Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Frank was fairly sure he was dreaming, because when he opened his eyes Ray, of all people, was lifting him up out of the pilot seat like he was still a little fucking kid.

"Wha—" Frank managed, and Ray startled and almost dropped him.

"Man, I thought you were out of it." He shuffled back, shifting his grip to Frank's arms, and Frank had definitely come down on the side of not actually a dream, because even after the pain shot or sedative or whatever the hell that had been, his entire body was one big fucking ache.

"Shit," he muttered, leaning heavily on Ray. "The fuck're you doin' here?"

"You guys rescued us." Ray's hair bounced emphatically; Frank blinked some of the gumminess away from his eyes, noticing for the first time that Ray's face and shipsuit were smeared with drive graphite and what looked like blood. His voice was squeaky with stress and emphasis. "I totally thought we were goners, man. I can't even believe you did that."

Neither could Frank. His head felt hot and angry, like he'd sprained his brain or something, and he didn't dare reach out even to test his shields. More importantly, though... "Where the fuck did we end up, anyway?" he mumbled, squinting around the cockpit. There was no sign of Gerard or the others, and all he could see in the viewscreen was the massive curve of a cargo pod where it attached to the freighter's hull.

"Actually, we're not, like, all that far off course?" Ray let go of Frank's elbow to make some kind of gesture, but hastily grabbed for him again when Frank wobbled. "Shit, Frank, maybe you should sit back down? Gerard and your guys are over talking to Joe, he's the captain, I guess it's going to take a little while?"

"Right," Frank mumbled, letting Ray maneuver him around and drop him down into a passenger seat. "How'd you guys end up all ass-over-tit, anyway?" Ray, he was pretty sure, was way too good to think he'd actually have a chance in hell of stabilizing a spin like that past light-speed.

"Huh? Oh, it was one of the aft stabilizers." Ray sat down on the edge of the navigator chair, long legs splayed out across the deck. "There was a bad connection, or something blew just after we stepped up, it sent us right off." He shuddered dramatically, and Frank had to agree; losing control in the Lanes was every pilot's nightmare. "I wasn't driving," Ray added, like it was an afterthought. "Man, I hope they sort something out soon, or we'll have Traffic Control crawling all over us, don't you think? Frank?"

"Huh?" Frank blinked his eyes back into focus with an effort, pressing the side of his face into the cool metal of the bulkhead panel. "Oh – yeah, shit. Fuck," he added, eyes widening as he started to realize just how comprehensively screwed they were. Even if they could jump back to lightspeed without flattening themselves around the surface of a stray rock, both ships' computers would automatically ping the control towers once they dropped out again. Never mind Traffic Control; the Fast Times was going to have the fucking Peace Keepers up their asses about illegally dropping out mid-Lane. Shit, it hadn't even crossed his mind while it had all been going down, but that must have been what Dane and Christa had meant. Grimacing, Frank levered himself upright, keeping one hand on the bulkhead for balance as he started shuffling toward the airlock.

"Whoa, wait up." Ray sprang up, catching Frank's elbow just as he had to let go of the wall to insert himself into the airlock. The worst part was that Frank could even argue with being treated like a frail old man, because he fucking felt like one; he leaned on Ray as they stumbled their way across the dock tunnel, and let him lead the way through the unfamiliar corridors of the freighter – the Sixty-Niner, as Ray explained with a high-pitched giggle. Frank snorted, too, because whoever owned this hulk clearly thought they were hilarious.

They turned the corner onto the bridge kind of abruptly – Frank was starting to feel like he was maybe getting some of his strength back, although his head still ached like a motherfucker, so maybe the drug was just wearing off. Gerard looked up abruptly from where he'd been watching Christa and some older guy gesture over a nav display, and his face split with a relieved grin that turned worried so fast Frank's head spun.

"Should you be...?"

"I'm fine, shut up," Frank grumbled, jerking his tattooed arm away when Gerard would have caught hold of it. "What's going on?"

"Oh." Gerard chewed on the side of his lower lip, glancing over at the conference that seemed to be happening by the main screens. "They're just, uh, working out a route I think? Christa was saying something about just going LV and... merging into the Lane?"

"Huh." Ray frowned, all perplexed. "Really?"

"That's what she said," Gerard reported, and Frank held back a snort as the joke, pathetic as it was, sailed right over Ray's curly head. "You should, like, go and talk to them," Gerard added, all wide eyes and artless tone, and Frank blinked, glancing up at Ray and following his gaze across the bridge to Christa. Huh.

"Yeah, you're good at that shit," he contributed helpfully – it wasn't exactly a secret, after all, that he was a seat-of-his-pants navigator; that stuff took way more patience than he could be bothered to cultivate. And math. "Go show them how it's done, dude."

"Fuck you," Ray muttered, but he did finally let go of Frank, victory! Frank was totally subtle about leaning back against the bulkhead as Ray shuffled over to join in the huddle around the terminals.

"Frank," Gerard started, but Frank shook his head.

"Don't even, man. I got this." Just fucking trust me, he didn't say – didn't even think loudly, because he was too bombed to get into it right now. "Hey, so even if we can skip back up into the right trajectory without smearing, the fuck are we gonna do about our timestamps?"

"Huh?" It clearly took an effort for Gerard to pull his attention away from the discussion. "Oh. Don't worry about that, I can fix it."

"You what?" Frank gaped; Gerard shrugged awkwardly, ducking his head like he was embarrassed or something.

"It's not – just, don't worry about it, okay?"

Right. "What, you gonna have your friend Grant get us off the hook?" Frank hazarded, startled when Gerard jerked like he'd been stung, mouth dropping into a silent O. "Uh –" He kind of felt like he ought to apologize, but stubbornness clammed his mouth shut, and after a moment Gerard shut his, tight, and shook his head, turning without a word to head back toward the airlock.

---

Frank held his breath for what felt like the entire thirty minutes between dropping out of the Lane and their final clearance for re-entry. The Tower op on the com had asked a whole bunch of questions, but they'd all agreed their story, and whatever Gerard had done to the ship's systems seemed to have been enough, because no one had shot at them or diverted them into orbit or mustered to escort them down. All Frank had seen was Gerard hunched over his com and muttering to himself for ten minutes; he'd done the same on the Sixty-Niner, before crawling under the command terminal and cursing a bunch.

Frank had left him to it, and he had every intention of fucking off as soon as they hit dirtside – let Gerard be an asshole on his own damn time; he was so fucking off duty at this point – but he was swiftly disabused of the idea when the airlock cycled open to reveal a half dozen spaceport guards lined up by the ramp. Fuck, he thought, and almost fell on his face when Dane walked into him from behind.

"What? Why're you – oh."

Yeah. Frank gritted his teeth against the persistent ache – his skull still felt alternately too big and too small – and reached for Gerard's attention. We've got company.

"Which of you is the pilot?" the officer asked, loud to carry over the clamor of the landing zones. Somewhere in the distance, engines were rumbling as one of the big ships wound up to takeoff; it vibrated up through the soles of Frank's boots and along his bones.

"That'd be me, ma'am," Dane drawled, stepping forward and pulling out an ID when the woman gestured sharply. Frank fumbled hastily for his own, feeling like he ought to have his hands up even though no one was actually holding a weapon. All the guards had stunners strapped to their thighs – or, no, those were too bulky, Frank realized with a cold shock; they had to be actual honest-to-god laser pistols. He could feel Gerard stiffen at that, the way he reached out urgently to Frank even as he shuffled down the ramp, bag slung over his shoulder like a fucking tourist.

"Hey, is there a problem?" Gerard shoved his sunglasses up into his hair, squinting bemusedly at the guards. Do whatever they say, he whispered at the back of Frank's mind. Frank had to admit he was reluctantly impressed with the confused concern rolling off Gerard's surface thoughts; he tried to lock himself down too, reaching for the easiest emotion – tiredness – to draw a veil over his mind. But –

Shh. Gerard was blithely introducing himself, like he hadn't just handed his ID over, rattling off Dane and Christa's names and job titles, and turning to Frank like he was an afterthought, "oh, and my assistant, Frank Iero. Man, I don't mind telling you, I'm sure glad to be on solid ground again." If he'd been chewing gum, Frank thought, he'd have snapped it. It was surreal.

"Well, Mr Way, I'm afraid you and your employees will need to come with us." The officer sounded slightly more apologetic now, as she motioned them to head over toward the terminal. "Petersen, Kiru, secure the vehicle." Two of the guards peeled off to stand either side of the ramp, and Frank clenched his fingers tight around the strap of his backpack.

They'll be in there as soon as we're gone, huh? he murmured to Gerard, who didn't answer but cut his eyes to Frank.

They were led through a side entrance into a white-walled corridor, and left sitting on uncomfortably solid metal chairs with the rest of the guards watching while the officer went off to – Frank didn't know. He could feel that Christa was nervous, though Dane seemed so unflappably unconcerned that Frank half wondered if he was on something. There was a big monochrome advertising display on the opposite wall, shifting rhythmically between pictures of some doctor's office and a smiling plastic-faced woman promoting a pill that promised to 'help you get back to you.' He was starting to get twitchy himself, his knee wanting to bounce, when Gerard put a hand on his arm.

"Hey, remind me tomorrow I've gotta talk to Lauren about letting Ms Ncube use the conference facilities?" Keep it on the down-low, Frankie, he whispered beneath the words, and Frank winced mentally, strengthening his shields which had – ugh – slipped. We might have to shield the guys, too. Think you can manage that?

"Put it in your fucking schedule," Frank grumbled back, but he did shift – carefully, feeling the guards' eyes on him like a weight – to fumble his com out of his pocket and make a note. Of course I fucking can, he returned, ruthlessly crushing the memories that rushed to the surface, Lindsey's terrified-excited face and the sheer panic of sending the guards to sleep. Fuck, he wished he could do that now, but they'd had his ID already and security was a hell of a lot tighter, these days. He could feel Gerard's amusement at the thought, and a quiet sort of sadness that – oh.

Look alive, Gerard nudged him, as a door hissed open somewhere down the hall. Frank sat up a little straighter, trying to telegraph can-we-get-out-of-here-already with every movement and expression, and looked around really obviously as the sound of sharp footsteps echoed up toward them. It was the officer again, with a Peace Keeper in crisp pressed white, and another person behind... Fuck, Frank thought, his eyes widening.

Fuck, Gerard echoed as the white mask became visible. Frank, do it.

Got it, Frank murmured, as far down beneath his layers of shields as he could, and reached out gingerly to touch first Christa, then Dane, whispering Shhh into their minds as he wrapped them up in a layer of white noise and silence. Like he'd done this before, Gerard slipped in over the top of Frank's work, painting a delicate wash of barely-readable boredom-impatience-concern across the blank canvas Frank had given him.

"Mr Way?" The Peace Keeper was the one to stop at the end of the row of chairs. "If you and your employees could step this way – just a formality..."

"Of course, Officer." Gerard pushed himself lazily upright, strolling after the officials like he was on a leisure trip, and Frank did his best to look long-suffering as he followed.

Relax, he told Dane and Christa, increasing the pressure on the blanket he'd thrown over their minds as the masked telepath stood aside to let them all enter ahead of him. It was a him, Frank thought, but he couldn't spare the energy to try and feel how strong he might be. At this rate he was going to be spending most of tomorrow flat out from overextension; Gerard better not have anything planned.

"Have a seat." The Peace Keeper was clearly running the show; Frank glanced surreptitiously over her uniform, looking for rank symbols, but all she had were a couple of black markings on her shoulders that could have meant anything at all. He was sure the last time he'd actually seen PKs up close like this (there'd been a tiny little fight, barely anything, at a local show back on Zanzibar; Frank hadn't even – officially – been involved) they'd had their ranks and ID numbers splashed right across their jackets. He didn't know what he thought about that, but he buried it down deep anyway, slumping back in his chair and bouncing his foot like he couldn't wait to get out of here. It wasn't exactly hard.

"Mr Way," the PK began, pleasantly enough, "we have some concerns over your deviation from your flightplan today. We understand you reported a fault when you exited the Lanes?"

"Uh-huh." Gerard chewed on one fingernail. "It was a total pain in the ass, we just –" he made a weird swooping motion with his hand – "whoof, outta LV. I thought we'd made it early, it's a new ship and all, runs fast, but these guys," he indicated Dane and Christa, "said nuh-uh. Took for freaking ever to get it fixed up, too." What Frank caught of his surface thoughts was a whirl of irritation and impatience; he only hoped that the telepath – who was standing against the wall by the door, white mask as blank and featureless as his mind – couldn't see through all that background noise to the deeper layers of shields and projections and the link between them like hands gripped tight and clutching.

"What was the nature of the problem?" the Peace Keeper asked, and Gerard shrugged artlessly, turning to Dane.

"Man, you fixed it, right?"

"Yeah, short in the generator linkage." Dane shrugged woodenly, and Frank tried not to wince. He could feel Gerard pressing in over the top of his shield, projecting so subtly that even Frank, part of the linkage they'd established, had trouble distinguishing the technical specs and flashes of images from true thoughts. "Panel C, three-thirty-one B. We could re-route through the backup, but she's gonna need an overhaul before we ship out again."

"I see." So quickly that Frank almost missed it, the PK glanced up and behind them – at the guy in the mask. Whatever she saw didn't seem to make a difference; she looked back to Dane and Christa, flattening her palms on the table. "So it was an internal fault?"

"Yes – I should have caught it on inspection," Christa 'admitted', staring down at her lap. Frank pressed closer into the link as Gerard sprinkled chagrin across her aura. Dude had clearly done this before, and Frank really wanted to know the hows and whys of that, but now was so not the time. Not when he was having to concentrate harder and harder to maintain his shields over all three of them. "We're lucky it was something we could fix."

"Indeed." The Peace Keeper sat back in her chair, frowning at nothing in particular. "The reason I ask is you're not the only accident we've had through today. There couldn't have been any external factor that caused your malfunction?" she pushed. "EMP, micro-debris in the Lane?"

Frank gritted his teeth behind his bored expression, feeling the strange telepath suddenly pressing closer, actively trying to read all four of them as Dane and Christa exchanged a confused look. "I don't see how," Christa answered eventually, as Frank let his shields flex around the probing thoughts of the PK telepath, throwing out white noise and random fragments of thought and memory to disguise the barrier. Whatever factor the guy had, it was lower than Frank's, he realized with relief when the intrusive pressure withdrew. He hadn't been nearly strong enough to break through; now the only question was whether Gerard's blanket of noise had pulled the wool over the PK telepath's mental eyes.

"Well," the Peace Keeper said after another flick of a glance toward the back wall, "I think that's all we need from you, gentlemen, ma'am. Thank you for your time," she nodded, getting up and moving toward the door. "Officer Ulim will show you out."

Frank let himself relax fractionally as the masked telepath followed her out of the door, but Gerard's fingers pressed hard into his side in warning. Don't let your guard down, we still gotta get out of here, he muttered, and Frank set his jaw, pushing his last reserves of mental energy into keeping them all shielded as they made the long walk back down the hallway and out onto the baked-black permacrete.

They saw Dane and Christa off with the ship, which the Way Industries maintenance crew was already swarming over, and hopped a transit pod heading into the city. Gerard didn't relax until they were out of the spaceport entirely, and even then he shook his head when Frank opened his mouth.

Let's just get the hell home, he said in Frank's mind; he'd loosed his grip, but they were still linked, a bare soft touch in the back of Frank's head that was more comfortable than anything. Frank tipped his head back against the wall of the pod, sliding his eyes shut, and just let his own ragged shields slowly knit themselves back into place. It had been a shit of a long fucking day, and the angle of the sun stabbing through his eyelids said it was barely noon, local time. He was going to sleep for a week when they got back.

That's fine, Frankie, Gerard murmured, and Frank could feel him thinking sort-of-guiltily that they'd completely missed both the weekend and the Mission Blue show while they were off-planet. Frank tried to wave a hand, indicate that he didn't actually give a fuck, but he was sliding into semi-consciousness fast, and he only woke up when it was time to stumble out of the pod and up through the gardens and hallways to his blessed and desperately-missed bed. He barely even noticed Gerard hovering worriedly behind him, let alone wishing him good-night.

---

It was warm and dark, and there was a voice murmuring in his ear as hands smoothed across his skin. Frank arched, pressing up into the touch, and dug his fingers into skin and muscle, clutching tight as his hips pushed up and up and up, rutting shamelessly against the hard cock that slid slick against his. "Yeah, fuck, like that," breath washed hot and wet across his neck before sharp teeth dug in just below his ear, and Frank bucked and whined and barely managed to choke out, "Gee –" before he jerked awake on the edge of orgasm, unable even to get a hand on himself before he was trembling and pulsing and coming right there in his shorts.

"...ffffffuck." Frank slumped back against the pillow, blinking fuzzily up at the ceiling. That was – shit, his motherfucking feet were tingling. Wasn't he supposed to have outgrown waking up with a mess in his shorts, by now? And – god, it had been Gerard, in the dream, even though Frank hadn't seen his face he'd just known in that stupid dream way. Apparently dream-Frank hadn't been freaked out at all by getting it on with his boss-slash-ex-best-friend (slash whatever the fuck else Gerard was, at this point); he'd been too busy enthusiastically participating, the asshole.

Frank shuddered, struggling over onto his stomach so he could push his face into the pillow, ignoring the sticky mess in his crotch as best he could. Fuck, he could still feel dream-Gerard's hands on him, and in not-all-that-long he was going to have to go into the office, and there was a meeting that afternoon, and fuck his fucking life. "Ugh," he mumbled into the muffling softness of the pillow. Maybe he'd just fucking smother himself, shit.

His com beeped then, though, the alarm building quickly to a crescendo of really fucking annoying, and Frank groaned and flailed and shoved himself up off the mattress to shut it up. At which point, there was really nothing for it but to stumble into the shower, still in his underwear because it wasn't like it was going to get any grosser, and try his best to scrub the stupid phantom memories out of his skin. It was a losing battle, though, and apparently even after coming that fucking hard his dick wasn't done for the morning. Frank leaned forward into the spray, bouncing his forehead lightly off the tile (didn't help), and determinedly didn't think about anything as he let himself... just...

Frank was doing fine not thinking about it, in fact, until Gerard's office door hissed open and he wandered out, most of his attention clearly on his com screen. Frank felt his face go completely and startlingly hot, and he ducked his head, staring furiously at his terminal and the expenses sheet he was supposed to be checking.

"Wha – oh." Gerard, when Frank dared a peek up, was looking at the floor, and the tips of his ears were definitely kind of pink. Frank squirmed, praying that he hadn't been accidentally broadcasting; it was getting easier and easier to slip into mental synch with Gerard, like when they were kids. He'd never had to worry about this shit back then, though it occurred to him now, for the first time, that Gerard must have. Had he dreamed about Lindsey, back then?

Fuck, he seriously couldn't think about Gerard waking up sticky and embarrassed or he was actually going to die. Frank cleared his throat a couple of times, pulling his shields in brain-achingly tight, and eventually managed a passing imitation of normal human speech. "Did the Head message you? She called, but you were busy."

"Huh?" Gerard shook his head like he was trying to clear it, still not meeting Frank's eyes. Fuck, had he actually caught any of that? Frank cringed. "Oh, right, Mom, yeah. I should... call her back, I guess," Gerard mumbled, and almost tripped over his own feet, he was in such a hurry to disappear back into his office. Frank waited for the door to slide closed before groaning – quietly – and dropping his head to rest on the desk.

He'd just managed to re-enter the state of Not Thinking About It, thinking as loudly as he could about expenses and finance codes and how much he hated math in the hope that it would drown out anything else, when the main door slide open and Don Way stomped in. Which wasn't in itself all that odd, but oh hell yes a distraction.

"Morning, sir." Frank tried to dial the grin down from manic to just cheerful, but Mr Way still gave him kind of an odd look, nodding.

"Morning. Gee around?"

"Sure, go on through," Frank told him, even though he actually had no idea whether Gerard was busy or on the com or jerking o – fuck, no, bad thoughts. Frank bit his tongue, hard, feeling his face heat violently, and only just kept from squirming in his seat. Mr Way squinted at him, and Frank could feel him wondering, and then clearly deciding not to ask. He just nodded, palming the inner door opening and sticking his head through.

Frank slid down low in his seat, breathing carefully through his nose and letting the Ways' conversation slide right by him as he thought very firmly about his Grandma's birthday that was coming up and how he was going to have to take a leave day for the party Aunt Rosa was planning. It wasn't like it was important, anyway, just some Council committee ceremony that Mr Way wanted Gerard to attend; it was only the cloud of reluctance steaming off Gerard's mind that actually caught Frank's attention, because it was so at odds with the easy agreement coming out of his mouth. Frank's first thought was that it was a fucking good thing Mr Way wasn't a telepath; there was nothing but satisfaction in his mind as he left the office, and a clear sense of another item crossed off the day's agenda.

