Chapter Text
Now I know… That I can’t make you stay… But where’s your —
Thea reached over and smacked her phone to mute the alarm before Gerard’s voice could finish sing-quiring about her heart. She really needed to change that song. It didn’t give her the same get-up-and-go as it used to. Now it was more like crawl-in-a-hole-and-die. After she dragged herself out of the hotel suite bed and slid into her jean shorts and hoodie, she trudged down the hall barefoot to knock on Frank’s door.
It swung open, and he said, “G’mornin, Temp!” with more energy than anyone should legally be allowed to wield at 4 in the mother-fucking morning.
“Holy hell, can I have some-a whatever you’re on?” Thea asked with a yawn.
“Can’t prescribe this shit.” He smacked her shoulder and started toward the elevator. “It’s pure, uncut, excitement to get home to my beautiful wife and kids.”
Cute. Barf. She stumbled after him and asked, “Do you want me to make sure you get down to the van okay, or?”
“I think I can handle it, Temp. But come gimme a hug,” he said, waving her over.
“Have a safe flight, Babystack.” She flopped her entire body weight onto him, mostly because she could barely hold it up herself. “And will you follow me back on Instagram already?”
He chuckled and gave her a little squeeze. “It depends. Will I see you in a few weeks for Mexico?”
She didn’t have an answer, and she definitely couldn’t explain to Frank that her decision had been made miles more difficult by Gerard’s stupid lips. “If I can get a passport. My fate’s in the hands of the government, and you know what they’re like.”
“Aw, man. Well, keep me posted.” He stepped onto the elevator and flashed her his big, shit-eating grin as the doors closed. She shuffled back to the suite and dove into the bed, ready to seize six more hours of peace before checking out. And just as she reached the precipice of sleep, her phone vibrated into the mattress with the force of a god-damned jackhammer.
With a frustrated groan, she snatched it and pounded the screen with her thumb, reading the preview in the notification.
Shortcake
Made it back safe, Doc. Still sharp as a butter knife.
She tossed the phone to the other side of the bed, annoyed by the way the corner of her mouth tugged up at the sight of his contact name.
After a bit more sleep and checking out of the hotel, she sent a reply to Gerard while idling in the Dunkin’ Donuts drive-thru.
Ah! Glad you got back to the nursing
home in one piece. Be good old-timer.
And ya might get extra Jell-O.
She stared at the text in the chat, curious about how quickly he’d open it. And also wondering if she’d laid it on too thick. But the car behind her honked, so she tossed her phone onto the passenger seat and pulled up to the window to get her vanilla latte.
When she got home, she sent Jon a message letting him know she wanted to take the job, but it’d depend on the promptness of a rapidly crumbling bureaucratic system so she couldn’t exactly commit. He said that if she explained the circumstances on an expedited application, she’d have it in two weeks. Oh, so passing the decision off to the people at the passport office wouldn’t necessarily get her out of it? Whatever, she never had luck with those sorts of things. Lots of time for the big fat fist of fate to intervene.
She spent the day holed up in her room, protected by her shut-the-fuck-up’s, filling out her passport application. Only allowing herself a brief dance break when she got a notification from her bank that two grand had been deposited into her account.
That evening when her phone buzzed, she scrambled to check it, totally not hoping it’d be Shortcake. And good thing, too, because it was from Red-Flag-DO-NOT-ANSWER-Red-Flag. Ah, she’d forgotten about texting Dally… Rather, a series of misfortunate events had taken precedence over answering him.
All good baby, I’m just glad we’re talking
again. Still thinking about that kiss. God
I missed your smart-ass mouth. Talk soon.
Still waitin… Patiently…
Hmm. Not the kiss that’d crashed the party of her thoughts multiple times that day. She tapped her fingers on her lips, mentally drafting a response, but her phone buzzed in her hand again. Shortcake.
I was SO good today
Followed by a picture of two tinfoil circles emblazoned with the JELL-O logo. Unmatched commitment to the bit, as always. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he went to the store specifically to purchase a six-pack of pudding. Probably didn’t even eat it.
SHIT. And she opened it immediately. He’d taken six fucking hours to respond and here she was, opening the message 0.25 seconds after she got it? Path-et-ICK. He was probably feelin’ real fuckin’ smug about that.
She had to leave him on read. For a while. Right? She dropped nose-first into the pillow and groaned. For fuck’s sake! Why do you even care, you twitterpaited idiot?!?
After a quick cry into the down-filled void, she switched back to the chat with Dally: the well-deserved walking-red-flag who, for the first time in their four-year-long history, represented the smart choice.
