Envision The Magic [Frerard] [By innocent_wolves on LJ]

Chapter Eight

On his way back to The Colossus, Frank quickly became aware of how much he was freezing. The comfortable warmth inside the ship clashed with the iciness that had settled in him, sending shivers down his spine. It was a strange kind of cold; it dug its way to the very bones in his body.

He knew he'd gone missing for much too long and the look of relief on Jill's face when she spotted him coming in was overwhelming; for a moment he thought she was going to drop everything and throw herself at him.

"Where the hell have you been?!" she hissed; she looked as though she was on the verge of freaking out. "Your job includes helping us out, not go missing for ages! In case you didn't know, the show room is chock full tonight and we're up to our goddamn necks in work here!"

He quickly apologized, telling her he'd been in the need of a cigarette and then just ended up losing track of time. Jill's eyes narrowed suspiciously, probably because she couldn't detect any traces of cigarette smoke still clinging to him, but she bought the excuse without arguing about it.

"Don't you dare go wandering off like that again," she said, irritated, waving a finger in front of his face. "Remember that whether or not you get good recommendations relies on me."

He had never witnessed her being this unsatisfied and angry with him before, but right there and then, Frank didn't really care.

***

The rest of that night he wasn't quite able to get rid of that gnawing, cold feeling. Somehow it was still clinging to his back, lodged between his spinal discs, producing little, involuntary spasms as the occasional shower of iciness flooded his veins. Several times he'd caught himself shuddering suddenly. He didn't believe for a second that it was because of the rain; this wasn't the kind of obvious, physical cold that you could chase away by embracing yourself and rubbing your arms, and it wasn't a forewarning of the flu or a fever. He was pretty sure it was because of the chill that Gerard had emitted; he'd wrapped him in it ever since he'd gone to deliver that fucking drink. He deeply regretted that decision now.

As for Gerard, he didn't show up at all that night. He didn't join his audience in the lobby during the intermission either, like he used to and loved doing, but he was in there alright. Frank could hear the distant sounds of people laughing and clapping for him. Obviously he didn’t have any problems with pushing everything else out of his head and just focus on his job. But if he didn't care, like he'd told him he didn't, then he wouldn’t have to worry about any of it. He could just continue doing whatever he was doing.

Frank wasn't able to do that, and it was obvious in the way he executed his job. He'd already broken three glasses and the last time he had to exchange all the ice. Whenever he was trying to do something he immediately noticed how his hands were shaking. He was getting in everybody’s way as well, and Jill was constantly telling him, increasingly frustrated, that he had to snap out of whatever coma he was lost in and make himself useful; it was a very busy night and they needed all hands. Of course there were a thousand things he could occupy himself with but most of the time he just ended up standing there, wondering what to do. Whenever he tried figuring out what to do next, his thoughts returned to the argument with Gerard, and once he was on that track it was hard for him to rewind. He thought he'd be able to focus but he realized he was wrong. He couldn't even function properly.

Frank was still cold when his shift was finally over; it was honestly starting to get on his nerves. He muttered a quick goodnight to Jill, who looked a little worried, the expression on her face saying that she wanted to hold him back and ask him who the hell had managed to talk him into selling his soul. She seemed to change her mind when she saw just how miserable he appeared.

He quickly rushed back to his quarters, wrung his uniform off and dove straight into bed, where he eventually fell asleep, despite the fact that his covers never seemed to turn warm that night.

***

While his first week on board neared its end, Frank spotted Gerard several times. It was only in brief glances and he never gave the impression of knowing he'd been detected, but he was sure he knew; he just didn't want to show it. Ever since their argument he'd walked around carrying an intense urge to just confront him once again; Frank wanted to force some other response out of him, give him another chance to show that there was something else – anything – residing inside him, but every time he appeared in his visual field he was gone the very next moment. The man seemed to have an amazing ability to just disappear into thin air. Maybe it was his illusionist skills; maybe he could apply them to real life.

Either way, the days refused to wait for anyone and eventually the last stop on their itinerary was upon them. Soon they were just minutes away from arriving back to the point they had departed from; it was only a matter a of time before all the guests would find themselves at home and back in the arms of reality.