It nagged at him, though. Even through the now-closed door, Frank could feel the boil of Gerard's mind, shielded but colored a murky bruise-gray with misery and self-loathing. It didn't make any sense; the Ways had always been cool, and Frank was sure that if Mr Way had known Gerard didn't want to go to whatever thing it was, he'd have fixed something else up. And, sure, it'd probably be a drag, but even Gerard could manage one fucking afternoon of fake-smiling for assholes and politicians. There had to be something else to it, but Frank couldn't think what and he was halfway certain that asking would just make Gerard shut down entirely. Come to that, he still wasn't sure he could handle actually linking with the dude without going up in flames, and fuck but there he went thinking about it again. Mother. Of. Fuck.

"Uh." Gerard's voice, flat-edged and weird, made Frank startle and throw up the strongest shield he could manage, jerking up from where he'd been banging his head on the desk. Great, he was just going to be blushing for the rest of his fucking life, jeez. Gerard was giving him a weird and slightly squint-eyed look, but even shielded Frank could see the jittery discomfort running underneath in the way he was twisting his fingers together, his shoulders hunched up and lip disappearing between his teeth.

"Uh," Frank managed, blanking on any kind of explanation that wouldn't make things worse. Gerard kind of peered at him under his hair, then shrugged, jerky, and glanced toward the door.

"I'm going out. I – yeah," he ended, limp, already edging away. Frank had a sudden, sharply clear memory of the shithole bar he'd dragged Gerard out of, the pill blisters and medi-sprays under the bar, but he couldn't dredge up the words, and eventually Gerard just nodded awkwardly and sidled out, leaving Frank staring after him. Well, fuck.

---

Frank was in the middle of a hideously convoluted – and hideously dull – spreadsheet reconciliation on the Epipolis project setup costs when his com chimed with an incoming call. He reached to answer it without so much as looking at the originating node ID. "Way Industries, office of the – oh." Frank stumbled to a stop, blinking in confusion, because that was definitely Gerard on the screen, and Gerard had been shut up in his office all morning working on planning for Mr Way's new project. Hadn't he?

"Hey, Frank, listen." Gerard looked around himself sort of furtively, and Frank stared, because he obviously wasn't in his office, there was a fucking football tree behind him. "I – wait, you're on your own, right?"

"Uh-huh." A football tree, for real. How the fuck had Gerard even left? The door panel was still lit up blue for occupied, even. "What the fuck, man?"

"Whatever, just, I need your help, okay? I'll explain later, can you go grab the skimmer and come get me? The one in back of the garage, not Mom's, and don't let anyone see you."

"What the fuck," Frank repeated, but he was already undocking his com and pushing himself to his feet. "You better not be fucking wasted again, man, I'll kick your fucking ass."

"Fuck, whatever." Gerard rolled his eyes huffily, and Frank snorted, spreading out his senses to check if anyone was coming before he headed out toward the garage. It was well past lunch; everyone should be too busy to bug him. He hoped, anyway.

"Where the hell am I supposed to be going, anyway?" he hissed into the com while he waited for one of the maint drones to trundle out of the driveway. "Fuck, I can't talk to you and sneak, this is ridiculous."

"Fuck you, fucking link, then," Gerard hissed back, and when Frank managed a glance down at the screen he was looking half over his shoulder, like he thought he was being watched. Maybe he'd finally fucking snapped, the paranoid idiot.

"Fucking fine," Frank groused, taking a deep breath in and settling his shields before stretching out. Where are you, asshole?

Here, Gerard reached back, and Frank locked into contact with him immediately. He was all the way over on the other side of the city – almost right to the river cliffs, Frank could feel, and he rolled his eyes, palming open the garage door. Hurry up, Gerard urged; Frank sent back a firm mental image of his own hand, middle finger extended.

It was weird, the way the link just snapped into place between them – almost like they were still kids, like that whole seven years hadn't even happened. At the same time, Frank couldn't remember that it had ever been this easy for Gerard to see into him; it was an effort to keep any part of himself back, let alone the thoughts he'd buried deep beneath layers of shields to keep them from drifting back to Gerard. Which one? he sent, glancing around the dim recesses of the garage, and Gerard wordlessly directed him to the back corner and a seriously tiny skimmer that looked like it'd sooner fall apart than fly. It didn't even have tags, Frank saw, and a trickle of shock ran through him as he realized that was the point.

What the hell is going on? he demanded, cracking open the canopy and scrambling up into the pilot seat. For a long moment it seemed like nothing was going to happen, but on his third stab at the power control the terminal flickered to life, and the drive coughed and whined as it started up. Seriously, if you get me fucking arrested...

We're not gonna get arrested. Gerard disappeared for a moment before crashing back into the link. Fuck, hurry. Take the back way, don't try and come through the fucking city or you'll bring all the assholes down on us.

Who? Frank pushed, gunning the engine as soon as he'd cleared the end of the Ways' street. Despite the skimmer's appearance – there was fucking peeling paint and bits of trim hanging off it, clattering in the slipstream – it was responsive as all get-out, the whine of the drive all but vanishing when he kicked it up to top speed, ascending out of the street into the skyway. Fucking explain, damn it.

Fine, look, we need a distraction up here. Gerard sounded pretty distracted already; Frank could feel that most of his attention was elsewhere. The fucking pigs are crawling all over, they haven't found the lander but even if the guys make it over there, no way are they taking off. I need the skimmer to draw them off, you don't gotta get involved, but fucking hurry, please Frank?

Shit. Frank jammed the controls forward, pushing the drive until he was passing the rest of the skyway traffic as fast as he dared. What the fuck are you even – shit, Gerard.

I know, okay, just – Gerard broke off, suddenly, and Frank bit his tongue, checking all around for patrols before gritting his teeth and flooring it, skipping up out of the top of the skylane envelope. This thing had to be faster than any Peace Keeper vehicle; they could chase him all they liked, but without identifying tags... Hang on, he thought grimly at Gerard, reaching desperately for the fading link. Just... hang on.

Frank's bones were ringing with the subsonic scream of the hoverdrive by the time he angled the little skimmer up the ravine, hugging the edge of the cliff and trying to ignore the long drop down to the river below. He could see the Peace Keepers the moment he passed the last collapsed building shell from the old outpost; there were three shuttles, drawn up together blocking the end of the roadway, and at least a dozen white-uniformed officers standing guard or waving scanners around.

Fuck. Frank ducked the skimmer back below the edge of the cliff, flailing out mentally to try and locate Gerard. Shit, he was going to get arrested, and what if they tortured him for information, and his mom was going to freak the hell out, and... fuck, there. He latched on to the sense of Gerard's presence, pressing into the link so hard he could feel Gerard reeling.

Frankie, whoa, what...? Gerard caught him and steadied him, but Frank could feel it took effort.

I'm here, where are you? Frank opened his mind as much as he dared, letting Gerard see his location, his mental map of all the fucking Peace Keepers crawling around up top of the ridge.

Fuck, fuck, okay. Gerard drew back a little, then showed Frank a picture of where he was hiding, around the bend of the river a ways, where the cliff sloped away enough for cover. There were people with him; Frank caught a rapid flash of faces, unfamiliar, and a glimpse of a ship, hidden by a camo field on the edge of a stand of trees almost a kilo away across the ridge. Right. Frank thought fast, quickly discarding any idea of handing the skiff over, because hell if he was going to stick around here for the fucking Peace Keepers to trip over. There was only one thing for it, clearly.

I'm gonna come around to you, he told Gerard, thumbing the control to dip the skimmer further, as far down and in to the cliff as he dared. The river was loud enough that it didn't seem like the PKs could hear the engine noise, at least; he still kept it as low and slow as he could, hugging the cliff as he crept along the ravine toward the jut of rock where the river turned to rush down to the sea. It took him a long, desperate moment to spot Gerard, hunkered down behind an overgrown outcrop with one arm looped around the lumpy trunk of a football tree. The others – there was a blond guy, big, and a girl who looked pissed as hell, both in dirty shipsuits – were flat out in the dirt, right where the grass shot up tall at the top of the slope, and Frank had no fucking clue how the PKs hadn't caught them already. Biting his tongue so hard it stung, he maneuvered the skimmer in as close as he dared, cracking the canopy. Gee, come on.

What? Gerard swung around to stare at him, clutching at his tree like he needed it to hold him up. He was close enough that Frank could just roll his eyes, gesturing, and any other time he'd have found Gerard's dubious look fucking hilarious.

I won't fucking let you fall, come on!

"Go on," the blond guy shouted, sliding a couple of meters downhill toward Gerard. "If you draw them off we can make it."

"But –" Gerard started, but Big and Blond – and Frank was starting to have a definite suspicion about just who the hell he was, or at least what – shook his head frantically, scrambling back and pulling something off his belt. A gun, Frank realized with a shock. Fuck, he was a pirate – either that, or Gerard had gone into the business of jailbreaking, and either way, he was in so far over his head, shit.

"Cover us, Poison!" the pirate guy shouted, whatever the hell that meant, and Frank could hear the racked of the Peace Keepers coming this way, the roar of a shuttle firing up. Fuck. Clinging grimly to the controls with one hand, he stretched out across the passenger seat, shoving the canopy wide and reaching to grab hold of Gerard.

Jump! He ordered, and Gerard did, white-faced and desperate, rocking the skimmer dangerously close to the cliff as he slammed into the side of it. Frank latched onto his filthy black shirt with fingers and mind, yanking him into the cabin in a reckless tumble that ended up with Gerard sprawled across the passenger seat with his face smushed against Frank's thigh. Frank might even have appreciated that, possibly, if he hadn't been busy slamming the canopy shut and gunning the engine.

It occurred to him, as he was making the showiest and most obvious U-turn possible, one eye on the Peace Keepers who were scrambling to get into the air to follow, that he'd never really considered how the hell Gerard had known where to find fucking pirates in the first place, back when they'd snuck Lindsey off-planet. Possibly, Frank thought, slamming the control stick forward until he could barely breath from the acceleration that thrust him back into the seat, that had been an oversight.

---

Mikey – of course – was waiting for them when Gerard directed Frank to set the skimmer down in the shadowy interior of a boathouse downriver from the docks. There was a hydro-lift, and Mikey had it running almost before Frank had managed to scramble out of the pilot's seat, tucking the skiff up and away into the gloom of the rafters. Clever, Frank thought; this was clearly some serious shit.

"So," he started, then held his breath as a shuttlecar hummed past on the road side. When it had faded, both Mikey and Gerard were looking at him oddly, like they were waiting for – something. "Right. Okay." Shit, he was babbling. Frank rubbed his palms against his pants – his work pants, because he was supposed to still be in the fucking office. "So, care to fill me in?" His mind felt raw and jumbled, jagged-edged; he yanked back so fast when Gerard reached out to link that he almost gave himself whiplash.

"Frankie –" Gerard started, and Frank snorted, whirling to pace up the length of the dry dock.

"Don't even start. How long has this – have you been involved in this shit?"

"Um." Gerard's voice was very small, and Mikey's silence felt more pointed than usual. "Since – uh, since you left, I guess? Well, kind of before – I mean, that whole thing with Linds was just... it was the first time I'd seen it," he ended, kind of weakly.

"What?!" Frank snapped, stopping at the end of the boathouse. He couldn't quite make himself look at Gerard, so he stared at the jumble of paint tins and brushes piled over the workbenches instead.

"This whole fucking system," Gerard stopped, and Frank could picture him tugging on his hair. "It's broken – the Council's nothing but a mouthpiece for the big Families, they're taking control of everything, pushing their fucking happy pills to stop people seeing how they're being, being fucking manipulated. They tell you where you can go, who you can work for, who to fucking marry even, all that bullshit about compatibility is just a fucking excuse for their goddamn breeding program –"

"Gee," Mikey broke in, soft, and Gerard fell silent, breathing so hard Frank could hear it.

"So, what," he said eventually, turning half-unwillingly, "you've been, what? Hooking people up to run off with the fucking space pirates?"

"Kinda," Mikey said blandly, but Gerard cut in again, shaking his head urgently and pacing a couple steps toward Frank. The light falling through the gaping mouth of the boathouse made a blurry halo around him, casting his face into shadow.

"There's more out there than you think, Frank – the Lanes aren't the be-all and end-all of space travel, there's colonies, stations, whole fucking worlds beyond the Families' reach."

"What, you gonna beg me to come away with you now?" Frank snorted, clutching at sarcasm as a shield against the cold pit of dread that had opened in his stomach.

"Fuck, whatever," Gerard started hotly, but Frank lost the rest of whatever he was saying as a shadow crossed the hazy square of light from the doorway. It was like the pit in his stomach gaped suddenly wide, sucking him in; he was reaching out before he could even think about it, brushing over the edge of the interloper's mind and recoiling at what he found. Somewhere very distant, there was a hiss of indrawn breath – Mikey – but all Frank's attention was on the Peace Keeper who was pausing, turning, squinting as he stared into the darkness of the boathouse.

No. There wasn't ever a point, Frank felt afterwards, that he could pinpoint as a decision; he just pushed against the flat, locked-in mind of the Peace Keeper, thrusting an image of empty space before his eyes and turning him on down the path. It wasn't until his footsteps faded into the distance that Frank's legs gave out on him and he dropped to his knees, heaving.

"Fuck, Frankie." Gerard crouched down, setting an uncertain hand on Frank's shoulder. Frank flinched away from even the lightest mental contact, and bent over his knees, trying to spit the puke-taste out of his mouth. Somewhere very far away, he could hear Mikey complaining about grossness, sense Gerard flipping him off. "Are you okay?" Gerard asked him, very carefully, and Frank choked out a sickly breath of laughter, letting Gerard help him up to his feet.

"Fine. Fuck, what the hell –"

"That was..." Gerard trailed off, and Frank grimaced, ducking his head. Unethical was probably the politest word; he felt dirty, inside and out.

"He was – gonna see," he managed eventually. "Fuck, I don't even know –"

"Yeah." Gerard kept a hand on Frank's shoulder, and Frank fought not to lean into it. It made his heart hurt; he couldn't begin to untangle the feeling. "I... I get it, Frankie, okay? I've done – well, sometimes you don't get a choice, you know?"

"Ugh." Frank bent over, spitting again, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Yeah. Fuck, can we get out of here? I need a fucking shower."

---

Mikey was the one to suggest the show at the Lost Lane, and Frank grasped the distraction with both hands. Noise and sweat and movement was what he needed; he didn't want to think about the pirates or the Peace Keepers or Gerard's fucking diatribe about the Council, and he didn't want to think about what he'd done. A beer – a fucking shit ton of beers – sounded good as well, so he didn't even message back to ask who was playing, just threw on a fresh shirt and a pair of jeans that were shredded enough not to be a loss if he tore them up in the pit, and high-tailed it down to the main gate.

He didn't expect to see Gerard, of all people, fidgeting beside Mikey with his hands buried in the pockets of his – really sweet – denim jacket, but whatever, Frank thought, bounding up and doing his best to mess up Mikey's artfully arranged hair. Mikey squawked indignantly and pushed him off, his eyes almost crossing as he patted it back into place, and Frank giggled semi-involuntarily, caroming off Gerard's shoulder before he came to a stop, bouncing on his toes. There was a tight ball of anticipation knotting in his stomach, fed by everything that had stuck and tangled up inside him all day, and it was going to go off at some point, but...

"Hey," he made himself say, swallowing stupid giggles. Gerard sort of ducked his head in a nod, palming open the gate, and Frank followed him through, wondering very very privately in the deepest and most shielded part of his mind whether Gerard had actually had to paint those pants on. They looked good on him – really good, and the eyeliner and whatever he'd done to his hair didn't hurt at all – but, shit.

They had to hop a transit pod, waving their IDs over the scanner, so Frank wedged himself comfortably into the corner, propping his feet up on the opposite seat even though it made Gerard sigh at him, and started grilling Mikey about who was playing, and who else was coming. It sounded like the kind of show Jamia would've liked, a bit more on the metal side than Frank normally preferred, or would have pegged Mikey for a fan of, really, but it made more sense when Gerard sat up on the seat and began waxing lyrical about the headliners and their influences. His startled face when the pod stopped and Mikey nudged him to get out was pretty hilarious, and so was the half-resigned half-injured face he made when Frank laughed at him.

The doors had already opened, so they didn't even have to stand in line. Frank made an immediate beeline for the bar, newly-legal ID clutched in his hand, and downed his first beer there before ordering another, and a couple extras for the ride. He had to hop up onto his toes to catch sight of Mikey's stupid hair, and it occurred to him as he squeezed his way through the throng that he could just have reached out to Gerard, but... the memory of earlier was still too close. Anyway, tonight wasn't for thinking about psi factors, or fucking pirates or revolutions or whatever Gee's deal was. Frank took a determined pull on his beer and elbowed an annoyingly tall dude aside enough to squeeze through.

"Here!" He shoved a bottle at Mikey, dangling the other in Gerard's direction. Gerard half reached out, like he was going to take it, then hesitated, swallowed visibly, took his hand back. Frank tilted his head, but Gerard just shook his, so, whatever, Frank had two beers. Shrugging, he took a swig, planting the small of his back against the barrier and getting comfy, since it seemed like the techs were still setting up the stage.

"Mikeyway!" someone shrieked, latching onto Mikey's neck, and – oh, it was Luce. Frank grinned, and saluted her with his half-finished beer, and watched Mikey struggle to dislodge her. Gerard shuffled out of the line of fire, almost tripping over Frank, and kind of looked around before shrugging and staying put. Frank felt like he should say something, but he didn't know what, so he just took another pull on his beer, rubbing his fingers over the print of the label, and when the first band came out to kick off the show he thrust both bottles into Gerard's hands and threw himself forward, slamming his way up to the front. Time to fucking move, motherfuckers, he thought, before the music opened up and swallowed him.

When he crawled his way out of its grip, staggering back up to the barrier, Gerard handed over his beer without a word, his eyes wide and glittering in the lights. Frank wiped sweat out of his eyes – no blood yet, cool – and took a long gulp, kind of wishing he could just dump it over his head. If it'd been water, he probably would've, but it was a shame to waste good beer, so Frank just chugged it, tipping his head back to get the last drops.

"Fuck," Gerard muttered, quiet enough that Frank wasn't really sure whether he heard with his ears or mind, and pushed off the barrier, stumbling off. Frank twisted to stare after him, frowning, but when he started to follow Mikey caught his eyes, shaking his head. Well, whatever; Frank shrugged, leaning back against the barrier and just... feeling all the places he'd have bruises tomorrow. With any luck he could make some more when the headliners came on; he nodded along when Luce leaned in to shout something about getting more drinks into his ear.

The techs were out again, shifting kit and taping stuff onto the stage, so there was probably time for a bathroom break, Frank decided, pushing off the barrier – that was really fucking annoying, actually, because now he had to walk all the way to the end and around to get to the back exit. He found the bathroom, and pissed out some of the beer that was sitting on his bladder, and washed his hands even though the sink was totally grosser than his dick. There were, like, rules and shit. He still wiped his hands off on his pants after, shouldering the door open and setting out back to the auditorium. Except, there was a voice he recognized, from behind a half-open door, and Frank's feet had stopped before he realized it.

"—can't guarantee you'll make it, you should wait if you can," Gerard was saying, and Frank eased closer to the door, feeling the cooler air brushing past his cheek. Fuck, that felt good.

"Waiting never helped anyone," another voice said, unfamiliar. "Don't worry your pretty little head about us, Poison. Getting off this rock's gonna be the easy part, capiche?"

"Yeah, it's the Station we gotta worry about," someone else chimed in, to the sound of shifting feet. Frank was getting kind of a sinking feeling about this, and started to ease back. But – okay, it wasn't his business, and he didn't want it to be his business, but if someone else came by here...

"You'll need a distraction, then," Gerard argued. Frank knew that tone; it was the one he'd had when Mikey decided he wanted to swing across the pond on a rope, or ride Frank's cousin's skateboard down the shuttlepark exit ramp. "The Peace Keepers are getting worse, and they've got security drones now... The generator trick is only going to work so many times before they isolate the power supplies."

"I take your point," Voice One drawled, "but the longer we leave it, the more cameras and drones there'll be. We're faster than them; so what if they ID us?"

"Not all of us want our faces on Wanted holos from here to the Rigel Cluster," Voice Two grumbled. "I'm not fucking suicidal; I don't need them actively chasing me."

"Maybe you shouldn't be running then," Voice One said lightly, and they all fell silent. Frank bit his lip, easing closer to the gap and angling his head to try and see. All he caught was a slice of Gerard's profile, the start of his ear.