Aww. Me too Dally :) What’re you doing tmrw?
***
Gerard stared at that glaring four-letter word under the picture he’d sent Thea. Read. Three hours ago. Awesome. The Jell-O tops from dinner with B were obviously overkill. He threw his phone across his desk and returned to drafting the next installment of ‘The Umbrella Academy’. Even though it wasn’t due till next year, and his suitcases were still screaming to be unpacked.
He heard a door slam downstairs. B was home from her skateboard rip around the neighborhood. Stomping on the steps and another slamming door down the hall followed. That meant he wouldn’t see her till the ride to school in the morning. So awesome. Being a teen-girl-dad was a mind-fuck comparable to living out your very own psychological thriller. At least she’d granted him the privilege of having dinner together.
He re-read whatever drivel he’d just written on his computer and dug his—rather, Thea’s vape out of his pocket. He’d have to find a new plug for Doc Pep soon. It was starting to taste burnt after he’d chained-hauled on it for the entire four-hour, sleepless bus ride.
His phone buzzed. And he stared at it so intensely, it was a shock that the damn thing didn’t just explode into a cloud of sparks and smoke. He took a final Dr. Pepper puff and snagged it from the other corner of his desk. My Baby. He really ought to change that contact name.
You’re on school drop off and pick up this
week. Going on a girl’s trip, we leave
tomorrow afternoon. Back Saturday.
He’d already planned to do school transport all week, and she knew that, so the message felt pointed. But, for the best, to keep the distance.
Okay [thumbs up emoji]
She’s got an appointment to get her braces
tightened on Wed. And Scout is coming for
a sleepover Friday.
You know we still have a shared calendar
right?
Yep. And I know you don’t always check it.
He sighed and contemplated braving a Venice Beach trip just to give his phone swimming lessons. She was literally down the damn hall in their old bedroom—which was now her bedroom—and she couldn’t even be bothered to walk the few feet to come talk to him. But he couldn’t either, he supposed.
Just leave them some $ to order pizza and let
them do their thing. Scout thinks you’re weird.
Love that for me.
Me too. Smart kid. Anyway I think that’s all.
Goodnight.
Sweet Dreams
Shit. He’d typed that one out and sent it using pure muscle memory. He shook it off and launched his phone onto the couch. After rummaging to find his toiletries bag, he carted it down the hall to the bathroom. Bedtime, for sure. Though, he sincerely doubted his ability to sleep.
On his way back to the office, he grabbed a fresh blanket out of the hall closet, then pulled out the couch extension to convert it to a bed. He flopped onto it and rubbed his face, dragging his fingers down and around to his nape. Home sweet fuckin’ home.
His phone vibrated, and he excavated it from under his ass-cheek. Doc. His finger hesitantly hovered over the notification for a moment before he hoisted himself off the couch-bed and plugged it in on his desk, switching it to silent mode. He needed to give sleeping a god-damn concerted effort.
It was probably nothing anyway. A single laughing emoji, or maybe the eye rolling one. Another smart ass crack about his age. Definitely not a confession about her inability to stop thinking about that fucking kiss.
***
Two Jell-Os?! Jeeze, those nurses must be
sweet on you.
Late the next morning, Thea stared down at her lap, re-reading her dumb-ass text in the chat with Gerard, fixating on the loud-as-fuck Delivered underneath it. With a muted scoff, she shoved it in her back pocket. She took a sip of the cold-brew Dally had brought her from some shitty-ass-hipster coffee shop downtown—Definitely no Dunkin’. They sat on the rusted and beer-stained patio furniture on her back deck, while he bragged about an absolute rager he’d been invited to after the festival, going on about how Palaye Royale’s touring bassist made an appearance. Cool.
“Oh, yeah.” Thea said, reclining into her chair. “I’ve met Jennie before, she’s rad.”
He flashed her that irritating smirk he always sported when he was about to one-up her. “So rad. Jax swears she was hitting on me.”
Sure she was, Dally. And any second, Gerard Way was going to burst through the gate with a dozen black roses and an oversized, fuzzy, stuffed rat to declare his undying love for her. She rolled her eyes and choked down more of her cold brew.
“But, you know me. I never pick up on that kinda shit.”
She burned a glare at him, trying to penetrate his sunglasses and melt the baby-blues behind them. “Are you trying to make me jealous?”
“That depends.” He peered over the shades. “Is it working?”
She scrunched up her lips to stop a grin from spreading across them.
“Dal-Meister!” Adrian, Thea’s longest-standing roommate, hollered as he traipsed onto the deck. They hooked hands in a popping-high five and Adrian leaned down to hug him and smack Dally’s back in the most bro-y display of affection she’d ever witnessed. “The fuck are you doin’ here, man?”
