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"Gerard."
"Wha—" He jerks upright, groggy but awake. It's Lindsey's voice, but there's something about it that sends alarms off in the primal part of his brain, danger danger danger.
She's turned on the lamp by the bed. "Gerard." Lindsey grabs his hand, presses a mug into it. It's hot, almost too hot, but Gerard just takes a gulp, ignoring the way the coffee scalds his tongue. "Jamia called."
His stomach drops, and he swallows hard against the nausea. "Frank—"
"He's alive. That's all she knows." Lindsey touches his shoulder, squeezes. "A car accident."
"Fuck." Gerard closes his eyes, sees shattered glass and twisted metal, and blood— "Frankie—" He fumbles for his phone, sloshing coffee as he sets the mug on his nightstand. Lindsey grabs his hand, holding on when he tries to shake her off.
"She doesn't want us to call—"
"Fuck that," Gerard snaps. It's Frank, and he's hurt, and—
"Gerard."
Lindsey's voice is oh-so-reasonable, and it pisses him off. "Linds—"
"Jamia doesn't want us to call, Frank's still in Australia, and it's an emergency situation, police and ambulances and hospitals. She wants to keep the lines clear until she knows what's going on."
"Oh." His shoulders slump. "Yeah."
Lindsey sits next to him on the bed, pulls him close. "She promised she'd call as soon as she has info. She just didn't want us to hear about it on the news." Lindsey leans into him, warm against his side. "You should let Mikey and Ray know."
Gerard shakes his head, trying to get his brain to engage. "Yeah, yeah I should." He picks up his phone and swipes to unlock it.
Lindsey kisses his cheek. "I'm going to check on Lady B."
"I'll be right there," Gerard says. His fingers automatically open the photo app, and he scrolls until he finds that last picture he'd gotten from Jamia, Frank and the kids wrestling on the floor of their living room. Frank's grinning so wide, and Gerard can imagine the giggles. It makes his heart ache. He touches their little faces on the screen: Cherry, Miles, Lily. And Frank.
Gerard is really bad at waiting.
Really bad.
He shuts his computer down after watching a couple of on-the-scene news reports; seeing the back of the van crunched up like that sends anxiety thrumming along his nerves. The information is less than reassuring, focusing on phrases like 'seriously injured' and 'air-lifted to hospital' and 'horrific accident.'
He helps Bandit get ready for school, letting himself be distracted by the range of tee shirts that she has to try on before settling on her favorite dinosaur shirt.
She tells Gerard about how much she loves her teacher, and her classmates, and the tortoise that lives in the aquarium in the corner of the classroom.
"His name is Clarice, and he's a Mojave Tortoise.
"Clarice the Tortoise, huh?" He carefully ties her shoes.
"He got hurt by a car and can't use his back leg. We're re-hab-tating him." She giggles, quick and bright, and Gerard can't help himself, he picks her up and holds her close until she squirms. "Gonna be late, Daddy."
He sees her safely off to school, and then he waits.
Gerard used to have easy distractions: a quick drink, a cigarette.
He doesn't have those habits any more, and he can't find it in himself to regret that.
He tries not to make a nuisance of himself, steering clear of Lindsey in her studio. He sits down at his desk and tries to get a little writing done, but the words blur, he can't stay focused. "Fucker," he mutters, throwing down his pen.
Coffee's probably not a good idea, but good ideas and Gerard aren't exactly fast friends. The ritual is soothing: grinding the beans, filling the basket, adding water.
His phone purrs while he's staring at the coffee pot, and he sees Mikey's name. Anything?
No, he taps back. He's thinks about asking Mikey if he has the time to talk, to distract him, and the phone rings. Mikey knows him, all too well.
"It's going to be okay, Gee."
He wants to believe that, so much, but until he hears Frank's voice again, it's hard to hold onto the hope.
"How about those Jets?" he jokes, and Mikey laughs at him. Something in his chest eases a little.
"Dork."
"Duh," Gerard says, and Mikey rambles a bit about Disney World and Kristin, and Gerard can forget, for a while.
"Frankie's a tough motherfucker, Gerard, ain't nothing gonna kill that dude," James says through a mouthful of food. It's supposed to be reassuring, but it makes Gerard laugh.
"What the fuck are you eating?"
There's a long, guilty pause while James swallows loudly. "Deep fried Twinkies."
"Seriously?"
"They're soooo good," James says defensively.
"But—" He flaps a hand, it's so wrong. "It's an affront to nature. Food man was never meant to eat—"
James snorts. "Jellyfish sushi. Liver. Haggis. Those are foods man was never meant to eat."
"Truth," he says with a shudder.
"Anyway, I saw a news clip of Frank after the accident; he's up and walking. Matt says Evan and Paul are hurt, but they'll be okay."
"I know, James, I know, I just—"
James' voice is gentle. "Tell me about the song you and Toro did for your comic."
Gerard knows it's just a ploy, something to keep him distracted, but he'll take whatever he can get right now. "Ray's such a fucking genius, seriously," he says.
It's late and Gerard should be in bed, but he knows he won't be able to sleep. His stomach is upset, gurgling unpleasantly. It's the stress, and there's not a damn thing he can do about it. Lindsey made him some ginger tea; it's cooling on the coffee table while he flips idly through the pages of a story pitch he's working on.
His phone rings, he looks at the display and it's an unfamiliar number, an international call, and— "Frank?"
There loud breathing on the other end of the connection, hoarse and broken, then— "Gerard, oh God, Gerard, I was so scared, it happened so quick, I couldn't do anything—
"Shhhh," Gerard says softly. He's seen Frank like this before, falling apart, raw and open. It hurts, he hates it when Frank's this low, but at the same time, he's so fucking glad to hear Frank's voice, alive. "It's okay, Frankie. It's gonna be okay. Take a deep breath for me,"
Frank tries, but it turns into a series of choking sobs. "Gerard—"
"Again. Slow and deep." He can hear Frank trying to match their breathing, and Gerard can almost feel the way Frank relaxes a little, body sagging. "Good, you're doing so good, Frankie."
Frank exhales loudly. "Fuck."
He sounds exhausted, in pain, and Gerard wants to tuck him into bed, cover him with warm blankets, hug him tight. "You okay, Frank?"
"No." There's a rustle in the background, and Frank makes a soft, distressed noise. "No, I'm not, but I will be."
-fin-