"Maybe... Distracting them worked today," Gerard said slowly, and Frank winced. "We – uh, well, we could try that again?" He didn't sound at all certain, though, and Frank couldn't help snorting.

"You're a fucking idiot," he announced, shoving the door open. The commotion from the auditorium was a clear signifier that the headliners had come on, but Frank checked over his shoulder anyway before easing the door almost shut. The two guys with Gerard had backed up, eyes wide, but Gee just sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. He'd known Frank was there, clearly.

"Well, fucking think of something better, then."

"Fuck you, man. Just – I don't know, make a mess." Frank rolled his eyes, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Blow something the fuck up. Hell, blow up the security drone hangar, hit 'em where it hurts. If you wanna sneak out the back way, send everyone to the front, you know?"

"...I like the way you think!" The paler-skinned guy, Voice One – they were both tall, lanky fuckers, but this guy had an annoying smirky face and the other one was warier – clapped Frank enthusiastically on the shoulder, staggering him. Frank manfully resisted the urge to punch him in the dick.

"Blowing shit up is a classic," the darker-skinned guy agreed cautiously. Guy One made an expansive gesture, grabbing him by the sleeve.

"I can see it now – but we'd better skedaddle, sweethearts. Catch you on the flipside, Party Poison, Party Poison's ghoulish friend," he nodded at – oh, Frank's tattoo. Frank blinked down at his monster, wondering if it was really that hard to identify fucking Frankenstein, and when he looked up they were already gone.

"What the hell," he objected, and Gerard snorted, shuffling over to peer around the door.

He meant your 'let's blow shit up for giggles' thing, Frankie. "Come on, we're gonna miss it."

"You come on." Frank ducked around Gerard, who was moving way too slow, and grabbed his jacket sleeve, starting to tow him back toward the show. And it's not for fucking giggles, it's for very important strategy shit, okay.

---

"Okay." Frank paused on the threshold, checking that no one was actually about to appear and interrupt, then shrugged, walking into Gerard's office and palming the door shut behind him. "You said you'd explain later, right?"

"What?" Gerard looked up from – oh, he was totally fucking reading a graphic, the asshole. Frank pointed accusingly at him.

"I just spent all morning reviewing the supply chain accounts." Motherfucker, he added mentally, and Gerard winced guiltily, flipping the screen off and pushing his com aside.

"Should I help?" He was doing that fucking big eyes thing again, all soulful and stupidly pretty, and that was a thought Frank definitely had to squash down as small and quiet as possible. His hair even looked like it was nearly clean, soft and falling in his face instead of sticking wherever he shoved it.

"What?" Frank squinted at him, mentally replaying the last twenty seconds. "Oh – nah, it's done now. Just don't spoil me if that's the new Black Saints. Uh, but, you said you'd explain about the whole," he made a zooming motion with his hand. Gerard frowned in puzzlement, watching the hand like it might do something else, and Frank sighed, surrendered to the inevitable, and reached out to link. The fucking pirate thing, you moron.

Oh. Gerard frowned deeper; Frank looked around, but the only other chair was the opposite side of the desk, which was just too interview, so he shrugged and perched on the corner of the table, swinging his feet. I thought I did explain, though? "I mean," Gerard continued, dropping into speech, "we, like, talked about it? Or – I mean, I guess if there's other stuff you wanna know, you know, like I talked to Lindsey the other week? She's doing great, she sent me a bunch of pics of her art projects."

"...Uh." Lindsey's art projects, while clearly of great interest to Gerard, because he was a fucking nerd, were not actually what Frank had been thinking of. "Actually I kind of mean, you know, how the hell you even got mixed up in this shit, dude."

"Oh." Gerard frowned, fiddling with his com. "Like, it was kind of an accident? I kind of – fuck, it was years ago. I was looking for something on the network, I think, and I came across this conversation that seemed like it had to be some kind of code, but it was referring to a place, you know? So I... kind of sneaked around, and I totally got caught, but once I realized they weren't actually – uh, I thought they were kidnappers first, I mean, but this chick, I don't even know her name, but she kicked me in the fucking balls and told me to mind my own business. And, well." Gerard shrugged, as Frank's brain struggled to catch up. "I was all, like, gonna be a super ninja or some bullshit, but it turned out Linds was already talking to this guy, and she ended up asking me for help, you know how that worked out. I was involved, then, so..."

"What, like, you're the guy on the inside?" Frank hazarded; Gerard made a face, picking at the edge of the desk.

"Kinda, sometimes? Mostly just, like, helping get people out if they wanna run, really."

"Huh." Frank still didn't exactly get that – how bad would it have to be, for him to abandon his Family and his mom and friends and his entire fucking life?

Bad enough, Gerard said, because Frank's shields were clearly fucking non-existent or something. Imagine if you wanted to – fucking I don't know, start a band or something, be this totally awesome rock star –

I wouldn't say no, Frank couldn't resist pointing out, which made Gerard roll his eyes impatiently.

"Yeah, but your Family would. You were born into a place, Frankie, same as me, and every fucking thing the Council does is locking us further into this shit."

"Wait." Frank made a whoa motion, kicking his feet out hard. "You don't wanna inherit your Family?"

"What?" Gerard shook his head, hair flying. "No, that's not what I'm saying."

"Well, what the fuck are you saying, then?" Frank demanded pissily, prodding at the dead-guy stylus holder desk ornament thing. Gruesome; awesome.

"I'm saying," and Gerard sounded pretty pissy himself now, which Frank secretly enjoyed the hell out of, "no one should have to accept some fucking arbitrary limit on who they are or what they can be! Or how they can express themselves, or whatever," he added, like it was an afterthought, but Frank could feel how big and jagged that piece was, of all the things that stuck in Gerard's throat. When had he last seen Gerard draw? he wondered, a sudden twist in his chest.

"So," he tried to keep his voice light, but he could feel Gerard's eyes and attention on him. "Where should I, uh, sign up or whatever?"

"What?" Gerard startled back like Frank had suggested he skydive off the top of the Capitol or some equally fucking ridiculous thing. "No, you – don't be stupid, Frank."

"Fuck you, you just said no one should tell me what to do," Frank pointed out – entirely reasonably, he thought, but Gerard gaped like a gulper fish, opening and closing his mouth several times before he found words.

"No, but – Frankie, this isn't some motherfucking adventure story out of a graphic, okay, there's no –" Gerard waved a hand wildly, leaning forward over the desk, "no fucking heroes, okay, and if you try and be one you'll get yourself fucking killed. For real."

"What, as opposed to fake killed?" Frank scoffed, folding his arms over his chest and glaring.

"Don't even joke about that shit." Gerard glared right back, eyes bright and a hard flush across the tops of his cheekbones, stupidly fucking hot. "Frank, you've got your Mom and your whole Family and everyone – you wanna worry them? You wanna get them involved when the motherfuckers come looking for you?"

...Fuck, Frank realized. Gerard sat up a little taller, clearly sensing that, and Frank scowled at him, pointing an accusing finger. "What, like you don't have a Family? Last I saw," he couldn't resist adding, "Mikey was fucking neck deep in this, too, so don't give me that bullshit. If you think I can't fucking handle it, just fucking insult me to my face, already." I can take it, asshole.

I can't, Frank caught in the split second before Gerard slammed his shields up, leaning over the desk to grab his com. "This shit is for real, okay, Frank, you can't just – did you ever even think about what happens to the ones who don't make it? People disappear all the fucking time, and not all of them get free, and we don't know what happens to them because no one reports it."

"...I don't scare that easily, Gee." Frank pushed off the desk, pacing over to the window. It looked out over the private Family garden; there was the rope swing dangling from the tree that Frank had broken his elbow falling off when he was eight. He could feel Gerard watching him, wound up so tight he was almost vibrating, could tell he wasn't going to do anything about it, either. Maybe... "So why don't I know about so much of this stuff, anyway?" he asked, staring at the empty bench seat on the patio. It looked like no one had used it in fucking years; it was probably a lair for hundreds of giant spiders.

"Huh?"

"The – all this people disappearing and the Council and the Peace Keepers and shit." Frank waved a vague hand to indicate the whole, whatever. Although now that he really thought about it, people disappeared out of his life all the freaking time; that was what happened when you shipped around from Station to Station, or your parents did. He hadn't had a message from Jamia in days, and he hadn't worried about it at all until now, because she was probably just busy, but...

"Well, it's not exactly plastered across FACT," Gerard pointed out dryly. "It's harder to censor the network, but like, how do you know they don't?"

"Dude, don't ask me." Frank leaned his ass against the window frame. "So, what, you're part of the, uh, network or whatever, Party Poison?" That had been what Tall Asshole One had called him. Frank was secretly a little jealous, because it was cool, but the way it made Gerard pink all along the tops of his cheeks and ears was definitely the best part. And, fuck, there was that squirm of heat in his stomach again; Frank blocked it ruthlessly off.

"Names are dangerous, okay." He folded his arms over his chest, as near to pouting as made no difference. "And, like, there isn't really a, you know, organized thing? I just... know some people, I guess. Keep an eye on the 109 and shit."

"One-oh-nine?" Frank prompted, and Gerard rolled his eyes around uncomfortably.

"Just, like – it's kind of a community, kind of a broadcast system sort of thing?" I can't really...

"Dude," Frank interrupted, making a talk-to-the-hand gesture and then ruining it with an involuntary giggle. "You know I'm not gonna let up until you show me, so just fucking spill, okay?"

---

"You have to what?" Frank stared at the com screen; Gerard at least had the grace to look chagrined, and also like he wasn't any happier about it than Frank.

"I know I said I'd help you with the expenses, but Grant insisted. I think there's something big going down, you know? Oh, Mikey should be home, though, so you can get him to help you? Tell him I said please and shit."

"Like that'll help." Frank glared as Gerard made shifty motions with his eyes. "Where the fuck even are you?"

"The Center." Gerard glanced over his shoulder, clearly distracted. "I had – never mind. Anyway, Mom's gonna bring my shit and all, since they're invited too. It's some kinda big fucking deal."

"I'm getting the idea, yeah," Frank snarked back, slumping back in his chair. "So is it top-secret, or can you share?"

"Like I know." Gerard snorted, shoving his hair out of his face. He could do with cutting it, Frank thought; it was shaggy as hell, the dye growing out, and probably filthy too. And that was a stupid-ass thought to have; almost as stupid as the way Frank kind of wanted to sink his hands into it. He was so fucked.

"Well, guess I won't wait up?" Frank rolled his eyes, huffing out a breath through his nose. "Have fun, or whatever."

"This is the opposite of fun," Gerard said, and Frank blinked; there was something off about his tone, a sharpness and depth he hadn't expected, but Gerard was already glancing over his shoulder again, reaching for the call toggle. "I gotta go, okay; just find Mikey."

"Okay," Frank said slowly, but Gerard was already gone, the screen flickering to black. Frank stared at it until it turned itself off, wondering. That had sounded kind of urgent, definitely way more than the stupid expenses required, and Gerard had to know Mikey wouldn't even be all that much help since he didn't know why the hell the Tamar Seven routing outpost needed five tons of cable lubricant any more than Frank did. And the way Gee had kept on saying it was big – maybe he should go find Mikey, Frank decided vaguely, flipping his terminal into low-power mode. He just... needed to locate the guy, first.

Despite Frank's misgivings, Mikey wasn't actually that hard to find since he answered his com straight away, directing Frank into the main house and upstairs to his room. Unlike Gerard, Mikey had moved out of his childhood bedroom, and was currently occupying a bolthole up under the eaves that seemed more like it would be kept for some distant cousin who only visited on birthdays and Foundation Day. The door was open when Frank wandered up there, music spilling out into the hall at enough volume that Frank could maybe see why he preferred it up here.

"Hey?" he tried to project over the wailing of some synthroid guitar riff, aware that Mikey had to know he was there. In response, the door swung open further, revealing Mikey sitting sideways in a desk chair, his feet dangling over the arm as he swung slowly from side to side with no visible propulsion. A fraction of a nod was all the acknowledgment Frank got; he shrugged, crossing to flop down on Mikey's roughly-made bed and stare around at the posters lining the walls. Graphics and bands, and maybe three or four that he knew out of the lot; huh. Frank's eye was caught by the giant Neo-Starblaze plastered across the closet door, though; it looked original, hand-painted, which meant it had to be Gerard's work, and he couldn't help but wonder how old it was.

"What's up?" Mikey asked, when the song came to a thrashing end; he crooked a finger in the direction of the audio controls, and the dial turned smoothly down as the next track started up.

"Oh. Uh." Frank shrugged one shoulder, feeling like an idiot. "Gee – Gerard called, he has to go to some gala announcement thing of the Morrisons' all of a sudden, and he said I should get you to help code the expenses, but I have no fucking idea what he, uh, actually meant."

"Huh." Mikey swung around in his chair some more, picking up his com from the desk and flipping the message screen out and back in. "I never heard anything about a gala."

"Yeah." Frank fidgeted with a loose thread in the sleeve of his shirt. "He kept on saying something big was gonna go down, though. It seemed – important, I guess."

"...Hm." Mikey flipped his com open again, eyes narrowing as he zoomed through screens faster than Frank could have followed even if he'd been looking at the right side. "There's a thing on FACT, but it doesn't, like, say anything," he reported. "Party of the decade, major announcement, highly-anticipated – that's fuckin' bullshit," he commented, looking up over the screen. "It's an hour old."

"So..." Frank poked at his own com. "Someone's planning something?"

"Someone's pulling something," Mikey corrected, spinning himself around to fire up his terminal. He docked his com into it, bringing up a screen Frank hadn't seen before and selecting an option that blacked out the screen entirely before popping out a new data capsule. Mikey scrolled through it, frowning, and Frank jumped as the door slammed shut across the room. "Got it," Mikey said at last, and punched something into his com.

For a long moment, nothing at all happened, but then the low hum of music from the audio speakers was interrupted by a crackle of static that hissed and popped and turned into a song. A song Frank recognized; he sat up straighter, bouncing his knee along to Mad Gear's yelling.

The swirl of the riff crashed into the end of the song, and there was a beat of silence before a voice came in, "That was our very own Mad Gear and the Missile Kid – but you don't need me to tell you that, spacebabies. We're gonna cue up another scream-along for all you Lane-jumpers out there, but before we head-bang our way outta this gravity well, the Supernova crew asked me to let all you pretty faces know they lucked into a tasty tanker treat, so they are open for business tonight. This one's by way of a request from our very own Show Pony..."

"...the hell." Frank startled a little as another song pounded out of the speakers in a storm of drumming.

"It's harder to pick up dirtside," Mikey said imperturbably. "They move about a bunch, but, you know."

"What, that's... fuck." Frank couldn't decide if he was impressed, or scared shitless. Or both, fucking simultaneously. "Is that radio?" That was, like, Ark technology.

"Pirate radio." Mikey huffed out a tiny laugh, one toe twitching in time with the driving beat. "Hold up, I'm gonna consult the hivemind," he muttered, fingers flickering over his com screen.

"Aren't they, like, afraid someone could be listening?" Frank had to ask, curious. It wasn't like the Council or whoever would go around bugging teenagers' bedrooms, probably, but monitoring network traffic? That had to be a no-brainer.

"'s encrypted," Mikey pointed out, like he was reading Frank's mind again. "You gotta, uh, have the key."

"Gee showed me the comm board," Frank pointed out helpfully, trying to crane his neck unobtrusively to see Mikey's screen. Mikey just snorted, angling it further away, and flicked out a message. "Who are you talking to?" Frank wanted to know; Mikey ignored him, so he huffed and pulled out his own com, scrolling through his messages. Boring, boring, Aunt Rosa's birthday, marketing, Gerard – wait. Frank stabbed at the untitled message capsule, popping it open.

There's PKs all over the place here. Security overload.

Frank relayed this to Mikey, on the basis that it couldn't do any harm, but Mikey just twitched an eyebrow like, duh. Frank rolled his eyes back, because what, Gerard was Mikey's brother, okay, and listened to the new song that was playing. It was unfamiliar, short and hard and bouncy, and he wasn't quite sure with all the interference, but it sounded kinda old. Once it faded out into a loop of guitar and cymbals, the deep drawl of the voice-over dude crackled back over the speaker.

"That was, of course, the Souls. All you true believers out there, keep your wits and your blasters about you, because the Kobra Kid's smellin' fish down by the old river. Any of you runners got a tip for catchin' a juicy one, reel 'em on in. But first – here's the Liberty Fly to get you in the danger zone."

Kobra Kid? Frank thought incredulously, loud enough that Mikey glanced up from his screen. Frank was about to ask if that was really his dorky codename, and what the hell was with the fish, but his com jumped again with another message from Gerard, It's starting. That sounded... not good. Frank wondered where Gerard was, that he could be messaging while whatever big event was going on; was he backstage, hiding in the bathroom, typing under the table?

"My dad used to play this," Frank commented, staring down at the screen in case Gerard messaged him again. Should he be replying, or would that draw attention at Gerard's end, if he'd forgotten to mute it again? He didn't know.

"It's a cool song," was all Mikey said, swinging so arrhythmically in his chair that Frank wanted to punch him to make the creaking stop. Thankfully, he stilled as the voice-over came in again over the end of the track.

"Got a code neon here from the Spoilers, who've had to rabbit on outta Ceres space on the screaming edge, running hot and fast from a whole passel o' pigs. Keep your eyes and ears open out there, children; this is Doctor D for Death Defying, riding the 109 to bring you everything wicked sharp in sounds and happenin' news, and this is the Blitz."

"...Fuck." Mikey scrambled around in a flail of pointy knees and elbows, bending over his terminal and starting to type. Frank frowned, catching the sudden serious mood but not quite knowing...

"What's wrong?" he asked, scooting toward the end of the bed. Mikey waved a vague, distracted hand over his shoulder, and Frank shook his head. "Just – fucking explain, dude, okay, this cryptic bullshit and telling me not to get involved is so fucking old."

"What?" Mikey glanced over his shoulder at Frank, brows creased into a tiny frown that cleared almost immediately. "Oh. Gerard." Frank thought he caught the corner of an eye-roll as Mikey turned back to his screen. "It's not like you're not pretty fucking involved, I guess," he said, eventually, one shoulder hitching in a shrug. "If the Peace Keepers are swarming Ceres – there's nothing big there, not on the colonies, but the transfer Station – a bunch of the older Stations like that, further out, they're kind of independent."

"...Oh." Frank settled forward on his elbows, thinking back to the trips he'd made with Rob and Ed, all the Stations they'd passed through on demolition and supply runs for the Fiorellis. "What, you mean they don't do what they're told and shit? Like, disobeying the Council?"

"More like ignoring them, I guess." Mikey sat back in the chair, but Frank could see his shoulders were still tense and tight. "People can look out for themselves, mostly, outside the battery systems. If the Peace Keepers are going–" he fell suddenly silent as the Doctor's voice (dude had the best code-name so far, although Frank secretly thought Gerard's was pretty cool) cut back over the top of the music.

"Upgrade that last one to a code white white white, runners; we're hearin' a whole lot of voices singing the same tune, goes by the name of crackdown. The pigs are out, and they're running the hell about, shooting first and there won't be any need for questions, if you get me. Your directive, Lane jumpers, is to sit if you're tight, run if you gotta, and save yourselves 'cause no one else is going to. And on that note – this is Doctor Death Defying, signing off for now. Catch you on the flipside, drifters." The song dissolved into static, backed by the whining rise and fall of a siren, and Mikey waved a hand at the audio system, shutting it abruptly off.

"Fuck," Frank said, then, more urgently, "Fuck." He scrambled off the bed, catching his foot in the sheets and almost crashing to the floor. "Mikey, we have to –" He kicked himself free, hopping in place, and snatched up his com when it beeped again.

Old Man Sato n President Barr talking a lot about safety and harmony and protecting people?? Gerard's message read. It was followed by another, Announcing some new partnership, and right as Frank finished reading it, a FACT notification capsule popped up at the top of the screen. Better Living Partnership Announced it trilled, managing to imply a whole bunch of exclamation marks despite their invisibility.

"What the fuck," Mikey mumbled; Frank looked up, to see him staring at the same article on his own screen. There was a holopic of a stage draped in black-on-white banners and happy face symbols, the President behind a podium with the Sato Head and Grant Morrison flanking him and the rest of the Council smiling woodenly in the background.

"It's gotta be a distraction," Frank found himself saying, staring at their smooth, blank faces and the creepy emoticon logo thing. There were words, too, The Future Is showing before the people on stage blocked out the rest. "Right? Keep the news focused there, so they can sneak round the back and take out the opposition or what the fuck ever. Right?"

"Like the news isn't all in their pockets." Mikey snorted softly, killing the article and going back to scrolling through the community posts. "Fuck. Couple people've posted they haven't seen any trouble, but..."