“Oh, ya know, just trying to charm my way off Thea’s shit list,” he said, motioning toward her with his drink.
“And failing,” she jeered.
“Oh, c’mon, Thea-Bo-Bee-ah,” Adrian’s massive meat hook landed on her head and tousled her hair. She swatted it off. “Don’t lie to me. How many times have you two gotten back together? A thousand?”
“Four.”
At the same time, Dally said, “Six.”
She squinted at him. “How’d you get six?”
“Remember that trip to the Grand Canyon?” he asked, dripping with nostalgia, punctuating with a fond laugh. She remembered it, specifically the several times they pulled off-route to climb into the backseat. “We broke up and made up twice on the way there.”
“That… doesn’t count.”
“You’re just that couple.” Adrian dropped onto one of the plastic deck chairs and she was amazed it didn’t just crumple underneath his jacked frame. “No shame. Just accept it.”
She swirled her coffee around, staring through the plastic lid at the ice circling in the black abyss. Maybe she should.
“Oh! Dally! I gotta show you the sweet new sound system I copped for Beerlympics.”
Dally hopped out of his chair. “Let’s see it, man!”
“I really coulda used you on my team this year, dude. We got spanked!” Adrian said, as they disappeared inside.
Sometimes she wondered if her ex kept coming around because he was secretly gay for Adrian, who was definitely homie-sexual for Dally. If they’d just get it over with and try blowing each other—then maybe they’d leave her the hell alone. But their masculinity was far too fragile for that.
She took an extended pull on her vape and when her butt buzzed, she nearly choked on a Dr. Pepper flavored cloud. Breathe. Play it cool, you giddy bitch.
She pinched the phone with two fingers and slid it out of her pocket like it was wired and ready to detonate. She set it down and watched it. Waited. For what?! It was probably just an Instagram notification. She cautiously tapped the screen.
Yep, called it.
Instagram
frankieromustdie started following you.
“Aww! Babystack…” She pouted at the screen.
Mars’ airheaded giggle interrupted her affectionate stare. “Babystack? Who’s that?” she asked, clad in a neon pink triangle bikini and taking up Dally’s seat.
Thea swiftly returned the device to her pocket, only to have it vibrate again. But she left it. “Oh. Inside joke… this dude I met at work.”
“Oo-oo-ooo!” she sang, stretching out on the chair to expose as much skin to the Vegas fall sun as possible. Thea pulled the zipper on her hoodie up to the top and traced the pull back and forth on her bottom lip. “So, the blonde hottie inside with Adrian?” Mars asked, pointing toward the house, “He doesn’t belong to you?”
“Not anymore, he doesn’t.” Gesturing toward the house, Thea said, “Have at ‘im.”
“Oh, sister, no! Girl code! Exes are off-limits.” She drew a line in front of her with her hands. “I’ll be cool.”
***
Jesus CHRIST. Sorry it took me so long
to get back to you. Dropped the kid off at
school then the fuzz PULLED ME OVER.
You’d think at 45 I’d remember to keep my
registration up to date. Nope. Sweet-talked
my way outta the ticket but it took 3 HRS to
deal with it. During which I left my phone
in the car. Swear to God I almost ended up
on the news. “Dozens traumatized today
when singer Gerard Way blew his brains
out at the Glendale DMV. Full story at 11.”
FFS. Anyway. How are youuuuu?
Gerard stared at the text in his chat thread with Thea. She’d read it hours before and clearly thought he was a god-damn basket case. And rightfully so. A novel length rage-spiral and a How are youuuuu? What the actual fuck was he thinking? He’d be lucky if she didn’t block his number. This girl sure did a number on his self-control.
He polished off his second Coke Zero of the day and tried to keep busy. Couldn’t distract himself by picking up B from school. She’d asked to go to Scout’s house for dinner, then a movie, and said their mom would drop her off after. Trying to stay in her good books, he agreed, even though he despised being at the house alone.
He messaged Jon to ask about Claire, who was comfortable despite the circumstances. Unpacked his tour bag, which was a god-damn assault to his nasal cavity, holy shit. Made himself a fried-bologna sandwich and watched a Netflix documentary about John Wayne Gacy. Lived the fuckin’ dream, really.
After B made a beeline to her room, he settled onto the couch-bed. He re-read every message, right from the beginning. Ah, he could recover.
It’s the Ghost of Gerard again. Died
of embarrassment after I read that
last one back. If you never text me
again I wouldn’t hold it against you.
Sweet Dreams Doc.