The captain of the ship initiated the tedious and systematic step-by-step process that was to navigate the Envision Destiny towards the shore and make sure that the docking procedure was followed correctly. At the same time, Frank was rushing to the café to grab a quick cup of coffee when he literally ran into the one he'd been trying to get a hold of the past few days. He realized it was Gerard before Gerard noticed it was him. He was about to say something, and judging from the annoyed expression on his face it was probably something along the lines of "Watch where the fuck you're going", but then he saw it was Frank. His planned retort had been all set to go, already drawn back like pebbles in a slingshot, but the moment he changed his mind it all got choked in an abrupt, sharp intake of air. He closed his mouth and for a couple of seconds they just looked awkwardly at each other.

"Sorry," Gerard muttered in the end and hurried past him.

Frank closed his eyes momentarily, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep his mouth shut no matter how hard he tried.

"Are you, really?" he called out after him, and Gerard stopped dead in his tracks. Frank focused on the dark, ruffled back of his head; he didn't know what kind of reaction he would be met with and he was slightly dreading it, but he took a deep breath and repeated himself. "Are you sorry, Gerard?"

He slowly turned around, a somewhat surprised expression fleetingly dancing across his face, as though he hadn't expected him to talk back. Then the expression was gone, completely washed away, and he raised his head a thought. It looked like a very conscious act, because his cheekbones and jawline looked far too perfect in that angle. He realized that Gerard was turning into an illusionist right before his eyes. He carried himself like he would do on stage; the spotlight could just as well have been right there, shining upon his head like some cold halo. By then, Frank already knew that he wasn't about to give him a proper answer. He wasn't going to take his question like it had been posed; he was going to swoop down upon it and tear it apart.

"Yeah, Frankie," Gerard said, "I am sorry. I'm really sorry that you turned out to be this fucking annoying. I would, in all brutal honesty, never have guessed it. You're actually worse than most women I know, and I know a lot of them."

The place was crawling with guests waiting to disembark, but no one was paying any attention to them. If someone actually had stopped and taken a closer look, they'd easily notice how strained the whole situation was, with the two of them just standing there staring at each other. Frank had intense irritation written all over his face, while Gerard held on to his usual crooked smile.

"You're a heartless son of a bitch, you know that?" Frank spat through gritted teeth, and a lady passing him in that very moment turned her head and looked at him with an overwhelmingly shocked expression on her face, before hurriedly moving on.

"Thanks." Gerard inclined his head slightly. "I'll take your failed shot at an insult as a compliment. I’ve been called worse."

Frank could feel himself blush red hot with anger. "I don't doubt that," he snapped. "And you better pray that you'll drown by accident the next time you get on this ship," he added furiously, "or I swear to God I'll fucking drown you myself."

Gerard responded by sharply sucking air through his teeth, pulling a slight grimace at him that mockingly seemed to say "Oooh, I'm so scared!" He laughed shortly.

"Ouch, Frankie, you're an animal! For someone this small you sure have a temper, I'll give you that. You know, it kinda blows that you're so annoying," he grinned, and for a second there was genuine delight shining in his eyes. "I'm willing to bet my cards that if I'd caught you in a really nasty mood the other night, I would’ve been forced to ignore that call. That could have turned out interesting, I'm just saying."

He winked at him before he let out another short laugh and shook his head, yet again leaving Frank completely tongue-tied.

***

Frank hadn't expected his old life to get better in just one week, and certainly not while he'd been away, that would have been far too easy; if things had turned out for the better he'd assume there was a catch somewhere. So he wasn't surprised when he came home only to discover that nothing had changed, at least not on the outside; the elevator in his building was still out of order, and the old, stained mattress that no one wanted to take any responsibility for was still leaning against the wall on the second floor landing. This time some loser had taken the bother to write "FUCK YOU" on it in big, black letters.

Wow, how creative, he thought sarcastically as he passed it, his nose wrinkling slightly in disgust.

