikey's sure, this is it, and Bob's about to say he's leaving.

He wants to drag out the coffee buying process so he's got an excuse to stand and watch Bob, taking in for the last time how his hair curls at his neck and the way he huddles inside his hoodie, like he's hiding from the world. Mikey wants to tell him to stop hiding, that he's hot and fantastic and needs to stay. But that's not Mikey's place, and all he can do is pay for the two coffees and slowly walk to their table.

"Thanks," Bob says, and grips the mug in both hands. He takes a drink, and puts down the mug, says, "I'm sorry."

"I didn't want to see the movie that badly," Mikey says, watching Bob's reaction. "But if you're saying sorry for the other night, that's okay too."

Bob touches his chin with his fingertips, over the slightest hint of a bruise. "No it's not. I got my wires crossed and I said something I shouldn't have, because I'm stupid and scared." It's a halting admission and Bob's playing with his mug, turning it around his hands. "Before, I used to live with someone. He was the singer in our band."

Well used to listening to jumping topics, no matter how unexpected, Mikey takes a drink of his coffee, remaining silent as Bob talks.

"I told you I played with Ray sometimes, this was after that. We formed a band together, me and Callum, and we were good, better than. We had offers of a contract, then my wrists fucked up for good." Voice cracking, Bob takes a drink of his coffee, and glances at Mikey before looking back down. "They tried to operate but it failed, and Callum left me. He said he'd signed on for fame not a cripple. He cleaned out our apartment and left the next day."

"Tell me you kicked his cowardly ass," Mikey says, so angry he wants he wants to punch something - hard.

Bob laughs, bitter and grating. "I came home, took some clothes and moved back with my parents, and didn't leave my room for the next four months. If anyone was a coward it was me."

"That's bullshit." It's something Mikey knows for sure, because he knows cowards, and Bob isn't one of them. "You're not in your room now."

"No, I'm living out of boxes in a shit hole of an apartment in a job I trained for because it meant less chance of attachment." Bob pushes his mug away, and this time looks directly at Mikey. "I chose to train as a pre-school teacher because the kids always leave. Tell me I'm not a coward now."

"You're not a coward," Mikey says, immediately. "I've heard you talk about your kids and maybe you initially trained for the wrong reasons but it doesn't make you less of a teacher or care any less." And there's something else, something Mikey will always admire. "And you started over, that shit's hard, but you did it. That makes you fucking brave."

"At least you think so," Bob says, and he rubs at his left splint, over the scar concealed underneath. "There's something else."

Mikey knows this is it, time's up, and he reminds himself that he knew this was coming. If he has fallen for Bob it's no one's fault but his own. "I'm going to miss you."

"I don't want no strings, not really," Bob says at the same time, then stops talking, staring at Mikey. "You're going somewhere?"

"You're not quitting the school and going home early?" Mikey asks, and for the first time he feels hopeful. "You're staying here?"

"Yeah," Bob says, and then more sure. "Yeah. For the semester at least. I owe you some real dates for a start."

"Damn right you do," and despite the other customers and staff, Mikey reaches across the table and carefully links his fingers with Bob's. "How about starting here? Coffee and cake and some actual talk?"

Bob says, "Sounds like a good first date."

Mikey smiles in reply.

~*~*~*~

Bob sits on the edge of his desk and claps his hands, the lack of resulting pain remaining a novelty right now. "Hey guys, listen up. Remember that song we've been practicing? We're going to have a show, and sing it for everyone."

Denzil puts his hand in the air, waving it around. "Mr. Bob! What's a show?"

"Night Garden is a show, silly." Emma's got her hand in the air but makes no attempt to wait before talking. "And Jersey Store, mommy says they make a show of themselves every week."

Bob doesn't laugh, barely. "It's Jersey Shore and don't call Denzil silly, we don't do that in this class." He waits a moment for Emma's muttered sorry, then finishes his talk to the class. "We're not doing a TV show, ours is going to be outside on the big playground. We're going to perform our songs, the one we've been doing in class and the ones you've been practicing with Mr. Ray and Miss. Jamia's class. People can come and watch so I have letters for you all to take home."

There's an explosion of chatter, Bob didn't expect anything less and he waits it out, enjoying watching his kids look so happy, excited about something new.

"Mr. Bob! Mr. Bob!" Katy's standing and waving her hand, and Bob claps again, getting attention.

"Settle down, Katy wants to talk."

Attention solely on her, Katy drops her hand, looking bashful as she says, "Can we use the issyruments?"

"That's the plan." Bob looks at the giant clock on the wall and stands. "Okay, tidy up time, because remember, a clean workspace is a...."

"Safe workspace," his class chorus back.

"You know it," Bob says, and holds out his hand for the daily hi-five, tiny hands smacking against his as each kid starts their duties before home.

~*~*~*~

Mikey's sitting at one of the small tables in Bob's classroom, knees close to his chest and hunched over, fingers jammed into plastic safety scissors as he cuts strips of bright paper. A last snip and a strip flutters on the pile as Mikey says, "Remind me, does this count toward the dates you owe me?"