"Fuck," Frank echoed, swinging around. "We've gotta do something, right?" Shit, people could be getting fucking killed out there; without the broadcast, there was no way to tell, and just the fact that the broadcasters had signed off had to mean something.

"Do what, Frank?" Mikey cocked his head, like he was asking an honest question, though Frank couldn't pull himself enough together to actually read him; he felt scattered, like his mind was trying to run in a dozen different directions, the urgency tugging at him. He stared back at Mikey, helpless, and Mikey made a sympathetic sort of face, which was mostly just a pulling down of his eyebrows and a twitch of his mouth. "Yeah."

"Fuck." Frank whirled, lashing out mentally at the nearest moveable thing, a big action figure of Holo-verse Sol that was posed on top of Mikey's dresser. It went flying, only to stop dead in mid-air right before it would have hit the wall.

"Break your own shit, dude," Mikey complained, settling the figure back carefully in its place.

"Don't you care?" Frank demanded – unfairly, he knew, but it just made Mikey sigh.

"We could go and, fucking, steal a ship and run the Lane queues and get killed taking on the fucking Peace Keepers, yeah. Wouldn't do any good. Save yourself, like the guy said; it'd be the law, if the outer zones had 'em."

"...Shit." That was possibly the most words he'd ever heard Mikey utter in one go, so it had to be fucking important, Frank guessed. He stomped over to the door, pressing his forehead up against it. "I can't fucking deal with this," he muttered; what if Lindsey, or Ray, or that kid from the river cliffs were out there getting chased down and arrested and killed? "We can't just fucking sit here while fuck knows what's happening."

"We don't have much of a choice," Mikey said, dry and bitter-quiet, and Frank gritted his teeth, knowing and hating that he was right. "Oh," Mikey added, as his com buzzed, followed by Frank's, "Gee says they're done up at the Capitol."

"Great," Frank muttered, turning to slump back against the door. "Is he coming back? Should we, uh, message him about...?"

"Huh." Mikey frowned down at the com screen, then turned to examine his terminal. "Better not to risk it, I guess. Not like he can do anything, either, except freak out." He looked over the com screen at Frank, exactly like he'd used to peer over the top of his glasses when they'd been kids, and Frank had a moment of gasping around the suddenness and immediacy of the memories that slammed into him, catching him off balance.

"Stop being fucking right all the time," he managed, and Mikey snorted without humor.

"When you stop being a little shit," he returned, and Frank had his mouth open to snark back when Mikey cocked his head sharply, like he was listening. A flick of his finger turned the audio back up.

At first, Frank thought it was just static, was about to needle Mikey about being trigger happy, but then a voice broke through the crackle, sharper and lighter than the Doctor from before. "–mayday, we've got a Code Rainbow going down in the battery, every kind of shit you can fuckin' imagine hitting the fan right now at the Bell Station. If you're in the vicinity – well, you don't wanna be in the vicinity. This is the Midtown putting out the alert: the Free River is exiting the Lanes at the Bell Station terminus, in fatal collision. Save our fucking souls." The transmission cut abruptly out into silence, gradually overtaken by the slow hiss of static.

It was like all the air in the room had been frozen solid. Frank struggled to breathe around the ache and weight in his chest, his fingers spasming painfully as he clenched them in the fabric of his jeans. "Mikes," he choked out, and Mikey jerked out of his own stillness, turning to stab frantically at the terminal screen. Frank's eyes followed the motion, scanning desperately over the message and news feeds Mikey was bringing up, one after the other, but there was just...

"Nothing," Mikey muttered, and Frank started over, not even knowing what he could do but needing to do something. He stopped mid-step, though, as another movement caught his eye, drawing his attention out through the window to the sky and the sudden bloom of light and flame, silent and distant but bright and terrible enough in that moment to rival the evening sun.

---

It was nearly dark when Gerard eventually found them. Ray had turned up shortly after the explosion, pale and sickly looking with Patrick and Luce trailing wide-eyed in his wake, and the five of them were clustered on the verandah steps, watching the intermittent trails of flame streak the sky above. The creak of the door made Frank start, but Mikey just glanced back over his shoulder, face sober and unreadable, as Gerard crossed the decking to join them.

Frank shifted his feet, wondering if he should say something, but Gerard didn't even acknowledge the rest of them, stumbling over to Mikey and pressing his face into his brother's shoulder. The rumpled formal suit he was wearing was something that should have been funny, but Frank couldn't imagine laughing. He leaned against the cool stone of the pillar, one eye on the way Gerard clung to Mikey and the other on the tiny bursts of fire that lit up the sky as debris burned through the atmosphere.

"They're saying terrorist attack," Gerard mumbled eventually, turning his head to blink at Ray, then Frank. "What...?"

"Collision in the Lane," Ray started, then stopped, swallowing hard. Frank pulled in a breath through his nose, letting his mental touch drift outward to include all of them as he told Gerard, as briefly as he could bear to, what they'd heard and pieced together about the Free River's end. As far as anyone seems to know, the PKs were chasing them down the Lanes and must have hit them. Both ships went up after dropping out of the Lane. The fireball had been enough to show that nothing and no one had survived that explosion.

Fuck, Gerard whispered in his mind; Frank pressed his mouth shut in silent agreement, because there really wasn't anything else to say. He kept the link in place, though, and twisted his hand in Gerard's sleeve as they all stood together long into the night, watching the remnants spark and flare and burn out as they fell to the surface.

---

"So, when's this grand unveiling thing?"

"Next week," Gerard answered absently, before looking up from his terminal. "Wait. Why?"

"I feel like making a mess." Frank threw himself down into the other chair, kicking his legs up onto Gerard's desk and smirking to himself at the half-indignant, half-sad little noise Gerard made about it. He waggled one foot back and forth as a 'hello', and grinned outright as Gerard crossed his arms.

"You're a fucking menace." Define 'mess,' he added silently, and Frank shrugged carelessly.

Mayhem. Destruction. Maybe paint bombs, he added as the thought occurred to him, and Gerard snorted.

"Right." Where would you even get paint bombs?

"Eh, I figure you know where to put your hands on paint, right?" Leave the blowing shit up to me. He probably couldn't finagle anything serious, but the Iero Family had a long-standing contract to haul blasting caps out to the Rigel mining colonies; it'd be easy enough, he was sure, to sneak enough for a few low-level charges, if he could talk his way into the warehouse. "Maybe glitter, too. All that–" he waved a lazy hand – "monochrome shit is just asking for a little brightening up, you know?"

"...Frank." Gerard frowned over the desk at him, but despite the worry in the forefront of his mind, Frank could feel that he was hooked, too, the buried need to do something stirring and starting to make itself known. You'll get yourself fucking arrested, or, or motherfucking killed. We can't – shit, Frankie, it's one thing to sneak runners off-planet. You wanna provoke them, see how much worse they can do?

"It may have escaped your attention," Frank said mock-gravely, making Gerard's brows hunker down even further, his face all scrunched up and worried and stupid looking. "But I am in fact a telekinetic." He poked the back of Gerard's shoulder to prove his point, and Gerard started so violently that he knocked over his coffee and had to scramble for tissues to soak up the spilled dregs. Biting his lip and carefully not thinking about how fucking adorable Gerard looked with his little distressed pout, Frank got up to help mop away the (tiny) puddle and kinetically punt the damp napkins into the trash. "See?"

"You spilled my coffee," Gerard accused mournfully; Frank rolled his eyes, collapsing back into the chair.

"There was like, a centimeter. And it was cold, dude." I'll get you more later, okay, jeez. Tell me what you know about this street party bullshit already.

"You better," Gerard said, twisting sideways in his chair. "I don't think, you know, it's a party, not really. Grant was saying – they're launching a holo channel, or whatever." I dunno what they're gonna show on it, he hasn't really said. He fell silent, pulling into himself, and Frank could feel him worrying at that, like a knot of anxiety he was holding tight and close. Frank didn't really get that, and he didn't really like it either, but now wasn't the time or the place to examine too closely the dissatisfaction simmering at the back of his mind. He pushed it back, crushed it down and buried it deep.

Probably, like, fake documentaries to show how everyone's just so freaking happy. Frank scowled, then lifted his head, startled, as someone impinged on his awareness, slipping through the door into the outer room and toward Gerard's office. "Fuck –"

"Huh?" Gerard gave him a strange look, then turned to stare at the door a fraction of a second before it slid open to – oh. Frank relaxed, sliding down in his chair, and Mikey gave him a faintly-smug look as he palmed the door closed behind him.

"Hey." Mikey looked around really obviously, then gave a tiny shrug and went to perch on the window sill, stretching out his long skinny legs across the rug. "What's up?"

"Just fucking, discussing this Better Living bullshit." Gerard waved a hand in the air, making a face. "What the hell they're gonna play on their holo channel thing, you know."

"Huh." Mikey examined his nails, where the black lacquer was chipped around the edges. "Not The Black Saints. You know TransOrbital got sucked into this partnership thing, right? They're closing the graphics arm, folding all their titles."

"What!" Gerard bolted upright in his chair, mouth open and outraged. "They can't do that!" Frank nodded vehemently in agreement, and Mikey shrugged like he didn't even care.

"They did," he pointed out, flat. "Too dark, or something. Not the right fuckin' – image, I guess."

"Motherfuckers." Frank clenched his fists by his sides.

"Fuck," Gerard agreed, shoving himself up to pace, one hand tangled in his hair the way he always ended up when he was too distracted to be self-conscious. "Fuck their image. This shit is just –" He didn't finish the sentence, though, stopping mid-stride as his brow furrowed. Frankie, did you really mean that? About paintbombing their launch party?

Like I'd joke about explosions. Frank smirked when Mikey glanced his way; he was clearly linked closely enough to Gerard to overhear that. I did six cycles of demolition on the side, Gee. Pretty sure I can figure something out.

"Hell," Mikey cut in, "just hack 'em and play some fuckin' Mad Gear over top. They got their contract dropped, too; pretty sure they'd be all for it."

"What, really?" Frank stared; Mikey just shrugged like it was no big thing. Gerard huffed out a breath.

"How do you even – ugh." He took off pacing again, making a couple of circuits of the room, so deep in his own head now that Frank couldn't catch anything but a vague impression of quick-rolling thoughts. "It's a fucking awesome idea," he said eventually, whirling to stare at Mikey. "How would you pull it off, though? We'd get caught so fucking fast."

"Frank's eletrokinetic," Mikey pointed out coolly, and Frank blinked as both Ways swung round in unison to stare at him. It took him a moment to even process what Mikey was getting at, and then...

"Shit, no chance," he had to say, with not a little regret. "The security'll be – and that stuff's all, like, optic, anyway. I mean, I could maybe knock out a couple of transmitters, but they'd sure as hell be able to tell I did it, you know? Maybe, uh, ask Lindsey?" he hazarded, remembering the way she'd talked about looping the recorders at the spaceport, so long ago.

Gerard snorted. "She totally would. But she's got, uh, stuff – she's busy," he ended, slumping back down in his chair. He seemed... Frank didn't even know, he was still turned inward, hard to read, but it felt as if something was eating at him, deflating and eroding the outrage piece by piece until he was staring at the floor, not meeting either of their eyes. Frank opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but closed it again after a moment, empty of words and aching with it.

"Gee." Mikey shifted, drawing his brother's reluctant attention, and they stared at each other silently for what felt like forever. Frank couldn't see Gerard's face, only the back of his head where his hair was all snarled up and sticking everywhere, but Mikey's eyes were sharp and intense, deeply hooded. Whatever they were saying to each other, or sharing, or remembering, it was clearly not for Frank, and that hurt unexpectedly, like the ghost of seven years' hate he thought he'd buried, rising up now to choke him. He shifted sharply, about to get up from the chair and fucking do something, he didn't even know what, only that he needed to move, but the noise seemed to snap both of the Ways out of it, Gerard flinging himself back up to his feet instead.

"I don't – I can't risk..."

"You can," Mikey said with certainty, and Frank bit at the sides of his cheeks, swallowing the persistent urge to kiss that terrible, helpless expression off Gerard's stupid face.

"Gee," he said instead – distraction, motherfucker – "I know I don't have the full picture, but – you're gonna have to decide sometime, you know? Whether you're in or you're not. Weren't you the one saying how we should all be able to, fucking, express ourselves and shit?" he added, and Gerard visibly flinched, looking down at his feet. His shields were cracked, and Frank could feel the desire in him to run out of there, drown himself in the hardest liquor he could find. "Gee," he said again, insistent, and Gerard made an unhappy, tortured sound.

"You're gonna fucking get us all killed," he protested, but it was weak, and after a second he took a breath, less shaky, and scrubbed his hair back off his face. "Shit. Fine. Okay. What do you wanna do?"

---

Frank was twitching so bad from impatience and the people who kept shoving up against him that Ray had already asked, twice, if he needed the bathroom or something. He wanted to push back, fight the crush with his elbows and knees, but this wasn't a show, and if he started trouble here he'd blow their whole fucking plan sky-high. The Peace Keepers were everywhere, white jackets and white holsters and white fucking masks too, which were freaking Frank out; it was hard not to flinch and reflexively check his shields every time his eyes crossed one of their stupid cartoon-smooth faces.

"Look," Ray nudged him, jerking his head over toward the steps of the Capitol and the microphones and screens that had been set up there. "There's Gerard and Mikey."

"Where?" Frank demanded, bouncing up on his toes to try and see over the clump of tall assholes in front of him, but all he caught was a brief glimpse of Grant Morrison's bald head and a flash of black that was probably Gerard. Well, or Mikey; they were both bundled up in identical black peacoats over their stupid suits. Frank was fucking grateful he'd been able to get away with jeans and a couple of hoodies; he blended right in, and he didn't look like an idiot.

Who're you calling an idiot, Gerard grumbled in the back of his head; Frank ducked his head, the corner of his mouth twitching up, and didn't bother answering that.

How's it going up there? he asked instead, reaching out across the link to place Gerard and, through him, Mikey. He'd spent the first half-hour trying to follow Mikey mentally, but the masked Peace Keepers had made him paranoid, and anyway, as much as Frank hated to admit it, Mikey was better than him when it came to telekinesis. The shift and flex of his mind as he'd slid and pressed Frank's homemade arsenal into position had been so subtle that Frank had got hopelessly lost trying to keep track; in the end he'd given up and made Ray give him a piggyback ride until the crowd had got thick enough that he'd had to slide back down to defend his space.

Boring, Gerard told him; when Frank pushed up onto his toes again, he thought Gerard was looking his way. He and Mikey were sat off to the side of the stage in the VIP area, surrounded by stiff dignitaries and blank-faced holo presenters, special guests of the Morrisons. Or Grant, anyway; who was on the other side of the stage now, offering an arm to – oh, Ms Sato. There was a stir of interest from the crowd as she stepped up onto the stage, and a couple of the Peace Keepers who were lining the Capitol steps shifted uneasily. The holo operators were moving their recorders into position.

Is it starting? Frank demanded, grabbing Ray's sleeve to try and haul himself up further. Why was everyone on this planet fucking taller than him?

You are kinda short, Gerard mused, which, really? Frank blew him a mental raspberry, accompanied by an image of his extended middle finger, and carefully ignored the way his stomach tightened, hot, when Gerard giggled in his mind. I think they're still setting up, Gerard continued, oblivious to the balancing act Frank was engaged in as he tried to keep that sharp wanting part of himself closed off from Gerard, and their link locked safely under the outer layers of his shields, away from the prying minds of the Peace Keeper telepaths.

There's a fuckton of white faces around, he told Gerard. I can't fucking see a thing any more; nudge me or something if any of the fuckers are looking this way?

You're fine, Gerard told him back, and Frank could feel him scanning the crowd, picking out Ray's head (he'd tried to squash his hair under a hat, but it hadn't been entirely successful). Gerard obligingly pulled him closer, letting Frank see through his eyes for a few seconds of bizarre double vision. It was worse than he'd thought; the Peace Keepers and security drones were like a white wall around the edges of the square, two and three deep at the exits.

Fuck. Frank pulled back into his own head, fidgeting nervously with the rubber mask in his pocket. If this takes much longer, we'll be fucked, he muttered to Gerard, staggering into Ray when the crowd pushed in toward the stage.

I think... yeah, no, they're starting, Gerard came back after a moment, and Frank felt it, the sudden hush that fell over the crowd. There was some music playing from up front, quiet and utterly fucking bland, and Frank caught a glimpse, before someone pushed him aside again, of Ms Sato standing at the podium with a fake plastic smile plastered across her face. A voice, flat and synthetic-sounding, was counting down from ten, and the numerals were flashing up, huge and black, on the screens behind her. Three, two, Frank found himself counting silently along, and the sudden flash of lights at zero, recorder flash scattering across the square, made him flinch so hard he slammed into Ray's side.

"Whoa," Ray mouthed, inaudible over the cheering, grasping worriedly at Frank's shoulder. He'd been skeptical of the whole thing, at first; Frank had felt kind of guilty about involving him at all, but they'd needed his clearance codes to get anywhere near the spaceport. Bizarrely, it had been Gerard who'd convinced him, the fervor in his eyes as he expounded about artistic freedom drilling right into Frank's bones until he was sure he'd have gone anywhere Gerard led, followed him into any fight. Breaking into a warehouse his Family owned anyway was the least of it.

"I'm fine!" Frank shouted back, but it was a lost cause; he couldn't even hear his own voice as the music flared into a crescendo. Ms Sato was holding one hand up, calling for silence, but it took a while before she could speak.

"Friends, welcome." She sounded just like she did on the news holos, smooth and controlled. "It is my privilege today to present to you the debut of the most exciting facet of the Better Living partnership, through which the Council, with the cooperation of some of our most established and prestigious Families, hopes to promote positive futures and enrich the lives of every member of civilization." A brief murmur of cheering that died quickly when she continued. "Peace, co-operation, and progress are virtues to which we can all aspire, and through which we can move forward to a future where everyone can be safe and productive and free."

My ass, Gerard muttered in Frank's head; Frank snorted, sending agreement back across the link.

"In the spirit of these virtues, therefore," Ms Sato announced, "I am honored to announce the grand opening of the Better Living Network – three dedicated holo channels to bring you the programming you want, and the information you need, to be a part of the beautiful future we're all creating." She paused, so clearly anticipating the cheers that Frank had to wonder just how many of the audience were plants. They'd got in early, and even then the square had been half full with the guards checking ID at all the barriers.

"I now call upon Secretary Silver of the Cultural Ministry to formally inaugurate the Better Living Network and begin the broadcast." Ms Sato smiled, sharp and grotesque, and stepped aside, applauding politely as one of the officials stepped up from the row of chairs. Frank ducked his head, surreptitiously checking the time on his com. Less than a minute to noon; he'd programmed the timers to blow then, since rumor and what little Gerard had been able to wheedle out of Morrison – and there was a mental image Frank didn't ever want to have again – put the official unveiling or switch-on or whatever at that point on the schedule.

What – Gerard started, and Frank stopped breathing, scrambled for something, anything, to distract him.

Any minute now, he blurted, scrabbling to tuck everything else, every ache of want and swell of lust and biter scrap of jealousy, inside his deepest and darkest shields where Gerard would never stumble across them. Fuck, how long's this asshole gonna drone on? If he fucks up the timing I'm gonna fucking shoot him.

You don't have a fucking gun, Gerard pointed out, but Frank could feel his attention retreating. Yeah, here we go...

There was a blare of music when the Silver guy hit the button, and an explosion of applause and cheers that made Frank flinch. The huge screens suspended from the Capitol building flickered to life, the creepy blank smile logo disappearing into giant views of the stage and the smug fucking faces of the Council members and Heads up there. Frank caught a single glimpse of Gerard, to the side of the holo with his face too-obviously blank, and just had time to freak out that their plan had failed, or been discovered, fuck, before the giant holo screens fizzed out into a deafening storm of static.

Here we go! Frank grabbed for Ray's sleeve, staring, and then suddenly there was just chaos, a succession of rapid-fire pop-pop-pop as his charges blew, one after the other like projectile blasts, drowned by the screams of the crowd as the business drones and politicians on the stage ducked and cowered from burst after crescendoing burst of paint and smoke and glitter. Frank had rigged the poppers for maximum showiness and only moderate force, relying on Mikey to tuck them out of major harm's way; Gerard had contributed the red and blue and yellow pigments and dyes that splattered wildly across everyone on the stage.

Fuck, Gerard complained; Frank could feel him wiping wetness from his own face, ducking behind Mikey, and had to choke back a giddy laugh, letting the panicked crowd carry him away. He got a brief, vivid image, through Gerard, of Grant Morrison's face contorted into a furious snarl and dripping with blue paint, and clutched at Ray to keep himself upright because he was going to die.