As usual, Mrs. Crimbleton, the old and slightly senile lady living next to him, nosily stuck her head out the door as soon as he'd managed to haul his bags up all the stairs. A moldy newspaper smell and a couple of cats escaped her flat at the same time. She watched him closely as he unlocked the door to his tiny apartment.

"Miss me, Grandma?" Frank asked loudly, shooting her a fake smile as he struggled with the lock, confident it didn't matter what he said to her; most likely she'd forget about it before she'd even turned around. As expected she ignored his question completely, the curious expression on her face unaffected.

"Yeah, I thought so," he muttered. "Just make sure you don't pop a vessel from all that excitement."

He gave the stubborn door a final push, eventually causing it to open with a reluctant creak. At least his stuff was safe here; who needed a safety chain when no burglar in this city was patient enough to even bother with that stupid lock in the first place. As he swung the door open he almost stumbled back in pure shock, coughing at how bad the air was in there.

"What the fuck, did something die in here?" he said to himself as he shoved a week's worth of unopened mail away with his foot. "Geez."

He sighed and looked disappointedly around for a moment, before he threw his bags on the floor and left the door ajar in an attempt to clear the air.

He found out that his fridge seemed to have suffered a slow and careless death in his absence as well, judging from the lukewarm beer he closed his fingers around. Definitely no ice cold Tom Collinses waiting for him in there. But then again, this was his life; it was no big surprise that everything had Murphy's Law written all over it. If he dropped his toast it would fall with the butter side down, and so on. Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.

Not giving the slightest damn about all the wasted food he was stuck with, Frank opened the bottle, ignoring the tame hiss that escaped it. He went to stare out the window; the contrast between the beautiful view of the wide stretched, glittering ocean and this dirty backyard full of garbage and stray cats had never been as clear to him as in this very moment. It was depressing to be back home, to say the least.

Reluctantly he took his cell phone out of his pocket and checked his voice mail; now that he wasn't busy with work he had no excuse to keep it turned off. In addition to a billion texts, he'd received ten messages. Two of them were from his old job at one of the numerous restaurants he'd been washing dishes for; they were wondering if he would consider coming back because they were short on people. That was easily out of the question, seeing how that job had been miserable and underpaid. Three messages were from his parents; the first two were from his Mom who wondered why on earth he would choose to work on a cruise ship, since the possibility of it actually sinking was always there. The third one was from his Dad who, as usual, felt the need to add that he could at least have been more considerate towards his mother concerning his career choices. In other words; the same old. Whatever he did still wasn't good enough. The last bunch of messages was from some random girl called Lisa something, he didn't quite catch her last name. Apparently they'd "been together" for a short while ages ago and now she wanted to meet up with him again; she sounded like she was getting increasingly desperate with each message. He didn't pay much attention to them; Frank couldn't even remember what the girl looked like and he didn't really care. Whatever she wanted he wasn't interested in anyway.

"No, thanks," he muttered darkly, removing the phone from his ear and deleting all the messages at once. "Great, everyone's still crazy. That is just fucking peachy."

Apparently he found himself faced with a world that seemed to have gone just a little more off its hinges while he'd been away. These few days off work were going to get very long, he could already tell. He was starting to miss the Envision Destiny and he hadn't even been on land for an hour yet. Fuck his life.

The ship's brochure was sticking out from the side pocket of his bag, so he picked it up, sitting down on the couch as he started leafing through it. He paused when he came to the section about the cruise ship entertainment. Gerard's photo was, of course, the biggest one. Framed in a neat circle he stared up at him from the glossy page, his bright hazel eyes hard to interpret, his smile as mischievous as always. His hand had fanned out a deck of cards perfectly, all of them with their back facing the camera, except for one card in the middle, which was the Jack of Hearts. Gerard looked gorgeous, of course. A little annoyed, Frank closed the brochure, throwing it aside. That was typical, getting involved with someone like that during the first week of his new job. His first week. Who does that?

"God, that son of a bitch," he muttered intently, taking another swig of his sickeningly warm beer, and then almost choking on it when a thin meow suddenly pierced the silence. Startled and confused, Frank stared across the table and noticed a small black and white kitten sitting neatly by his abandoned bags, watching him curiously with green eyes that almost seemed too big for its head.