"Depends," Bob says, from where he's sticking potato print pictures to the wall. "Is making paper chains your definition of a good time?"

Truthfully Mikey could say that anything he does with Bob is a good time, but he's not in the habit of casting aside potential leverage and he pulls the scissors from his fingers. "I have grooves in my fingers."

Bob pushes down a last corner and turns, looking amused. "If your brother wasn't close by I'd kiss them better."

Mikey holds out his hand. "He's spent the last week making out with Lindsey. Kiss away."

"Pushy," Bob says, and takes hold of Mikey's hand, pressing a kiss over the faint red marks. He doesn't make it anything more, Mikey doesn't expect him to, this is still Bob's classroom but Mikey can't resist reaching up with his free hand and hooking it behind Bob's head, pulling him down for a kiss. It doesn't last long, more a brush of lips, Mikey slipping his tongue briefly against Bob's, but for now it's enough.

"There," Mikey says, taking a moment to run his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of Bob's neck. "Now it's a date."

Bob grins and nips at Mikey's fingers, grazing them with his teeth before stepping away. "I'll have to remember gum paper turns you on."

Mikey picks up the scissors, and another sheet of paper from the very big pile that remains. "You know you can buy streamers."

Bob moves to his desk, ticking something off the list he's got weighed down with a lump of clay. "I know, but the kids like to stick them together. And they'll look good."

Which they will, Mikey knows that, the paper chains fitting in with Gerard's whole design aesthetic. If he listens Mikey can hear Gerard now, him and the softer sound of Lindsey talking as they paint banners in the dining hall. It's a comforting sound, especially in combination with the sound of Bob moving around the room, checking details and straightening displays before he ends up standing close to Mikey.

"Funny thing," Bob says, and sits on one of the tiny seats around the table. "A reporter got in touch with Ray earlier, asking what time they needed to come to report the show."

Mikey's heart jumps and he concentrates on cutting a perfect strip, says, "That's what they tend to do."

Bob goes on talking, as if Mikey hasn't said anything at all. "He also asked how it felt to have a show sponsored by local businesses. A show that's all of three songs long."

Mikey stops cutting, scissors held open, suddenly worried that he's overstepped the line in some way. "What did Ray say?"

"He said he was grateful and that their support is welcome."

It feels like Mikey can breathe again, and he goes back to cutting. "I had them in my contacts, I figured it couldn't hurt to tell them about this place."

"You figured right," Bob says, and stretches out his legs so his feet are pressed against Mikey's. "You're one of the good ones, Mikey Way."

And Mikey would feel pleased, except being a good guy means nothing when Bob's still planning to leave.

~*~*~*~

Bob starts the day in his best ironed shirt, his hair tucked behind his ears and pants clean. By the afternoon he's got chalk residue on his butt, an ink splot on his sleeve and somehow, ketchup in his hair. Not that he cares, he's too busy herding his kids outside, trying to keep them together as they wave and yell out greetings when they see the chairs set out in the playground. Each chair is full, and there's even people standing, parents and guardians waving to their kids and smiling as Bob and Jamia give each other a supportive look before marching their classes to the area set out as a stage.

It's an easy enough area to see, Gerard and Lindsey's backdrop of a giant sun and flowers held up by two posts. It's a beautiful painting, one full of sunshine and happy faces, and if there's a few zombie plants in there, well, no one's complained. In front of that are the instruments, mini guitars propped up against benches, triangles and recorders set on top, and, Bob's pride and joy, the drums at the back. They're home made, washing up bowls and pans set together, a set of Bob's old sticks on the top.

"Okay kids, just like we said," Bob says, and stands watch, making sure his kids sit in the right places. When they're down, he steps to the side, looking around, taking in the paper chains that flutter from the sides of the school, the stall where Frank's in charge of selling refreshments, home made cookies he brought in himself and jugs full of juice. Seeing Bob watching, Frank gives a thumbs up and then points to the side. Where Bob sees Mikey. Which is unexpected, as Mikey should be at work, the same way Gerard should, and Lindsey, and even Frank too, but they're all there, supporting with time and effort.

"You okay?" Jamia asks, moving to stand close.

Bob tries to reply, but the words aren't there, pushed aside by a sudden, blinding knowledge he's standing at the crossroads of his own future. A job he already loves, friends who care and won't walk away, and a relationship that can only strengthen, set against the chance to run away like always, to never settle down and risk being hurt again. It's one of the scariest decisions Bob's ever faced, and all he wants to do is hide from it, but Ray's walking onto the stage, stepping over the duct taped lines as he stands and addresses the audience.

"Good afternoon children, good afternoon staff, good afternoon guests." Ray waits, smiling as everyone gathered returns the greeting. "Welcome to our first show. I'm not going to talk long because the children are eager to show you their songs. Just know, we're thankful for your support."

A last smile at the kids and Ray sits in his chair, set in pride of place in the first row.