Somewhere very distant, an amplified voice was appealing for calm, but the crowd was beyond hearing; people were stampeding for the exits, and Frank had a flash of cold panic as someone slammed into his side, ripping him away from Ray. This was worse than a pit; there was no beat to rule his limbs, and the mass of bodies buffeted him from side to side as he tried to keep his footing. He could hear the sirens, now, the Peace Keepers descending, and Frank felt his eyes widen as he realized that he'd left it too late. He should have got the hell out of here way before it all went down, but he'd wanted to watch, and now here he was separated from the guys, probably shining like a torch with explosives residue despite the showers he'd taken. All they had to do was bring in the scopes...

Fuck. Frank swallowed, ducking his head and yanking his hood as far over his face as he could, reaching out around himself with his senses to keep his bearings. Gee? Gerard! What's going on?

Frankie? Gerard's voice faded out, then strengthened. Where are you? It's a fucking mess out there.

You're telling me. Frank gritted his teeth as another taller, heavier person slammed into him, and pushed back, jabbing with his shoulders and elbows to make a space to move into. I lost Ray, think he'll be okay though. You and Mikey?

Fine, Gerard returned shortly. They're getting us outta here first, looks like. Which way are you headed? I'll see if I can find a shuttle...

Forward, Frank gritted out, I can't – fuck! Someone's arm slammed into his stomach, driving all the air out of him, and he staggered sideways, wheezing, right into... oh fuck, there was a wall of white uniform filling his vision.

"Stay back!" the Peace Keeper barked robotically – it was a woman, and Frank had nearly gone face-first into her armored tits, which might even have been funny if she hadn't swiveled her head to look at him, her eyes widening as she took in his ducked heard and shadowed face.

Fuck, Frank thought blankly, forgetting Gerard, forgetting the crowd, forgetting even that he was still trying to breathe. He could see her lips shaping the words, stop there, but the sudden thunder of his heart in his ears blocked all sound as she went for her gun.

A lot of things flashed before his eyes – his mom's face, Dad's, Gerard's. Everything slowed down as the barrel of the gun cleared the holster, white metal charred black around the mouth, and Frank tried desperately to make himself move, but his legs were made of lead, stuck to the floor like the gravity had failed and they'd been forced to mag down to the deck. Except he wasn't on a ship, he was on the ground, and he was going to die right here, right now.

Time slammed back into him with the force of a nuclear strike when someone toppled into the Peace Keeper from behind, arms and legs windmilling and making her stagger and stumble. Frank pushed at her legs, sending her feet skidding out from under her (and praying his mom never heard about this), and yanked the weapon out of her hand with a thread of telekinetic force. It was heavy and warm in his hand; he clutched it and ran, shoving people carelessly aside with his mind, racing for the nearest way out.

He never made it; a security drone loomed across the barrier as Frank burst out of the throng, and he stumbled to a halt, staring down at the ground as he felt for an escape route. The Peace Keepers were clustered over by the gate, waving people through the scanners; if he could jump the barrier, Frank thought wildly, backing up, he could run for it...

"Don't move!" A clatter of running feet was coming up from behind; Frank swallowed, raising the gun in shaky hands and taking aim as best he could. He'd expected a kick, but there was none, just a tingle of vibration as he pulled the trigger and the beam shot out of the barrel. The security drone tumbled back, a sparking hole charred through its shoulder, and suddenly everyone was screaming and running, the crowd surging back away from him. Frank started for the barrier, but jerked aside frantically as a beam hissed past him, so close that he felt the heat against his ear, smelled the ozone stink of burnt air.

Shit. There was nowhere else to go; Frank took a deep breath, swallowed his heart back down, and bolted for the barrier, hitting it at waist height and tumbling over to lie gasping on the cold permacrete, the sky wide and winter-blue in his eyes. It was only a temporary reprieve, though, and no kind of barrier at all to blaster shot, so he forced himself to scramble back to his feet, feeling all the places where he was scraped and raw, and push into a run. Now would definitely be a good time to have learned Mikey's fucking teleportation trick, Frank thought faintly, shoving hard and blind behind himself when someone hit his extended senses. Another laser beam sliced by him, taking a chunk out of the sleeve of his hoodie, and he swallowed a moan, lungs burning, driving his feet onward.

Frank! Frankie, this way!

Gerard. Where? Frank couldn't see; he dodged, hissing in pain, as another blast singed way too close to his side. Warning shots; they must want him alive. Gee! he all but shouted, reaching for the link, and the relief when Gerard reached back, locking their minds together in a whirl of white knuckles and determination, had Frank almost sobbing.

Come on! Gerard urged, and then there was a high whine zipping overhead, downdraft staggering him as the shuttle slewed around, and the hatch was open, and Frank was jumping before he could think.

"Got you!" Gerard's voice echoed in his mind; his hand fisted in the back of Frank's hoodie, dragging him into the shuttle and kicking the hatch shut and the drive into gear. The acceleration pressed what was left of his breath out of Frank's burning lungs, and his body back against the cushion of the seat and Gerard's chest where he was half slumped over him. "Frankie, Frankie, are you okay? Did they hit you? Fuck, here they come, sit up, let me steer!"

"Fuck," Frank choked out, snapping for breath, and struggled to pull himself up until he was marginally upright, shoving his hood up over his sweaty forehead. "What are you – where are – did you steal this?!"

"Maybe?" Gerard made an entirely non-explanatory twirly gesture before hastily putting his hand back onto the controls, swerving as a laser beam zapped past the hull. He'd wiped the paint off his face, but his hair was still neon-red and stringy with it, Frank noticed inanely. "Fuck, they're shooting at us!"

"No shit!" Frank scrambled around in his seat, peering out of the back window and feeling his heart sink in his chest. "Two shuttles," he reported grimly. "Light, not much firepower maybe – fuck!" he bit out, barely avoiding slamming his head against the side bulkhead as Gerard swerved wildly again. "Motherfucker, drive fucking faster!"

"Fuck you!" Gerard flailed one hand, shuffling around on the seat in a bizarre dance that had Frank wondering if he'd been shot, or fucking electrocuted or something, until he managed to drag his com out of his back pocket. "You fucking do it, then!" he yelled, fisting a hand in Frank's hoodie and yanking him across his lap.

"Shit!" Frank threw out his hands to try and steady himself, almost sending them into a catastrophic spin when he accidentally smacked the controls. He grabbed for them, feet scrabbling and sliding against the slick upholstery as he squirmed across Gerard, trying to reach the power levers. "Fucking move, you moron!"

"I'm trying!" With a grunt and a heave, Gerard managed to slither out from under Frank, tipping himself into the passenger seat. "Fuck, now there's three up our ass. Head – uh, north-east? Yeah."

"The mountains?" It was as good a direction as any, so Frank turned the dial and jammed the levers forward, gunning the drive as hard as he dared, heading up and out of the city. "You better fuckin' know where you're going, man," he managed, all of his attention now on the airspace around them, the drag against the hull and the incoming burn of laser fire. It was almost like flying for real, navigating the Lanes by the seat of his pants, except there was less risk of the seat of his pants getting shot in the fucking Lanes, and also ships were made for that shit. This fucking piece of crap shuttle was starting to shudder and creak already, and they were barely a few thousand meters up.

"Just a little further," Gerard reported breathlessly over his shoulder, his neck craned to stare out the window. "You can do it, Frankie, c'mon."

"Fuck," Frank muttered, then swerved violently, almost spinning right out of control as a massive shadow dropped down over them, returning a volley of laser fire at the pursuing Peace Keepers. "What the shit–" He started to turn the controls, trying to escape, but Gerard reached over, grabbing his hands. His skin was hot, Frank realized stupidly, burning up with the same desperate glee that shone in his eyes.

"No, Frankie, they're ours, they're friends, come on–"

"Mother. Of. Fuck." Frank took frantic stock – shuttle engines starting to whine and fail, not built for this shit and pushed beyond endurance; Peace Keepers on their tail and talking with their guns; giant fucking space ship and the imminent lack of airspace as the mountains ahead started to rise up in the viewscreen – and made a snap decision, wrenching the controls back the other way. "Tell 'em to prime the fucking docking hatch!" he snapped at Gerard, before he had to grit his teeth and shut out everything but the jerk and shiver of the shuttle under his hands as he fought them through the massive slipstream, latching onto the bigger ship with his senses and holding grimly on. Match velocity – fuck, that was harder than it had ever been, every twitch of the air slapping him back. Only a complete fucking maniac would try this in atmo – and there was the fucking dock hatch, he could see it...

The clamps engaged with a bang that echoed through the cabin, and Frank slammed the drive over into shutdown, already scrambling out of the pilot seat. "Come on, we're sitting fucking ducks!" He could feel the deep thrum of the big ship's atmosphere engines working, gaining altitude fast now, and it made his hands shake as he punched at the airlock seal, hitting the auto override and piling through with Gerard so close behind that he landed on top of Frank, knocking all the air out of him, when they hit the deck.

"Well," a voice observed after a long moment, so familiar that Frank had to blink his eyes clear just to be sure he wasn't dreaming. Jamia looked back at him – upside down, because he was, or at least Frank was pretty sure – and quirked one eyebrow. "This is a surprise."

---

Possibly the worst thing, Frank concluded while Gerard worked himself up into a thoroughly righteous rant of explanation, waving his hands so wildly in the confined space of the cabin lounge that he almost smacked Lindsey in the head and didn't even notice, was that Jamia clearly wasn't sorry at all for not telling him she'd run off to join the fucking space pirates. She just smirked at him when he complained, and pointed out that he hadn't told her shit, either, which Frank couldn't argue with despite really wanting to.

"And then they started fucking shooting at us!" Gerard declared, like it had been an insult or something rather than an attempt on their lives, and Frank choked back a giggle at the indignant outrage clear in his face and his mind.

"Their fucking faces though," he contributed, snickering as he remembered that image of Grant Morrison, glaring through the paint and glitter that dripped down his face and his stupid shirt ruffles. "It was epic."

"Yeah, we caught the broadcast before they shut it off." Lindsey pushed off the cabin wall, dragging out her com and flipping up a picture – fuck. Frank snorted, the laughter bubbling up, and doubled over his knees, giggling helplessly at the sight of Old Man Sato's face slack and wide-mouthed as a ball of glitter exploded against the side of his head. Once he'd started he couldn't quite seem to stop, all the stress and tension of the chase and that moment of staring his death in the face coming out in choking gusts of emotion. He sagged against Gerard's side, laughing and laughing as Gerard started explaining to Jamia, with lots of wildly outraged hand-waving, how the Peace Keepers had chased and shot at them "for real, not even warning shots, can you believe this shit?!" and dragging at the sleeve of Frank's hoodie to display the charred edges of the hole. Fuck, Frank couldn't stop laughing; his heart felt swollen like a star about to burst, a ridiculous miniature supernova of holy fuck I love you in his chest.

Gerard stopped mid-word, freezing beside him, and Frank felt his laughter dry up so suddenly his lungs seized, the supernova collapsing into a black hole. No, fuck – he tried to pull back, restore his shields, but Gerard's tentative brush against his mind stopped him cold.

Frankie? Gerard exhaled an unsteady breath, mental voice tiny, and when Frank made himself look up, he was staring back, eyes wide and green and –

"Ohhhhkay." Distantly, Frank was aware of Jamia pushing off the couch beside him, moving toward the door. "We're just gonna go... somewhere else, yeah." There was a hiss of air as the door opened, the clank of their boots on the deck; Frank wanted to follow, to pull away from Gerard and run away, run as far and as fast as he could, but he was frozen.

Frank, Gerard whispered in the back of his mind. Frank could feel his disbelief, but he held fast when Frank tried to wrench out of the link. No, don't. Gerard pressed closer, deepening the link, and Frank felt his eyes stretch impossibly wider as barriers he hadn't even known existed fell away, and... oh.

Frank, Gerard said his name again, and Frank was drowning in him, in a depth and strength of feeling that stole his breath. His own wavering barriers dissolved entirely, everything he'd been trying to ignore and suppress finally out in the open, and he had his hands in Gerard's hair before he even knew what he was doing, pulling him down to fit their mouths together.

The touch was electric; Frank felt Gerard's eyelids fluttering shut, the groan that was caught in his throat, the heat of his own skin under Gerard's hands as they settled on his shoulders, pulling him closer. He went eagerly, parting his lips to invite Gerard's tongue in and shuddering as they touched. Feeling it so completely from both sides was overwhelming; Frank was halfway into Gerard's lap before he even knew he was moving, and when he hesitated Gerard pulled him the rest of the way, hands clutching at his hips and fingers sliding up under his layers of hoodies to reach skin.

Oh, shit. Frank had to break the kiss to pant for breath, dizzy; he pulled on Gerard's hair to tip his head back, pressing his mouth into the thin skin under the angle of his jaw and feeling Gerard's gasp shiver through his own throat. Shit, Gee–

Frankie, Frankie, yeah, Gerard was chanting mentally, shuddering as Frank worked his mouth against his pulse, scraping with his teeth then flicking out his tongue to taste. That made him buck, and it was fucking awesome to feel that kick of arousal echo through them both; Frank was instantly hard as a fucking rock, hips twitching with it, and he jerked helplessly when the too-tight front of his jeans brushed against the bulge in Gerard's stupid formal pants.

"Fuck," Gerard gasped, heaving up, and everything was just a blur of motion as he twisted and shoved Frank down on his back on the couch, lowering himself over him. It was the fucking hottest thing Frank had ever seen, ever felt; he was suddenly sure this was going to be over really fucking fast, but he couldn't care, not with Gerard grinding down against him and licking back into his mouth, eager and hungry. Frank thrust back up, thighs falling helplessly apart, hands gripping and tugging at Gerard's back as he tried impossibly to get closer, and let the wave build and build between them until it broke and he bit down hard on Gerard's lower lip, body jerking helplessly with the pulses of orgasm that rolled through him. Through both of them, because Gerard groaned like he was dying and followed him over the edge, like one blast triggering the next, like a chain reaction of awesome, breath mingling and bodies shaking in time.

It seemed like it took a really long time for his brain to come back online, after. Frank wasn't entirely sure, to be honest; it was possible he'd actually passed out, or like, temporarily left his body or something, from all the amazingness.

Fuck, Gerard mumbled quietly in his mind; he was heavy, flopped half on top of Frank, and just as limp and blissed out as Frank felt. Frank wrapped his arms around him, tight, and squirmed until he could mostly breathe, and just fucking basked in the warm tingle of afterglow and the quiet intimacy of Gerard's mind snugged up tight to his.

...I guess we don't really need to do the whole, how much telepathic contact is okay with you, thing, was the first real thought he managed to form, and Gerard laughed silently in his head, turning his face to kiss Frank's jaw clumsily.

I want everything, he murmured, a tinge of apology coloring his tone. I'm greedy that way.

Do you see me complaining? Frank stretched a little, pulling a face at the sticky mess in his pants that was starting to make itself known, and turned until he could catch Gerard's mouth with his, licking apologetically at the puffy mark he'd made. He could feel that the tender throb made Gerard shudder, so he did it again, gleeful when Gerard groaned and pressed up against him. His cock twitched interestedly, right on the edge of too-much-too-soon and simultaneously kind of gross because ew, sticky, and kind of awesome with the way it made Gerard inhale and clutch at him. A couple more minutes, Frank realized, and he was totally going to want to go again – and maybe even get some nudity up in here, since Gerard was still wearing his damn suit.

I like that idea, but you're the one wearing too many fucking clothes, Gerard pointed out, tugging at Frank's hoodies.

Yeah? Frank wriggled until he could tip himself backward invitingly, spreading out on the couch and grinning up at Gerard. What're you gonna do about it?

---

There wasn't any question about going back, of course, even if Frank not-so-secretly wished they could just get up and leave for real, tag along for the ride with Jamia and Lindsey's little skeleton crew of runners and see where they ended up. He knew even as he was thinking it that it was impossible; there was Mikey, for a start, and Ray and the others. Both their Families. Responsibilities that might chafe but tied them down nevertheless.

It fucking sucked, but the worst part of all was that all the security alerts and surveillance (their own fault, which was just crushingly ironic and unfair) left them with no choice but to slip back in under the radar – separately. It hurt to leave Gerard, because there was a part of Frank that knew it could be weeks or cycles until they saw each other again. Gerard felt it too, and he clung so tightly to Frank's hand as they were waiting for Kitty to prep the lander that their bones creaked and ached as though they were trying to fuse together.

Eventually, though, Frank had to make himself pull away before his time ran out entirely. He still kept his eyes closed and his thoughts wrapped around Gerard's for as long as he could, before the ship's shields swallowed him up and the bounce and shudder of re-entry demanded his attention. Kitty dropped him off on the edge of the City, gliding the lander in and setting it down so neatly in the narrow strip of space between two Way-owned warehouses that Frank was almost, briefly, jealous.

"Hey, so –" he started, turning toward her as he unstrapped himself from the harness; he'd meant to ask her how long they'd be sticking around, but she shook her head, one eye on the chrono panel.

"No time, the envelope'll expire in five, and not even the Kid'll be able to hide us then. Jump to it," she nudged at his shoulder, and Frank jumped, grabbing the bag Jamia had loaned him and scrambling out onto the cracked permacrete. "Give him my regards!" Kitty called after him, already cycling the hatch closed. Frank backed up hastily to let her take off, figuring she must mean Mikey since he'd been the one to map the new surveillance drone patterns as well as fuzz them off the tower scanners.

She was gone in seconds, the tiny craft arrowing up through the clouds in a long spiral, and Frank knew he had to be too; the cover for him being here was thin enough without any human or mechanical eyes catching sight of him. Just because there wasn't anyone obviously around – this sprawl of peeling industrial buildings, closer to the all-but-disused Pomona road than the city proper, was as near abandoned as made no difference, but that didn't mean shit, so Frank kept his eyes peeled and senses spread out, mapping the planes and angles of storage units and parking plazas as he jogged toward the main street and its transit stop. Scanning his ID to request a pod made Frank's skin crawl, like hundreds of eyes were suddenly focused on his back, and the monotone "Accepted," of the drone voice when he gave his destination as House Iero set his teeth on edge. Fuck only knew what was actually happening out there; his news feed, as he scanned through it on the journey, was full of sober warnings about terrorist activity and security threats, which seemed like kind of an overreaction to a bit of paint and glitter. Every turn of the pod, every vehicle that passed, made Frank hold his breath for a second; when he finally climbed out, the compound gates at the end of the street were simultaneously a promise of sanctuary and a prison reaching to swallow him. If he dragged his feet past the Fernandes' place, orange walls newly painted over in blinding white, there was no one out on the street to see.

"There you are." Grandma shuffled out of the front parlor at the sound of the door, her face creased in worry and relief. Frank winced and let her hug him, hoping that his borrowed clothes and empty backpack weren't as obvious as he thought they were. "We were expecting you yesterday, after that announcement. You should have called, honey; with all this going on, we were worried something had happened to you."

Ha. Frank bit his tongue, trying to look chagrined and and remorseful and generally like a totally innocent guy who'd been busy working while everything went to shit and didn't quite get what was going on. "Uh, yeah, I was kinda, you know, I got stuck finishing stuff up at the Ways' for a bit. Gerard was, like, caught in whatever that whole thing up at the Capitol was, I guess, so it's been kinda crazy."

"Oh, no." Grandma pulled back, hand over her mouth. "Is he okay? Should I call Donna?"

"He's fine!" Frank blurted, waving his hands hastily to head that one off. "He's awesome! Just, busy. At the Morrisons'," he added, as an afterthought; that had, apparently, been the excuse Mikey had given his parents for Gerard's disappearance. Hearing that argument through Gerard's head had been kind of a weird experience. "Um, Grandma, I'm gonna head up and grab some sleep, yeah?"

"Up late?" Grandma nodded sympathetically, and Frank swallowed a giveaway giggle because, well, yeah. "I'll let your mother know you made it here; she's been worried, too. I think she'd have come over, but with everyone short-staffed, she's been so busy."

Shit. "I'll call her later," Frank promised – hell, it wasn't like he wouldn't have the time, if he was going to be stuck here for however long this 'state of emergency' was supposed to last – and managed to manufacture a vaguely believable yawn that had Grandma shooing him upstairs.

Being back in his old room, again, was just sad. Frank could almost have believed that the whole thing had been some fucked up dream, if not for the pull of abused muscles, the faint sting of the laser blasts that had come too close, the memory of Gerard's mouth burned into his flesh. He reached out automatically as he flopped onto the bed, smiling at the tiny sunburst-feeling of happiness that bled over as Gerard pushed back into the connection.

Hey, Frank whispered – the link was still patchy with shielding and interference, where Gerard was in transit, and his surface thoughts were squirmy with embarrassment. Is J trying to compare notes? Frank teased; the feel of Gerard blushing was even more adorable than his stupid giggle in the back of Frank's head.