"Oh, of course," he uttered, annoyed, his thoughts immediately aimed at Mrs. Crimbleton next door; this wasn't the first time a cat of hers had decided to go exploring and eventually ended up in his apartment. "The woozy bat. I gotta remember to keep my door shut."

He sighed and put the bottle away, walking over to the ball of fur staring at him. Purring intently, it got up and rubbed itself clumsily against his feet, producing as much sound as its little body could muster. It meowed sharply as he picked it up.

"Okay, and what do we have here?" he said, tilting his head. The cat squinted back at him. "You're not supposed to be here, y'know. You're crazy cat lady material, and even though I may be crazy, I sure am no lady. I'm more of a dog person, anyway, so I don't know why you're purring at me. You should be going all ninja on me right now."

Frank carried the kitten outside, tempted to just leave it there and close his door on it, but he gave up on that option right away; he didn't have the heart to do that. With a reluctant sigh he walked over to the old woman's door and knocked. A couple of long quiet minutes passed, but eventually he could hear shuffling footsteps and her clumsy hands fumbling with the lock. She opened, staring at him with a puzzled expression on her face.

"I think this one's yours," he said, holding the kitten up in front of her.

"Whiskers!" Mrs. Crimbleton exclaimed immediately, her wrinkled face breaking into a wide, relieved smile. "Oh, Whiskers, there you are, I have looked all over for you! I thought you'd wandered off and gotten lost!"

Frank tried not to wonder how many cats by the name of Whiskers she actually had, and if she was capable of telling them all apart, let alone care for them.

"He didn't go far," he assured her as he handed her the purring creature. "He was just visiting me for a minute, that's all."

"Why, thank you, young man," she said, cradling the kitten in her arms. "That's very nice of you to give him back."

Apparently she had already forgotten both his name and the fact that he'd been rude to her earlier; she was talking to him as though he was just a random passerby who had happened to find her cat. He nodded a "no problem" at her and started backing away.

"Oh, wait a minute," she added quickly. "Did you meet that girl yet?"

"Uhm, what girl?" Frank asked. He paused with his hand resting on the door handle, frowning at her.

"You know; that girl who was here looking for you," Mrs. Crimbleton said impatiently, as if it was obvious that he should know what she meant. "She told me she'd be back. Well... you do live here, don't you?"

"Yeah, I live here…" he said slowly, pretty certain the woman was making up things and was now for whatever reasons mistaking him for someone else. "But if she said she'd be back, then I guess she will," he continued, just playing along. Arguing about it would be useless anyway.

"I do hope so," she said, watching him seriously, "because I think it was very important. She seemed worried."

"Then she'll probably show up," Frank replied, brushing it off with a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about it, Mrs. Crimbleton. Thanks for the heads-up."

Quickly, he disappeared inside and closed his door before she could add anything more. He returned to his warm beer, yet again picking up the Envision brochure.

***

The remaining time he was trapped on land, Frank did his best to avoid the problems he'd tried so hard to keep out of his life. Two of the major ones however, his parents, were among the problems he hadn't expected he'd be able to escape from. Of course they had to stop by to express their usual disappointment in his lack of ambition and to complain further about his incomplete education. His Mom especially had grabbed the opportunity to whine some more about how he could have gone and gotten himself a nice and "safe" job rather than a "risky" one. He was a bright kid; if only he'd gotten himself a good education from a good university. She then proceeded to complain about how this was completely out of the question now anyway because he'd gone and gotten himself tattooed. He should have listened to them; he could have become a prosecutor, for example. Frank didn't even bother telling her that a prosecutor might just as well end up with a bunch of criminal enemies, and that visible tattoos weren't tolerated any more aboard the Envision Destiny than they were in a court room.

All of that might've been his mother's way of telling him that she cared about him, but she sounded like nothing more than a broken, old record. He mentally brushed it all away with the simple fact that she was a particularly neurotic woman and difficult to please; sometimes Frank was surprised he hadn't turned out a complete wreck himself. So instead of being snide about it, he answered her with the standard reply, which was basically just standing there with his hands in his pockets and shrugging, followed by a determined stretch of silence. He couldn't be less bothered with arguing about his goddamn life anymore. They couldn't touch him anyway. He didn't even need them to support him financially anymore now that he'd found himself a proper job. Soon he would maybe be able to afford a better place to live. He didn't need their pity money.