"Okay, here goes nothing," Jamia says, and ushers her class onto the stage for their song. Which goes well, even if one of the girls ends up bursting into tears and another takes a triangle hit to the head. Bob's class solo song goes well too. It's the joint effort that goes wrong.

Relieved and thinking the worst is over he's standing at the side of the stage, ready to give the signal to begin. When Emma begins to wail. She's playing the drums for this song, and stands at the back, snot running down her face and face red, her princess t-shirt already damp with tears. In the audience her mom looks worried, and Bob hurries onto the stage and steps over the drums so he can crouch next to Emma. "What's up?"

"I can't do it!" Emma cries, and she buries her head against Bob's chest. "I can't!"

"Yeah you can," Bob says. "We've practiced, remember?"

"Noooooo," Emma's shoulders are shaking, and Bob can barely hear her say, "I'm not gooded enough."

"All you have to do is try your best." Bob runs his hand over Emma's hair, aware everyone is watching. He feels put on the spot, like he's been judged for being a bad teacher somehow. There's only one thing he can think to do. "How about I play with you? We'll be a team."

Emma hiccups and wipes her face against Bob’s T shirt, says, "You and me?"

It's been years since Bob's held a drumstick for real, there was no point with his ability to drum diminished. It's why at first it feels wrong now, when he takes one stick from Emma, and wraps his hand around it. "You and me."

It takes a moment, but eventually Emma nods, and approaches the bowls and pans, waiting as Bob kneels beside her. He looks over at Jamia, who smiles then says, "For our last song we're singing a favourite of our classes. You'll all know the words, so please join in as we sing If You're Happy and You Know It.

Jamia begins to sing, and the kids join in. Out of tune and in some cases yelling. None of the instruments keep pace, and in fact are more noise than actual tune, but Denzil's grinning as he twirls with his mini guitar and Katy is waving her recorder in the air while Emma is bashing her stick and hand against the pans and bowls in a rhythm that makes no sense at all, except that it's making her happy, all tears gone as she creates her own music to a backdrop of Bob tapping his drumstick against a battered metal pan as he looks out over his kids to the people beyond.

Ray beaming as he sings along. Frank, Lindsey and Gerard, each one singing and dancing, and then Mikey He's not singing, or in fact, moving at all, but he is watching Bob, and when Bob sings, "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands." Mikey holds his hands in the air and claps.

~~~~~

Bob knocks on Ray's office door and goes inside.

"I've got requests for new students next semester," Ray says, and looks up at Bob with a smile. "And with the money from the sponsorship deals and the refreshments we've money to spend on non essentials. I was thinking a trip out in the summer, or more instruments. Or I suppose I could use it to bump up the wages of the new teacher. We might get one then."

Ray's grin fades, and Bob sits in the chair opposite Ray's. He knows what he wants to say, but actually saying it out loud is harder than Bob expected. "About that. What would you say if I asked to stay on?"

"What would I say?" Ray asks, utterly serious and Bob's worried he's too late, that no other candidates or not Ray's already mentally moved Bob on. "I'd say about fucking time, you moron." Ray jumps to his feet and runs around the desk, hugging Bob hard before stepping back. "Jesus, Bob, way to keep me waiting. I thought you'd never change your mind.

It's a gratifying reaction, but Bob still gives Ray a narrow-eyed look. "Who said I would change my mind?"

"No one," Ray says, busy turning off his computer. "But have you seen yourself lately? You keep smiling, it's damn scary sometimes."

Bob stands, getting in a complaint to distract from the fact he's sure he's blushing. "You're bitching about that?"

"Hell no," Ray says cheerfully. "You being actually happy has been a long time coming, I could kiss Mikey for causing that."

"You'd better not," Bob snaps, and scowls when Ray laughs. "At least I'm getting some."

"Yeah, yeah," Ray says, and pushes Bob out of the door. "Go and get your hot boyfriend already and let me lock up. It's time to celebrate."

It's something Bob's happy to do. Footsteps echoing in the empty corridor, he passes the display of Polaroids outside of his classroom, and finds Mikey inside. He's standing close to Bob's desk, and when he hears Bob come inside Mikey turns and comes close, and presses a shiny gold star on Bob's chest.

"For being brave."

Bob knows Mikey means Bob drumming, even in such a small way, but there's more he needs to tell. Stuff that still leaves Bob afraid. He touches the star on his chest. "Do I get another star for asking Ray if I can keep my job?"

"It depends," Mikey says, reaction buried in the way he does best. "Is the job a package deal that comes with a better apartment and a steady boyfriend?"

It feels like Bob's standing on the edge of a cliff, and at the bottom is everything he's ever wanted. But first he has to throw himself off the edge, risking he'll be hurt when he lands. Gathering courage, he jumps. "If that boyfriend wants him. Yes."

"No star, sorry," Mikey says, and then springs forward, gathering Bob in a tight hug. "But you get me."

"Then I win everything," Bob says, and holds on.