Adorable? Not hot? Gerard tried for indignation, but the warm happiness that curled between them made the pretense too obvious. Frank sent him a burst of love-heat-desire anyway, smiling at the memories.

So fucking hot, Gee. He tried to show Gerard how he looked to him, lingering over his stupid pointy nose that Frank wanted to bite, his crooked mouth that was constantly begging to be kissed, the pale notch of his shoulder and the way his stupid tight pants clung so amazingly to his ass and thighs...

I don't look like that, Gerard protested, and, squirming, oh my god, Frankie, you're gonna –

What? Frank pushed, smirking into his pillow. Turn you on? Get you hard? Right there while J's driving you home, with no way to hide it?

You're fucking evil, Gerard grumbled, and Frank cracked up, flailing over onto his back and giggling at the familiar ceiling.

What, you only just noticed?

Shut up, Gerard huffed back, we're nearly home. Oh, fuck, there's Peace Keepers.

What? That killed Frank's laughter; he bolted upright, even though he already knew there was fuck-all he could actually do. Not at this distance, shit, why had he agreed to split up? It was the worst fucking idea –

Don't even think about running out here, Gerard told him, the fear that blossomed like creeping ice crystals far stronger suddenly, stealing Frank's breath. It's fine, Jimmy said this shuttle hasn't been reported stolen, look, they aren't even paying any attention. Relax, Frankie.

Fuck. Frank huffed out a breath, collapsing back. How was he supposed to fucking relax, when he was here and Gee was there? Two and a half kilometers, and they might as well be on opposite sides of the galaxy.

I wonder if we could still talk from opposite sides of the galaxy? Gerard mused in the back of his head; Frank could feel that he was actually considering it, even while he was saying goodbye to Jamia and hurrying through the gates. What a fucking dork, Frank thought affectionately; Gerard huffed and mentally poked at him. Can't you feel it, Frankie? It's different now. Deeper, or something.

Uh-huh. He was right; it was as though something they'd done, kissing or fucking or even just letting their barriers down so completely, had hard-wired the connection somehow. Frank could probably close it off, he thought, if he tried; maybe even shut it down more or less permanently, though he couldn't really imagine actually wanting to. It felt right, easy, good.

You know, technically we haven't actually fucked, Gerard pointed out thoughtfully, with a flash of imagery that made Frank gasp, his dick twitching and heat spreading through his stomach. Yet, Gerard added archly; Frank groaned.

Don't say that shit when I can't touch you until god knows when, he thought desperately, and was rewarded with a delighted giggle. Fucking – seriously, Gee, our timing blows.

Mm. Gerard's thoughts withdrew from his, a little, and not without regret. If he concentrated, Frank could feel him talking to someone – oh, Mehdi. And Ms Way, Frank realized when Gerard squirmed a little as she hugged him and exclaimed in horror over the red still staining his hair. Frank thought it was hot, but moms would be moms, he guessed. That made Gerard snort.

I'm gonna have to send a fucking shitload of messages, he told Frank regretfully. The resignation and near-revulsion was heavy in his mind as he scrolled through his com; Frank bit his tongue, knowing that it wasn't the time for distractions but wanting to anyway. Hey, you should check in on the 109, Gerard added, as an afterthought. Use my codes – he pressed them into Frank's mind, startling him into choking on the air – and tell Linds and the guys thanks for me, too?

Sure, Frank said, because shit, what else did he have to do? After the past couple of weeks, schoolwork felt irrelevant, stupid. But... I'll catch up with you later, though, he promised, pressing closer for a near-melded moment before drawing reluctantly back. I really wanna jerk off for you, let you feel it.

Fuck... The sudden heat of arousal was intoxicating, and contagious; Frank smirked to himself as he settled back into the boundaries of his own skin, enjoying leaving Gerard half-hard and frustrated. He'd just have to save it for later; Frank might even be nice and do the same.

---

"Hey, hey, what's up?" Jamia's voice issuing from the com speaker was cheerfully worried, broken by static, and Frank eyed the blank black screen dubiously.

"Uh, hey?" Was the mic or whatever even on? Lindsey had tried to explain how it worked, something about subspace signal piggybacking, but it had mostly gone right over Frank's head. "Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, babe," Jamia assured him. It was fucking weird not seeing her, like they were on the com but not. "We're coming up on a Lane jump in a few, though; you guys aren't in any more trouble, right?"

"The Poison need rescuin' again?" someone else – Frank thought it sounded like that Jimmy guy, the pilot – asked in the background. Frank could picture them all, perched around the cockpit setting out their course for the jump, making time to answer his carefully meaningless message.

"Nah, he's back at his place. Said I should thank you for the both of us, though, and make sure you'd got away."

"Getting away is our specialty," Lindsey chimed in wryly. "Tell that idiot from me, he needs to watch his own damn back."

"That's Frankie's job now, right?" The look on Jamia's face, suggestive and fondly mocking, shone clear through her tone despite the blank com screen. Frank squirmed on the bed, automatically ducking his head to hide the grin that cracked his face, and heard her laugh like she could see him. "So how was it?" she needled, making him choke. "He kinda looks like he'd be, you know –"

"Fuck, J," Frank protested, cutting her off before he could actually hear something he wouldn't be able to unhear. Jamia cackled, and Lindsay was snickering in the background. "But, uh, for your information, it was awesome, thanks, and now we're gonna never speak of this again."

"Spoilsport." Jamia didn't actually sound unhappy, though. "You know I'm totally happy for you, though, right? We all are."

"Yeah, Poison needed to get laid so fuckin' bad," Jimmy cut in gleefully, then yelped indignantly. Frank coughed, wondering whether Jamia or Lindsey had hit him first.

"Just shut up and fly." Lindsey, then. "Take care of yourself, Frankie, and him too. We're running off to the other side of space for a while, and we need you both to stay shiny and whole, get me?"

"Uh-huh." Frank bit his tongue, shuffling around to put his back to the headboard. It was starting to get dark outside already, winter's grip tightening, and he was half surprised Grandma hadn't sent a house drone to call him for dinner already. "You guys better not fuck up and get caught, either. Gee – uh, Party Poison, he's a worrier, you know?"

"Yeah." A crackle of static, louder now, drowned out Lindsey's voice; when it faded out she was saying, "—when you left. I guess it was kind of inevitable, the two of you, really."

"What?" Frank squinted down at the blank screen, like that would help make sense of her words.

"Looking back, the two of you were practically pair-bonded, you know," Lindsey said gently, voice threaded through with a soft crackle of static. Frank blinked, staring at nothing until Jamia came on the line, worried.

"Frankie? Babe? You still there?"

"Don't call me that," Frank said automatically, shaking himself out of it. Fuck, he couldn't think about that.

"Which?" asked Jamia, sweetly. Frank rolled his eyes, hard, then belatedly realized they weren't on com and snorted.

"Fuck you, both."

"What else should I call you? Did someone give you a new name and I missed it?"

"Cobra said –" Jimmy's voice dissolved into another scratch of static, and Frank squinted at the arcane numbers in the corner of the com screen, wondering if it was worth trying to adjust the pickups or whether he'd just cut himself off completely if he tried. Fucking stupid ancient technology, jeez. Gingerly, he prodded at the plus symbol, watching the limit creep up point by point until the hiss of static crackled back into voices.

"—decided, then," Lindsey was saying with satisfaction. "You still there, Fun Ghoul?"

"What?" Frank frowned. That sounded – hadn't that tall fucker back at the club said something like that? "Uh, I think I missed that – you drifted, I had to, um, retune?" That was what Mikey had called it, he was pretty sure.

"Oops," said Jamia, cheerfully unrepentant. "Well, hope you like being Fun Ghoul, babe, 'cause you're gonna be stuck with it now."

"Thanks," Frank deadpanned, turning that over in his head. It sounded... stupid, yeah, but not any worse than Party Poison. Whoever Fun Ghoul was, Frank wasn't entirely sure it was him, not yet, but maybe he could be someday? It felt like a name to grow into, rather than grow with. "You know you never gave me yours, though, right?"

"Whoops, look at that, we gotta sign off!" Jamia announced loudly; it sounded like there was a scuffle at the other end, and Frank could hear Jimmy cackling before Lindsey took over.

"Just ask for Live Wire – and mine's Light Show. Some people don't have much imagination."

"Fuck you!" Jimmy shouted cheerfully back, and Jamia laughed, dirty. "And you too! T minus thirty to jump point, minions!"

"Who's a fucking minion, asshole?" Jamia yelled, loud enough that the signal broke up into static again and Frank winced away from the com. "—do have to go for real, though," she was saying when it cleared. "Keep yourself alive, okay? We'll catch you later!"

---

By the time Gerard reached out to him again, all spiky frazzled thoughts flying seventeen different ways, Frank had gone around and around Lindsey's words until they'd solidified into an angry lump in his throat. Pair-bonded, fucking hell. The pissy message he'd typed out to his mom, asking (or, well, demanding) what she'd known, was still sitting on his com, patiently blinking Not Sent at him, and what little he'd managed to choke down at dinner was churning unhappily in his stomach.

Frankie, do you know where I... Gerard's mind calmed as they linked, smoothing over with a tiny relief and a sad spark of worry. What's wrong? Are you –

I'm fine, doofus. Frank flopped over his desk – he'd been trying to work on his Business Ethics assignment, but hadn't got much further than the thesis statement – and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. Part of him wanted to snap at Gerard, too, but the part that wanted to cling was bigger. He settled for pushing into the link, like a nudge of his shoulder against Gee's. Fuck, he missed him an entirely stupid amount for not even a day apart.

Me too, Gerard told him, nudging back. There was a quiet, wordless question in the tone of his thoughts, that said he'd noted Frank's muddled thoughts but wouldn't pry. Frank rolled his head from side to side, seeing spots behind his eyelids like ink blots, trying to shape the mess of his head into words. Eventually, he resorted to, Can I ask you something?

Always, Gerard responded instantly, pushing closer, but Frank found himself pulling back, even though it was the last thing he actually wanted.

Sorry, just – it was harder to get his head in order when they were all tangled up, too easy to let the edges blur. Gee, back then, Frank didn't need to elaborate further, what actually happened? How much did you know?

What? Startlement curled around the edges of the word. Abruptly unable to stay still any longer, Frank flung himself to his feet, pacing the length of his room.

I never knew anything about it, not until Mom dropped the whole, oh by the way we're moving, bombshell. And then I couldn't reach you...

Frankie. Gerard pressed closer, deepening the link. Frank could feel the words stabbing into him, tiny knives of guilt and regret, but he couldn't seem to stop.

I thought you were gonna turn up and save me, you know. Right to the fucking end, I was so sure, and then...

I should have, Gerard whispered, and Frank stopped at the end of his restless circuit, leaning forward to press his palms and forehead against the cool wall panel. His skin felt hot and tight, like it did when he started a fever, but all the ache was in his mind and heart, in Gerard's voice. I should have, Frankie, I'm so fucking sorry I ever believed them. And – Frank gasped, staggering back as Gerard pulled up a memory, Doctor Morrison's worried-sad face and her words like a punch in the gut.

"It's not your fault, Gerard. I place the blame on myself; I should have been more careful, but it seemed the obvious solution at the time. Telepaths of your level are so rare that we haven't had much opportunity to study these things, so it's taken us this long just to identify the problem." Her mind was shielded tight; he couldn't pick up so much as a hint of a surface thought.

"What are you gonna do?" His voice didn't sound like his own, cracking and far-away like he was underwater. His mom put her hand on his knee, squeezing like she needed to hold him down to the earth, like he might float up and fly away.

"The best thing we can do for Frank right now," Doctor Morrison paused, dropping her eyes like she knew he wasn't going to like this, "is cut off the contact. He's young enough still for his mind to be resilient; he should recover from any accidental influence quickly enough."

"I –"

"We know you didn't mean to, honey." His mom patted his knee again. "We need to do what's best for Frankie now, though."

"So I'm not allowed to talk to him?" How could he even do that? It was fucking impossible.

His mom sighed. "Frankie's gonna be moving off-planet, with his parents. It works for the business, and..."

"You don't trust me." His voice came out high and calm, and his mom flinched.

"Not at all," Doctor Morrison interjected smoothly. He wondered if she could feel the way his shields were cracking, splitting like skin and bleeding out his thoughts. "It wouldn't be fair to you either, Gerard, if he were to stay. It will be easier this way, for both of you."

Easier? He stared at her, the words hovering just out of reach. He couldn't make himself reach for them.

"I need you to promise me, though." She met his eyes, soft and intense, and he hated her enough in that instant that nausea roiled in his stomach. "Frank's too young to understand why it's necessary, but you need to make it a clean break, Gerard. Let him go. Do you understand?"

No. "Yes."

"Fuck." Frank's knees gave out, and he sat down hard on the edge of the bed. "Fuck, Gee."

Mm. The ache in Gerard's answering thought was old, pinching, deep. Frank groped for something to say, but he had no idea how to feel, and settled for flopping back onto the mattress, staring at the ceiling. Don't be too pissed at your mom, Gerard told him eventually; she was doing what she had to, you know?

Yeah. That really didn't make Frank want to yell at her any less, though; couldn't any of them have just fucking asked him if he was uncomfortable or messed up or whatever? I guess I kind of get it, like, I was just a fucking kid, and you were older and all, and pair-bonding or whatever is some serious motherfucking business.

Yeah, I'd been like trying to be careful? Frank could feel Gerard settling back into his pillows, over at the Ways', one hand describing shapes in the air. Like, I'd make fucking sure to shield real hard – from you and Mikey – when I jerked off and stuff, and like just not think about sex or, or hot people and shit, where you could hear me. I was kinda para – wait, he interrupted himself, thoughts swirling to an abrupt halt. Are... you saying we're pair-bonded?

Well, duh. Frank managed to hold a mental straight face for a couple of seconds before he cracked up, laughing stupidly at the blank astonishment of Gerard's mind. I dunno, are we? He showed Gerard what Lindsey had said. Does it even matter? This isn't, like, some stupid holo-drama. He was pretty sure he wouldn't actually die without Gerard, either, like all those pathetic moaning heroines. They just... fit together, or something.

I wouldn't mind the moaning, Gerard said, which made Frank giggle even more. In the interests of, fucking, full disclosure and shit.

What, no melodramatic declarations of love? Frank needled, wriggling his toes. So I shouldn't run out and get your name tattooed on my ass?

Eurgh. Gerard's shudder raised goosepimples all across Frank's skin, which was kind of fucking awesome; he stretched lazily, letting his hand drift down from his chest to his belly and smirking when Gerard pressed instantly closer, eager. Frankie –

Yeah, Frank breathed out, hitching his shirt up to trail his fingertips shiveringly down his skin, tucking them into the top of his jeans.

Tease, Gerard accused; Frank grinned, lifting his hips and pressing his palm down over his dick. He was well past half-hard and on his way to rock fucking solid, balls tightening and cock pushing up against his fly as it filled out. He could feel all of Gerard's attention on him, intent and hungry, and it made him slow down as he eased the fastening open, spread the stiff fabric apart and pushed his underwear out of the way.

Fuck, Gerard swore in his head; Frank echoed it with a gasp as he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, feeling it swell even fuller in his grip. Do it slow, Gerard begged; Frank jerked in time with him as he shoved his hand down his own pants.

Don't think I – fuck, Frank panted, gritting his teeth as he swept his hand up, over the already-slick head, then down, tight and wet and so fucking good that his hips were pushing up already. Fuck, I wish you were here to do this – ah – for me, I wanna – I want your mouth again, Gee, so fucking wet and good and, ah, I'm gonna –

Yeah, Gerard moaned, fucking up into his fist, and Frank tried to match his rhythm, the little twist thing he did at the top of every stroke, Yeah, do it, I wanna feel it, Frankie, come on...

"Fuck," Frank groaned out loud, through his teeth, and slammed his shoulders back into the mattress and his hips up, cock jerking over and over in his hand as the come spurted wet across his fingers and belly. Fu-u-uuuck, Gerard stuttered in his head, mind whiting out too as he pulsed and shuddered, Frank's orgasm spilling over into him. Oh, fuck, Frankie.

Yeah, Frank thought faintly, staring up at the ceiling, inhaling sharply as a twitch of aftershock was echoed in Gerard's body. Awesome.

---

Frank had never thought it would actually happen, but it was official: his life was fucking over. He was so bored and twitchy from staring at the same four walls of his room, waiting for something to happen, that he'd ended up stomping downstairs to the lounge, and now he was voluntarily watching the fucking holo news. He couldn't even bug Gerard, because he was busy with fucking Grant Morrison again and some dinner the Ways were giving; that just made Frank's twitchiness worse, because he couldn't shake the feeling that the other shoe was about to drop.

"Call," Uncle Tony declared behind him, making Frank jump, and Grandpa snorted, slapping his cards down onto the table.

"Good luck with that."

"Damn."

Frank tuned them out again, pushing his shoulders back into the couch and slumping down further. Grandpa always won; he didn't get why his uncle thought that would fucking change. On the holo display, the item about safety breaches at a power plant on Yggdrasil ended, and the newscaster smiled glassily, introducing a report on a new health scheme that was supposed to promote 'wellness', whatever that was. Frank snorted, folding his arms over his chest, and let himself zone out, poking through his messages again.

Mikey had sent him a pic set earlier, just random shit like his shoes and an epic action-figure battle between Doctor Magnifico and the Black Saints, and one image of Gerard curled in the corner of the window seat, face turned to stare out. Frank had saved that instantly; he was ninety-nine percent certain that Mikey had taken it while they'd been talking yesterday, and also that Gerard had no idea how fucking pretty he looked, eyes unfocused and shoulders relaxed, just the barest hint of a smile on his face. It made Frank's heart squeeze stupidly in his chest, just to look at him.

"And in today's main news," the newscaster announced smoothly, "the Peace Keepers have released an image of the main suspect in the terrorist attacks against the Council and the Better Living Network Launch." Frank's head jerked up, hard, and his insides dropped down through his feet, because the picture on the display was unmistakeably him. His face was obscured by the hood, and the angle was weird because he was running, his back half turned, but how much would that mean? Anyone who knew him would recognize him, he was suddenly sure, and he fumbled to clap the holo off with shaking hands while the newscaster was still introducing the rep from the Peace Keepers. Fuck, fuck, it was like all the air had been sucked out of the room, panic crawling across his skin; he had to move.

"Frankie?" Grandpa called after him when Frank was already halfway out the door; Frank mumbled something that might have involved the word 'bathroom', but he couldn't be all that sure. He just had to get the hell out of there, away from the risk of recognition, the risk of discovery, the risk that his Family would find out, or worse, be used against him. Grandpa had been talking about business opportunities with the Better Living bullshit, and it wasn't like Frank thought he'd ever actually hand him over, but...

Frank was out of the compound gate and halfway down the street, just on the safe side of outright running, before his brain rebooted from the shock and started asking what the hell he was doing. The blind panic of before started to turn to dread, trickling down his spine, as he realized that there was nowhere he could go. Fuck, what if he got caught? Once they knew his name, it would all be over; the whole Family would be dragged into it, and probably the Ways, too. Frank knew, suddenly, sober and terrifyingly certain, that there was nothing he wouldn't do – nothing – if it meant avoiding that.

He slowed to a stop at the corner, panting for breath that felt icy in his throat. Fuck, he knew he should turn back, he couldn't even take a transit pod because of the recorders, and he'd left his fucking ID back at the House anyway. It was hard to bring himself to, though; everything in him ached to run, to say fuck you to the Peace Keepers and the Council and their stupid fucking schemes and just grab Gerard and Mikey and steal whatever the fuck they had to so they could get the hell away from here.

The decision was made for him, the sound of boots on permacrete reaching up the street. Fuck, Frank thought, head coming up; they were too in-unison to be anything but official, getting rapidly closer. Swallowing his heart back down, he stared around, searching for cover, but there was nothing, only the straggly clumps of shrub around the base of the street sign that looked a whole lot smaller than he remembered. Fuck, fuck. They were getting nearer, footsteps tramping on like his fucking death march, and they'd be around the corner any second. Frank forced himself to move – hell, maybe he could put them to sleep or something, it had to be worth a chance – but he was too late; a voice shouted, and he whirled, startled, and suddenly there were two Peace Keepers in front of him, the whole world slowing down to the thump of his heartbeat as they went for their guns. All he could see was the black mouth of the muzzle as it lifted, the streaks of char down the white barrel. Desperately, he stretched out, reaching, and with a pop, everything went black.

The world slammed back into him, hard. Frank wheezed, splotches pulsing sickly behind his eyes, and pressed his face into the hard surface beneath him, willing himself not to throw up. His head felt like it was about to explode, and his stomach was lurching every which way, and it took a long few breaths before he managed to convince himself that it was a floor underneath him and not a wall or ceiling. He was sure he wasn't actually dead, though, so eventually he managed to get his hands under himself and struggle up to his knees, blinking his eyes clear enough to see...

"What the fuck." Frank squinted, but no, it was definitely his room at the Way compound. There was his fucking Mad Gear shirt, still hanging over the back of the chair where he'd left it, and the Spider Sisters action figure Mikey'd given him for his birthday (because he was an asshole), pushed discreetly behind the terminal. "What the fuck." He tried to get to his feet, but decided quickly that it was a very bad idea and he should just stay sitting on the floor until his brain stopped trying to leak out of his ears and his stomach re-established a relationship with gravity. Apparently, teleporting – and that was the only fucking explanation Frank could come up with as to why he was here, and alive, and not arrested in a cell somewhere – apparently it fucking took it out of you. Shit, now he knew why Mikey had always refused to explain; just trying to think about how the hell he'd done it made Frank's head hurt even worse.

Ugh, this was getting him nowhere. Gritting his teeth, Frank groped out for the edge of the mattress, grabbing hold and half crawling, half pulling himself up onto the bed. The pillow, when he planted his face in it, was awesomely soft, and clean, and... Frank lifted his head, taking a curious sniff, but nope, it really did smell like Gerard. Huh.

On the subject of Gerard, though... Carefully, since the room hadn't quite stopped rocking around him yet, Frank reached out, settling into the link. Gerard was still distracted, concentrating on his shields, but he sent a quick, tiny pulse of affection back, and Frank was pretty sure whatever they were doing over at the main House was wrapping up. Pushing out with his senses confirmed that; he could see the shuttlecars waiting out front, and it was kind of an effort not to trip Grant Morrison on his smirking ass as he leaned in to speak to Gerard. That wasn't Frank's business, though, so he reluctantly pulled away, pressing his face into the pillow. Weirdly, the use of clairvoyance seemed to have settled his stomach down; he didn't feel nearly as likely to puke, at least.

Getting upright was still an epic struggle, but Frank was victorious (even if he had to hang onto the wall for balance). The door beeped confusedly at him, but unlocked easily enough to his palm; he was kind of curious, honestly, as to how Gerard had got in. Maybe as the Heir he had a master code?

It was the time of day when there should definitely have been people in the halls, other employees in search of drinks or snacks, heading in or out for the night, but the security alert must have sent everyone back to their own Families or homes, because the only other beings Frank encountered were a couple of house-drones sucking up dust. They didn't pay him any attention at all, busy with their tasks, but he gave them a wide and wary berth, slipping past and out onto the back verandah. There was a door out here that led into the back portion of the main House; it was the way he'd dragged Gerard, that night he'd been wasted off his head, so it was easy enough to let himself into the back stairway now.

Disappointingly, Gerard's room was empty and dark when Frank slid the door carefully open. There were clothes tossed all over the carpet by the closet, the door hanging open, so either the drones hadn't been in here at all today or there'd been some kind of dressing-for-dinner-related freakout episode. Frank eyed a discarded shirt surreptitiously, wondering if he could bring himself to pick it up and sniff it without actually dying of embarrassment and uncoolness on the spot. Not that it was guaranteed to smell all that great – Frank knew Gerard had showered that morning, because he'd had a first-hand view, as it were, but the guy had a terrible attitude to laundry. If it wouldn't guarantee Mikey or someone walking in, though, Frank would totally have stripped down and stretched out on the bed, just to see Gerard's face.

While he was contemplating exactly how best to most effectively molest his boyfriend, though, a noise came from the hallway, making him freeze where he was. Fuck, had someone seen him after all?

"—don't see why we gotta–" filtered through the door, tired and pissy but fuck, the tightness in Frank's stomach was anything but fear, suddenly. Hearing Gerard's voice over the com didn't even fucking compare; he was reaching out before Gerard got the door fully open, wrapping his hands in the lapels of his stupid suit jacket and dragging him in.

"Wha – mm!" Frank cut off Gerard's words and his astonished windmilling with a kiss, pushing up on his toes and letting his eyes slide shut at the rush of recognition-joy-FRANKIE as Gerard caught up. Fuck, what are you even– The words dissolved into a flood of emotion, and Frank leaned into Gerard's body and mind, parted his lips to invite his tongue in.

"Don't mind me," Mikey's voice said dryly behind them; Gerard jumped, and Frank – reluctantly – freed one hand from his death grip to wave his middle finger vaguely in Mikey's direction. He didn't protest when Gerard broke the kiss, though, pulling back to stare at Frank. His eyes were wide and stunned and so fucking pretty that it took a seriously superhuman effort for Frank not to pull him back down. Gerard clearly felt it; the tops of his cheekbones flushed from pink to bright red, and Frank grinned giddily, groping for his hand. Fuck Mikey, anyway.

"I'd leave you to it," Mikey complained, wandering over to flop into Gerard's desk chair, "but if you actually walked over here I'm not sure I can let my brother be with such a fucking moron."

"Fuck you." Frank stuck his tongue out, clinging stubbornly to Gerard's hand when he would've pulled away to wring them. "And I didn't – well, okay, I kind of left the House, but, uh." Shit, he'd been so caught up the teleporting thing and seeing Gee that he'd almost forgotten, but oh, there went the shaky panicky feeling again. "Fuck."

"Teleporting?" Gerard demanded shrilly, eyes widening impossibly, and Mikey abandoned his lazy posture, sitting straight upright. They were both staring right at Frank, who had to sit down, abruptly, on the foot of Gerard's bed, as the narrowness of his escape hit home. He didn't fight it when Gerard reached out, letting him see the memories but flinching from the stab of fear they brought. "Shit, Frankie..." Gerard breathed, fingers clenched so tightly around Frank's that his bones grated; he wobbled, then collapsed down to his knees, pressing his forehead against Frank's jeans-clad thigh. Too fucking close, Frank.

I know, Frank whispered. It was all he could say.

"Do I want to ask?" Mikey's voice made Frank jump a little, but he didn't stop petting Gerard's hair.

"Probably not." Wow, he sounded fucked up. "I'm pretty sure they didn't get an actual look at me, at least?" It had all happened too quickly; there was nothing in his own memory but a blur of white uniforms. If they'd had recorders on them, though... "Think 'I was sneaking out to visit my boyfriend' is enough of an excuse for breaking curfew?"

Gerard snorted, rolling his head to the side so he could look up at Frank. "I doubt it." I like how that sounds, though.

What, boyfriend? Frank grinned – shaky, but real.

"Yeah, okay, I'm outta here," Mikey muttered, clambering to his feet and making for the door. Gerard lifted his head to blink after him, then back up at Frank when the door slid shut, so innocently puzzled that Frank cracked up. His knees had almost stopped shaking when he stood up to go engage the lock – priorities, okay – and kick off his shoes. Distraction, motherfucker; he peeled off his shirt on the way back to the bed, feeling Gerard's attention focusing in on him.

Too much freaking out, not enough making out, Frank told him, cutting off Gerard's worried frown with, nuh uh, I got a plan, baby.

"Baby?" Gerard objected out loud, then stopped, frowning, as Frank giggled. What plan?

The plan is, I wanna blow you. Frank lingered deliberately over thoughts of Gerard's dick, nice and hard and hot in his hand, how he wanted to get down there and wrap his mouth around it, rub his tongue up against the head where it'd be bitter-salty with precome... With an option on, like, putting my fingers in your ass, if you're into that. He went for his fly, and before he even had the button undone Gerard was surging up from his knees and tackling him onto the bed, tongue pushing into Frank's mouth and dick pushing up against his hip.

Fuck, Frankie, you're so fucking – Gerard breathed in his mind, and Frank rolled them over so he was on top, pressing deliberately down to make Gerard buck and whine. Yeah, definitely better than freaking out; he sat up to shove Gerard's stupid jacket off his shoulders and yank up his shirt before letting Gerard pull him back down for another kiss, hot and messy and insistent.

---

Frank was still in Gerard's room the next day, because the night had turned into the morning and Gerard had eventually, reluctantly, had to get up and shower (Frank had helped) and put on clothes and go out to a meeting at the Morrison place. Frank didn't mind so much (even if he'd had to send his Grandma a message pretending he didn't want to be disturbed because he had assignment deadlines, and hope like hell no one went looking for him), because it gave him a chance to talk about the whole teleportation thing with Mikey (who just shrugged when Frank asked if he didn't have to go in to work). Besides, it wasn't like he could walk out the door and across the city in the middle of the day, without his ID or a believable excuse. He was trying to think of a way to convince or bribe Mikey into teleporting them back over to the compound, in fact, when Mikey lifted his head, staring at nothing, and announced, "Gee's back."

"Really?" Frank squinted at the door, reaching out, but it still took him another second to latch onto Gerard's presence, and when he did, he frowned. "Shit, something's wrong."

"Yeah." Mikey didn't elaborate, just pushed off the desk, slouching out without another word. Frank blinked after him, then shrugged, scrambling up to his feet and bouncing impatiently. He was seconds from abandoning caution and running out to meet him when the door finally slid open.

"Wha – oof," Gerard mumbled when Frank cannoned into him and latched on, but he didn't seem to mind, dropping his bag and wrapping his arms around Frank's back, tight. What, what's up, what happened?

"What's up with you?" Frank retorted, pulling back just far enough that he could stare into Gerard's eyes without crossing his. Gerard's shoulders under his hands were pulled in tight, and he was still half shielded, wrapped up in his own head; Frank darted in to kiss him, briefly, before pulling reluctantly out of his arms and dragging him over to sit down on the bed. Seriously, what happened? he pushed. You're all knotted up about something.

It's nothing. Gerard stared at his knees for a second before sighing and collapsing backwards onto the mattress like his strings had been cut. Frank wriggled and pushed his way up to prop himself on his side beside him, elbow under his head and eyes fixed on Gerard's face, waiting.

It's just, Gerard said eventually, staring up at the ceiling. I wonder if I ever even knew him at all, you know? Grant, he added, like it wasn't entirely obvious, because he was a fucking adorable moron. Frank's heart seriously felt like it was going to swell right up, and also split in two with – it wasn't jealousy, exactly, he wasn't stupid enough for that, but... something dark and fierce and possessive. No one got to make Gerard feel this miserable.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked eventually, grudgingly, when Gerard didn't say anything further.

"I don't know." Gerard sighed, turning to look at Frank, then back up at the ceiling like it was just too much effort. "He used to be – fucking, I don't know, creative and shit. He'd always talk about these ideas he had, you know? Writing, political stuff, stupid shit." I don't know when it started to change. You left, and Grandma died, the flash of old grief that twined around the thought rocked Frank back, and it was all just... I should have fucking paid attention, but...

"Hey." Frank reached down to capture Gerard's hand where he was tangling the hem of his shirt up in his fingers, and shoved firmly back on the creeping feeling of being out of his depth. "It's okay."

It's not. "It's like he's not even there, now. Like, did you ever play that game," Gerard lifted his free hand, drawing shapes in the air, "that thing where you change one piece at a time, and they all fucking fit and all, but when you're done you end up with a completely different picture? You know?"

"...Yeah." Frank squeezed Gerard's hand tight. "I know." Fuck.

"Fuck," Gerard agreed, sadly. I didn't even fucking notice, for the longest time. I'm an asshole.

Don't, Frank started, but Gerard shook his head, shifting restlessly.

"No, I know, but – shit, Frankie, I know there's nothing I can do about it, if they've fucking, I don't know, brainwashed him or shit, or he's just fucking decided to be on their goddamn side, I'm not – I just feel like I ought to be able to do something, you know?" He turned his head, staring at Frank, and they both jumped half out of their skins when something thudded loud against the door. It slid open to reveal – Frank sagged back on the bed, swallowing his heart back down.

"Fuck, Mikey," he complained. Mikey just gave him a flat look, standing there with his hands full, and Frank could feel the moment Gerard noticed, not least because he sat up so fast the mattress shuddered.

"Coffee?"

"Coffee," Mikey confirmed, holding out the hand that had two mugs, so Frank had to sit up too and rescue one of them, because Gerard would totally drink both if not stopped.

I would not, Gerard grumbled in his head; Frank buried his grin in the mug, listening to the happy noises Gerard was making to his coffee. Mikey was kind of an awesome brother, he thought, and felt Gerard agree silently.

"So." Mikey sat himself down on the chair, spending so long fastidiously arranging his limbs and clothes that Frank wondered if that was all he was actually going to say until he looked up at Gerard. "Did you find out what they're planning?"

"What who's planning?" Frank asked, immediately feeling like an idiot as Mikey flicked an impenetrable glance his way. Oh. Right. Yeah.

"I don't even know there is anything." Gerard was gnawing on a fingernail, coffee forgotten in his other hand. Frank gave him a little mental nudge, then a more obvious one when Gerard turned a puzzled look on him.

"But you think there is," Mikey stated like a certainty. Frank watched Gerard as he stilled, mug halfway to his mouth, then reluctantly nodded. And oh, there was that feeling again, anticipatory dread churning in the pit of Frank's stomach. Fuck, he hadn't missed it.

"Grant's – well, technically I guess I'm stronger than him, so I can like tell when he's keeping shit back, you know?" Kind of always, lately, he thought sadly; Frank opened up the link, offering understanding and wrapping Gerard's thoughts tight and close when he snuggled in. "I fucking know there's something, but he'll know if I push it. I don't think I could stop him from reading me, if he tried for real, you know?" He's known me since I was a fucking kid.

"Gee." Frank reached for his hand, fighting back the panic clawing at his chest, the need to lash out in retaliation. "How long until he actually does?"

"Fuck," Mikey said quietly. Gerard stared at Frank, wide-eyed, and Frank swallowed words in a painful lump, lacing their fingers tight together.

You said he's getting worse, Gee. He's going to find out. Fuck, all it would take is one stray thought, it wouldn't even have to be you, just someone who knows.

"Frank's right," Mikey said, making him jump. The look on Gerard's face as he turned to his brother hurt like a kick to the gut, and Frank swallowed, for once selfishly glad to be left to the side of whatever they were saying. "The risk is only going to get worse," Mikey continued eventually. "You can't keep avoiding this forever, Gee."

"But –" Gerard broke off, squeezing his eyes shut. Frank could feel the pain of it, the stab and tear of everything that was pulling at him, fierce aching love and determined responsibility and helpless outrage. And, around and over it all, ground in deep, layer after layer of fear. "If we do this," Gerard gritted out, gripping Frank's hand so hard their bones creaked, "if we run, it's forever. Grant – he won't ever stop chasing us. I know him, he'd see it as a personal betrayal."

"So, what?" Frank tugged free of his grip, jumping up to pace the length of the room. "You want to just, wait for them to catch you? Give up and take it and pretend you don't want anything more? You can't take it, Gee, it's fucking you up."

"Fuck you." Gerard's voice was shaky, shocked; he surged to his feet, gesticulating wildly. "You want to run? Leave your Family behind, let fuck knows what happen to them?"

"I –" That made Frank stop for a second, mind racing, but – "No, damn it, you don't get to use me as an excuse." There was his mom, but she was off-planet right now, and if it came down to it Frank was pretty sure the Ways would look out for her. "I trust my fucking Family to take care of themselves, okay." If – if things got so bad here that they couldn't, well, he'd have to fly that Lane when he came to it. "You have to make a decision sometime, Gee; you can't just hide at the bottom of a fucking bottle forever."

"I told you." Gerard's voice trembled still, but it was anger that had his fists clenched at his sides, white and hurt. "You know I'm not doing that any more, I –"

"Maybe I should –" Mikey started, sidling toward the door, but Frank cut him off with an angry shake of his head, grabbing for his shoes. If he didn't move he was going to punch someone.

"No, I'm going," he snapped, stomping out of the door and ignoring the shock that washed over the anger in Gerard's mind.

Frankie, don't –

I'm not fucking breaking up with you, man, Frank shot back, already halfway down the main stairs and ignoring the house drones that whistled questioningly at him. Gerard might be a stupid asshole, but he was Frank's, damn it. I'm just going home before we have an actual motherfucking fight.

But it's still light out...!

Whatever. Still, Frank wasn't actually stupid enough to march down the street in full fucking view of anyone who might be looking; he took the back way, skulking down the access road that ran along the block, and cutting across the old transit yard between the shadows of the stacked pods. He could feel Gerard's worried presence in his head the whole way, which just wound him up more, and when he skinned his palms raw climbing up the compound wall that was just it; Frank slammed his shields up, kicking out at his grandma's stupid ornamental batbird bath on his way up the path. By the time he'd snuck up the stairs to his room, though, freezing every time he heard someone move, most of the anger had drained away into a well of tired sadness. Frank threw himself face-first onto his unmade bed, breathing in laundry cleaner edged with sweat and dried come, and missed Gerard so hard his whole body hurt.

Call me when you decide, he typed out on his com screen; it still took him a long time of staring at it to hit Send.

---

The call, when it came, was impossible to ignore. Frank jerked upright from where he'd been slumped in the window seat of the back parlor, almost cracking his skull open on the corner of the wall as the link flared from a faint glow in the back of his head to a sudden blaze, Gerard's mind all but slamming into his.

Frank, fuck! You have to – Mikes is picking up the skimmer, Frankie, they got Ray! And Luce, and Gabe, the motherfuckers are hauling them in today, now, on some bullshit terrorism charge! He sounded so panicked and sick and out of his head that Frank felt his stomach heave with the horror of it.

Fuck, they can't –

Of course they can, they can do whatever the fuck they like, the fucking President's there! Frank could feel Gerard pacing, the tug of his hands snarled in his hair. Fuck, I don't even know what they were doing, how they got caught – I can't raise Linds' crew or the fucking Doctor, it's only luck I was checking the boards! What the fuck do we do, Frankie?

"Mother of fuck." Frank pressed his forehead against the cool glass, trying to think. They had to do something, no question about that, but... Gee, it's gotta be a trap. It has to be. Why else – they can't have any evidence or, or fucking charges. Either the guys are cover, another fucking distraction while they hit more Stations, or they're bait. They want us to go charging in there, he realized, cold sweat trickling down his spine, and he could feel Gerard's groan vibrating in his own throat.

But we can't –

I know. Frank stumbled to his feet, breaking into a run as he hit the hallway. I'll get my gun, okay; do we have a plan?

Gerard was silent for a long moment, before coming back. Try not to die? Frank rolled his eyes, and flung himself onto his belly to grope under his bed, between the frame and the wall where he'd stashed it. The white metal was cold and heavy in his hand.

Fucking think of something better than that. Despite the panic rolling in his gut, the adrenaline tightening every limb, it felt so fucking good to have Gerard back in his head after three days of not-quite-fighting, like coming home. Frank rolled his eyes at himself, and checked the safety was on before shoving the gun into his pocket.

Where did you even get that? Gerard demanded, then, Fuck, never mind, Mikey says there's some big fuss at the Capitol, fucking Peace Keepers everywhere.

That's gotta be it. And I had it since that whole fucking mess went down last time, duh. Frank cast around his room, trying to think. He had...

One gun, though, Gerard was muttering in his head as Frank dove for his closet. But – no, it was at the Ways', wasn't it? That's, like, almost worse than none. Fuck, whatever we do we're gonna get killed, Frankie.

Gee, Gee, Frank interrupted his babbling, shoving himself up to his feet. Where are you, are you home?

What? Gerard's mind swooped around, reorienting itself. Back yard, why?

Get the fuck upstairs – my room, closet, there's my demo kit, it's a black bag. Tell Mikes to grab the case, if he hasn't already. They'd stashed it in the boathouse, with the skimmer; it had felt safer, both because none of them wanted to risk the residue being detected, and because Frank had a healthy respect for not being accidentally blown to bits.

Fuck. Gerard disappeared for a long moment; Frank stared down at his ID on the nightstand, wondering if it even mattered. It wasn't like they wouldn't know who he was, the moment someone got a clear look at his face. He zipped his hoodie on instead, pocketing his com and stamping his feet into his boots. He was halfway to the door when he thought, gloves, and wheeled to grab them from the dresser, and then Gerard's thoughts were crashing back into his, breathless.

Get out of the house, can you get round the back? Mikey's gotta circle round, avoid the patrols, he'll pick you up.

On my way, Frank sent back, slamming out of his room and through the nursery hall, ignoring his cousin Louisa when she called his name. He took the main stairway two at a time, bolting for the back of the house and the patio doors.

"Frank?" Fuck, Grandma. He screwed his eyes shut, pushing out ahead of him to hit the door release.

"Can't talk emergency love you bye!" he shouted back over his shoulder, sprinting down the garden path and leaping the low wall bordering the patio like a fucking professional hurdler. He couldn't hear the skimmer over the labored mess of his own breathing, but Frank could feel it approaching, all his senses extended and prickling. There was a place, back at the end of the gardens, where the wall dipped lower right on the edge of the ravine; Frank had used to sit up there, as a kid, leaning back against the lumpy trunk of the football tree and kicking his legs out over the slope as he watched the ships taking off across the valley. He ran for it now, the healing scrapes on his palms stinging as he scrambled up the rough brickwork.

The whine of the skimmer's drive dropped low as Mikey slewed it around in a narrow loop, angling in toward the edge of the ravine where the landslip had cleared a swath of the scrub. He had the hatch open already, and Frank pushed up onto his feet on top of the wall, wobbling crazily n the downdraft of the jets.

"Fuck, Frank, I can –" Mikey yelled over the noise, but Frank didn't give him a chance to finish, gauging the distance – three fucking meters, easy – and grasping for the edges of the hatch with his mind as he jumped.

The skimmer dropped and pitched wildly as Frank hit it, and he had to cling to the edge of the passenger seat for dear life, legs swinging over the fifty-meter drop, until Mikey fought it back under control and he could scramble up and in, buckling the harness with hands that were barely even shaking.

"You're fucking insane!" Mikey yelled, like he didn't even realize he'd gotten stuck on top volume; Frank closed his eyes for a second, breathing, letting himself sink back in the seat. He was going to have a huge motherfucking bruise where the battery end of the gun had jammed into his hip, but ten centimeters to the left and it'd have been a whole lot worse. Maybe he could get Gerard to kiss it better, assuming they managed to make it out alive.

"Stop thinking gross things," Mikey ordered tensely, and Frank snorted, cracking one eye open. Mikey was hunched over the controls, gaze fixed on the viewscreen, driving way too fucking fast and way too close to the surface of the river; Frank could see it frothing and spitting just meters below, like it was reaching up to try and catch them.

"Thought you weren't a telepath," he retorted, and Mikey snorted.

"Like I need to be, the look on your face. Make yourself fuckin' useful and grab my com outta the back, I've got an unscrambler for the PK comms network."

"Fuck," Frank whistled, impressed, and squirmed around in the seat until he could wriggle his shoulders and torso back through the narrow gap into the tiny cargo space. "Awesome, you got my stuff." He paused to pat the little crate proprietorially, if carefully.

"Yeah, sitting on top of enough TPP to blow us both sky-high is a real good time," Mikey muttered. Frank rolled his eyes, retrieving his battered com and squirming back through the gap. Fitting Gerard in here too was going to be interesting, he thought.

"Dude, it's raw. You could maybe do some damage if you, like, bludgeoned someone with it, but we don't even have a detonator."

"Right." Mikey's voice was tight, and Frank grabbed for the handholds as he yanked the skimmer around into a tight turn, heading for –

"Whoa whoa whoa shit!" Frank slammed back in his seat, but it was too late; they plunged into the darkness as the dock outflow tunnel swallowed them up. "What the fuck?!"

"Shut up," was all Mikey said, his eyes screwed shut in ferocious concentration as he twisted the controls sharply, barely even fucking slowing. Frank stared from him to the complete darkness flowing by the viewscreen and windows, and closed his own eyes, swallowing. Mikey had to know what the fuck he was doing, but...

"There," Mikey breathed, and even through his closed eyelids, Frank could see the light blooming painfully bright as they burst out into the air over the docks.

"Fuck," he choked, slewing around in his seat to stare behind them, where the other end of the tunnel was receding rapidly, bare centimeters over the placid ripples of the harbor. "How the fuck did you even –"

"Done it before," was all Mikey said, grim; by the time Frank managed to convince his heart to stop trying to beat its way out through his ribcage, he was already maneuvering the skiff into a narrow street, slowing to what felt like a crawl to Frank.

Keeping carefully under the speed limits – the last thing they needed was attention – it took a good ten minutes to circle around the back streets and alleys to the Way compound. Frank chafed every centimeter of the way, poking fretfully at Mikey's com but unable to make head or tail of the bizarre bursts of letters and numbers the dispatcher periodically issued. When Gerard reached out, the link flaring like a sunburst of impatience and worry in his mind, he latched on gratefully.

Where are you?

Almost there, Frank told him, sending an image of the cross street as Mikey turned carefully into it. They were pretty much directly behind the Center, here, only few more streets from the Ways', the top of the swingset and jungle gym they'd all played on as kids visible over the high wall of the grounds between the skeletal branches.

Fuck, stop. Mikey, that was weirdly distorted, echoey, but Frank could hear it. Stop, ditch the skimmer, I'm coming to meet you.

What? Frank demanded, but Gerard pressed back against the thought, insistent, and Mikey was already pulling the skimmer to the side of the street to set down.

There's that flat bit on the roof of the Center, right? Gerard's mental voice was shaky and breathless, and when Frank pushed closer he could feel him running, the rasp of his breath and sweat beading his forehead and awkward discomfort so Gerard he couldn't even.

"Makes sense," Mikey observed quietly. "We need to see what's going on, and with all the fucking pigs around the Capitol..."

"Yeah." Something felt off, though. Frank glanced up and down the narrow back street, but it was empty, gloomy with the sun low in the sky and hidden. "What the fuck even happened, man?" he asked, turning back to Mikey. He kept a light touch on Gerard, though, just for the security of feeling him heading closer.

"I don't know." Mikey shrugged, fiddling with his com and cocking his head when another burst of incomprehensible code spat out of it. "Toro doesn't usually run, you know? He's supposed to be, like, under the radar. Luce, too; I guess something must have gone really fucking wrong."

"Yeah." Frank gnawed on his lip, bouncing his knee impatiently. Shit, Gerard was taking forever.

"It feels like it's a trap," he burst out eventually; Mikey cut his eyes to him, but didn't say anything. "Shit," Frank muttered, and then almost jumped right out of his fucking skin when something thumped against the driver's side hatch. He might have shrieked a tiny bit, even, though he'd later deny it strenuously. Mikey snorted, hitting the release.

"Hey, Gee."

"Hey." Gerard was breathing hard, red-faced and sweaty, the most fucking beautiful sight Frank had ever seen. If he could get his heart to stop yammering in his throat, he might even be able to say so, or at least say something. Gerard was totally fucking giggling inside his head, too.

Getting up onto the roof, as it turned out, was easier said than done. The first few jumps and scrambles, onto the top of the grounds wall and from there to the shallow roof of the school wing, weren't impossible, even with the blasting crate propped on Frank's shoulder and Gerard clutching his hand for balance. The sheer vertical face of the Center proper loomed up before them like a cliff, though, high and stark and white, with the lowest ledge of the parapet well over three meters up. Frank stared up at it from their scant refuge in the lee of the roof ridge, feeling Gerard's heart sinking like it was beating in his own chest.

"Fucking idiots," Mikey remarked, quiet and almost conversational. "Gee, give me a boost."

"Huh?" Gerard turned, mouth rounding into an O. "Are you sure?" Mikey didn't actually dignify that with an answer, just twitched an eyebrow, and Gerard sighed, shuffling in closer to the wall and bracing himself awkwardly against it. Frank watched, wide-eyed, as Mikey scrambled up onto his brother's shoulders and leaped, catching the parapet easily and swinging up and over. Gerard staggered a bit, rubbing at his shoulder, but grinned at Frank.

Your turn, Frankie. C'mon, quick.

What about you? Frank protested, putting his hands obediently on Gerard's shoulders but hesitating there, staring at him.

Mikey can lift me. Don't like it, though, Gerard made a face, sneaking a quick glance upward before darting in to kiss Frank, just a tiny peck. Frank shuddered, but it wasn't the fucking time, so he braced his foot on Gerard's bent knee and pushed upwards, reaching reaching reaching until he caught the parapet with his mind and pulled, yanking himself up. Mikey grabbed his shoulders when he overshot, and Frank tumbled over the rim of the wall into a messy, helplessly-giggling heap in the narrow crescent of space before the rising arc of the dome.

"Ow," Mikey grumbled, poking the toe of his shoe into Frank's ribs and pushing him over onto his back, where Frank lay breathing up at the dirty blue of the winter sky. The air tasted like snow, he thought bizarrely, as the crate and his demolition kit settled gingerly onto the tiles beside him; it was sharp and ozonic on his tongue.

Gerard made a lot more fuss than the explosives had, complaining mentally to Mikey the whole way that he was ripping his jacket, in between freaking out that he might fall. His face was deathly pale and more than slightly green when he collapsed dizzily next to Frank, and Frank heaved himself up enough to pull Gerard's head into his lap, petting his hair.

You got a plan, yet? he asked, when most of the sickly feeling had subsided. Gerard sighed, rolling reluctantly over and kneeing upright.

"It's gonna depend what the hell's actually going on down there, I guess." He shrugged one shoulder, staring down at his hands, before looking up at Mikey's face for a long moment, then Frank's. His hair was sticking up all over the place, dirty and still-pinkish, and there was a smudge of dirt all down one side of his face; he looked fucking crazy, and fucking crazy hot. Frank met his eyes, nodding slowly, and Gerard let out a sudden breath, shuddering, like something old and painful he'd been holding in had been released. "Whatever happens," he said slowly, straightening his shoulders, "we're not gonna be coming back from this one. Are we?"

"You know I'm with you," Mikey said, quiet in the silence, and Frank nodded again, reaching out to touch Gerard's mind.

Me too. Always.

"You're thinking distraction, right?" Mikey said eventually, shifting up onto his knees to glance over the edge of the parapet. Frank didn't know what he thought he could see; they were at the back corner of the Center here, and the wind in his ears was stealing most of the noise, but Mikey just made a thoughtful noise, and started shuffling off around the dome. Frank shrugged and dragged himself up, digging his fingernails in to pry at the lid of the crate.

"I can do distractions." He'd lifted four bars from the warehouse, but the tiny pop-charges for Gerard's paint bombs had barely used up half of one, in the end. Frank hummed to himself, fumbling his gloves out of his pocket, then the fucking gun that had all but embedded itself in his hip. He had some primer left in the kit, so all he really needed to do was jam it into the blocks, good and deep, and ease the receivers in after.

You're really fucking good at that, said Gerard in his mind, admiringly, and Frank nudged him gently aside, slapping at his hand when he went to prod the foil seal on the TPP bar.

You wanna blow your hand off? Carefully, he gathered up the little stack of makeshift bombs, crawling around the edge of the dome until he found a partially-open vent cover in the angled corner where the doorway jutted out. That would do for a temporary stash place, Frank decided; once he'd bent the cover back down, pushing with his mind as well as his fingers, you couldn't even see there was anything in there. Satisfied, he sat back on his heels, glancing around for Gerard and Mikey and finding them sprawled out at the edge of the roof, peering over the low edge and down into the plaza.

It took some squirming, crawling along on his belly like a flat-snake, but Frank was eventually able to wriggle his way up to Gerard's side, lifting his head warily to look over the edge.

"Fuck," he observed after a moment; Gerard nodded grimly, because the plaza and the Capitol steps were seriously fucking crawling with white jackets and masks, lines of them formed up like they were expecting a fucking war or something. If this was really a trap, surely it couldn't just be for them. What the hell was going on?

"Fuck knows," Gerard whispered, turning his face toward Frank. His thoughts were a whirl of what if they catch us? and are we too late? and we're going to get killed, and Frank pushed into the link, trying to project reassurance and coming up short. They had to do something, he knew, but it seemed impossible when they had no idea where Ray and the others even were, if they were inside the Capitol or in jail or already fucking dead, fuck, he couldn't even let himself think about that as a possibility.

"Here they come," Mikey said suddenly, making Frank jump and grab for the gun in Gerard's hand. It was deadly cold under his gloved fingers, not warmed at all despite the frantic heat of Gerard's skin. He didn't have time to think, though, because there was an off-tune hum of a shuttlecar approaching, and then it swept into the plaza, the Peace Keepers drawing in behind it like a barricade, and fuck, Frank realized, there were holo crews at the bottom of the Capitol steps, recorders trained. The thought that Ray's and Luce's Families could be glued to the news stream right now, watching this unfold, made bile rise in his throat, and before he knew what he was doing he was scrambling back for his bag, rifling through it for a flare cap.

"Mikey, how much of a distraction do you need?" he demanded, shuffle-scooting his way back over and grabbing Gerard's hand, hard, when he went to clutch at Mikey's jacket.

"As much as you can manage," Mikey said levelly, eyes locked with Frank's. Frank felt his mouth stretch in a grin that felt like a rictus, and he grabbed for the gun, shoving it blindly into Gerard's hand.

"Fucking do it. We'll cover you, make a fucking mess." Mikey nodded, slow, and pressed his shoulder into Gerard's for a long moment before screwing his face up in a pantomimic expression of concentration. There was a sharp pop of inrushing air that tugged at Frank's clothes and hair, and Gerard blurted Mikey! and tried to scramble up, but Frank grabbed his shoulder, holding him down.

He's a lucky motherfucker, Gee. He'll be fine. Frank grimaced, lifting his head to peer over the edge of the parapet. The shuttle had drawn up outside the Capitol, flashlights going off everywhere as a gaggle of stumbling prisoners were prodded up the steps. Frank recognized Ray's manic hair, Luce huddled as far into the shelter of his body as her restraints would allow, and – fuck, that was the tall asshole from the club, what the hell was he doing getting himself dragged up to the Council in chains?

I don't believe in luck, Gerard whispered grimly in his mind.

"Believe in me, then," Frank muttered, and reared up, thumbing the switch and tossing the flare in one swift motion that ended with his hand slammed across his eyes as the light burst in a dazzling flash. Shouts and screams rose up from below in a chorus. "Believe in your motherfucking self, shit, fucking start shooting already!"

You're a fucking ridiculous asshole– Gerard lifted his head warily over the edge, blinking damply, and took aim. His first shot burned into the permacrete half a meter to the left of one of the masked Peace Keepers, but it got their attention even more effectively than the flare; guns came out all across the square, and the officers started shouting orders, sending squads running this way and that. Gerard's second blast glanced off the smooth silver hull of the shuttle, ricocheting madly, and Frank startled when Gerard actually laughed, high and giddy, and pulled the trigger again. He was about to demand his own turn – or, no, he should go grab some more bang; he bet with a little bit of telekinesis he could toss it up high enough that even a major blast wouldn't actually kill anyone – when Gerard gasped, his shot going wild as Mikey appeared out of nowhere on the Capitol steps.

Definitely time for a bigger distraction, shit. Frank started squirming back from the edge, careful not to let any part of himself into firing range, right as Mikey reached Ray, grabbing him by the arm and making the guards shout and reel back as they both popped out of existence.

"Fuck yes," Gerard whispered, squinting as he aimed another shot, "Come on, come – ha." The laser beam sent a white-masked Peace Keeper flying as he threw himself aside, and Frank distinctly saw the tall asshole – Gabe, right – seize the opportunity to deliver a swift kick to the guy's crotch before Luce dragged him aside, a ray gun somehow in her hand.

Fuck, they can handle themselves, Gerard observed, relief washing through him, and Frank grinned and wriggled back, admiring Gerard's ass on his way past. It made Gerard startle a little, the tops of his ears pinking where they poked through his dirty hair.

What are you – where are you –

Relax. Judging he was a safe distance back from the edge, Frank pushed up a little, keeping his head down as he kneed his way over toward his stash. I'm gonna get some more distractions, see if I can block up the doorway some or they're gonna be right up our asses in a couple of minutes.

"Right," Gerard muttered, barely audible over the chaos from below; Frank ducked hastily as a blaster shot ricocheted off the parapet, hearing Gerard curse in his head. Fuck, they were getting closer; he glanced over his shoulder, gauging, and decided abruptly to risk it, scrabbling up to his feet and breaking into a run. Come on, come on, come –

Frank! Gerard's mind slammed abruptly into his, jerking him to a stop; Frank could hear him scrambling up, too, behind him, but it was too late; the door was swinging open before him, the tall figure of Grant Morrison ducking through and stepping out onto the roof with a gun in his hand.

Gerard reached Frank a second later, snatching at his wrist to drag him back as Morrison stepped inexorably forward, raising the gun.

"Really, Gerard?" Morrison's eyes were as cold and hard as the darkening sky. "Did you think I was that stupid? We've been aware of your... activities, shall we say, for some time. Did you think you could carry on with this –" he swept the barrel of his gun out, indicating the chaos in the square below, only to snap it back, his finger tightening on the trigger, as Frank shifted. "This tantrum, forever?"

"Fuck you," Frank snarled, and Morrison smiled thinly.

"I wasn't speaking to you, Mr Iero, but you may be assured your opinions have been given the consideration they deserve."

"That's Fun Ghoul to you, asshole," Frank snapped back, but Gerard's fingers tightened on his wrist, cutting off the rest.

"Why the fuck are you doing this?" he demanded, rocking a fraction of a step toward Morrison but freezing again when Morrison's eyes narrowed. "You're better than this, Grant, you don't have to – it's not about the power, I know you don't care about that, so what?"

"On the contrary," Morrison corrected, smooth as silk, "this is entirely about power. The power to make people's lives better, to create a safer place for all of us. You should know that, Gerard; haven't we talked of it?"

"Not like this," the disgust in Gerard's voice echoed through their link. Frank was too aware of that blackened gun barrel to physically move, but he deepened the link, wrapping their minds together in an embrace of paired thought and emotion that Gerard returned instantly. I don't care what happens, and neither could even tell where the thought began, I won't let go.

"Really, Gerard?" Morrison raised an eyebrow, taking another step that forced them both back until they were barely centimeters from the drop, the parapet wall not even knee high and no barrier or safety. "You would rather have your petty freedom, than work with us for the betterment of all?" He sounded like the words meant nothing at all to him, like a drone playing at humanity, and Frank felt his own mouth twist with Gerard's repulsion.

"I'd rather go to hell," Gerard spat, and Morrison narrowed his eyes, raising the gun. This was it, Frank realized; it felt strangely freeing, and he thought, why not. Morrison's finger started to move, pulling the trigger, but Frank was faster, lashing out with his mind to slam the button into the detonator tucked into his kit.

The shockwave hit first, as the Center's dome exploded, knocking Morrison off his feet, and Frank grabbed for Gerard, feeling them start to fall. There was nothing to catch them but the open air and the permacrete storeys below, but the fear was something distant and unimportant for that long, endless moment of falling – until another mind slammed into theirs, frantic and grasping, and it was like a door opening as Gerard screamed MIKEY! and Frank reached, latching onto the familiar signature and pulling in concert.

Space turned inside out with a pop, then slammed back into him like a ton of bricks. Or the metal deckplate of a ship, all the breath choked out of Frank's lungs as they hit in a tangle of limbs and panic.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck what! What?! Gerard flailed free of Frank's grip, flopping over to the side, and Frank struggled to breathe enough to make sense of the white panels above them. He was seeing double, and it took him a long wheezing moment to realize that he was seeing through Gerard's eyes as well as his own. It took even longer to extricate himself enough that he could tell he was in the gangway of a ship – a really nice ship, or else...

"Mikey," Gerard croaked, struggling to his knees and patting distractedly at Frank's side. Frank was pretty sure Mikey wasn't actually there, but Gerard seemed to know where he was going, so Frank let him pull him upright, sort of, and they staggered down the hallway leaning drunkenly together. "Mikey, did you steal Grant's ship?" Gerard demanded accusingly, as they turned a corner into the cockpit of – fuck, it was Morrison's, there was the fucking crest on the wall and everything, and Mikey was slumped in the nav chair with the heels of his hands pressed into his eyes.

"Holy fuck, you guys!" Ray squeaked from the pilot's chair, head whipping around from where he'd been staring madly out the viewscreen. "That was – holy fuck!" He didn't seem to have anything else; Frank couldn't really blame him. He let go of Gerard reluctantly, slumping down into the nearest seat and trying to stop his head from spinning.

"You stole Grant's ship," Gerard said again, full of disbelief and a dawning edge of delight. Mikey made a grumbling, pained sort of noise, and Gerard stumbled over to pet his hair. Overextension, Frank realized sympathetically; it was starting to bite into his temples, too. More importantly, though...

"How long before they come after us?" he asked, squinting at the viewscreen. It definitely showed space, the blue of atmosphere fading rapidly to black as they burst out of orbit. He thought he recognised the star patterns. "And where're we going?"

"Pretty soon, and no idea," Mikey reported shortly, still without looking. "Gee?"

"Huh?" Gerard blinked, catching at the back of Mikey's seat to steady himself. "What?"

Ha. Frank giggled, kind of involuntarily, and reached out to take Gerard's hand. "We can go anywhere, so long as it's away from here, right?" He laced their fingers together, squeezing as he waited for Mikey's nod, and cocked his head at Gerard. "So, Party Poison, where are we gonna go?"