***

Apart from avoiding his problems the best he could, he also spent a considerable amount of time thinking about Gerard. Even though he told himself all the time that he didn't want to think about him, he was always eventually faced with the fact that resistance was futile. He kept leafing through the Envision brochure from time to time; sometimes he suspected he was doing it without thinking, as if looking absently through those glossy pages and then lingering at the entertainment section was a natural thing to do.

It was when he was writing a check list for his next departure that Frank realized he was starting to miss him. Whether the guy was a major asshole or not he was actually missing him, which was a very bizarre feeling in itself. Frank was aware that it was a stupid thing to do, to willingly expose himself to a person like that. But at the same time there was something in his gut that told him there were certain things in this whole situation that he should hold on to, that maybe the Gerard he was used to and thought he knew wasn't the true Gerard at all, the Gerard he should know. He wasn't sure; maybe the accusations about delusions were fair, maybe he was blind to something he should have paid attention to long ago. Maybe he was just having delusions about being able to get through to him and flick the switch that would change him when there might be no such switches in existence. Maybe this was him just plunging his hand into complete and utter darkness, his fingers fumbling after nothing. Maybe Gerard hadn't built any walls or barriers to shield his true self; maybe this was his true self. He could be just an asshole, period. At the same time, how could he know for sure? It was hard to ignore the fact that he was missing the guy, and even after considering all other possible and horrifying explanations for Gerard's complicated self, the urging feeling in his gut still remained.

He was rummaging through his drawers when there was a knock on the door, and it was so unexpected that it made his stomach twitch. He waited to see if he'd just imagined it when the knock came again, sharper this time.

"If it's my parents again I swear to God…" Frank muttered irritably to himself as he reluctantly went to answer it.

A young woman was standing outside, busy with glancing restlessly over her shoulder, almost as though she was expecting somebody else to show up. She abruptly turned to face him when she heard the door swing open. From what he could gather at first glance she was very pretty and about his age; she was wearing a simple, red blouse and a white summer skirt, her dark brown hair collected in a single, thick herringbone braid resting over her shoulder. She was clutching a straw bag, smiling timidly at him.

"Yeah?" he said, automatically thinking that she was either with Jehovah's Witnesses or that she was there to try and sell him something.

"Frank?" she asked, searching his face to get some sort of confirmation that she was right, but her smile indicated that she’d found the one she'd been looking for.

He frowned; the fact that she was so direct and informal surprised him. That immediately ruled out both saleswoman and Jehovah's Witnesses. He tried to place her face somewhere in his memory, but failed.

"Uhm, do I know you?"

"I figured you probably wouldn't remember me," she said, giving him a genuine smile that assured him that it was okay, that it was no surprise. "I'm Lisa. Lisa Moore? I called you a couple of days ago? I left you some messages. Too many, I think," she added, embarrassed.

Once she told him her last name it finally dawned on Frank who she was. He could vaguely recall that the end of his high school years had involved a certain Lisa. That was a rather unclear part of his past; everything he did had been all about wasting his life and whatever money he had on alcohol, tattoos and various crappy concerts with various unknown bands that all wanted to make it "big" but most likely never would. Lisa had been part of the same useless, wannabe-rebellious group he used to hang out with, but that was ages ago. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen her; all of a sudden she just disappeared out of everybody's lives. He'd just assumed that she’d dropped out. They'd never kept in touch anyway. Hell, he hadn't kept in touch with any of those losers. Could this be that same Lisa? In any case she had changed a lot, and definitely to the better.

Well, this is awkward, he thought. He wondered what she wanted with him now, after all this time.

"Oh… Right," he said, hesitating. He felt a little guilty about deleting all her messages without paying attention to them. "Lisa Moore. Of course. It's… it's been a while, I guess. By the way, I'm really sorry about the messages; I've been away at work the past week and I haven't really, you know, settled or anything... I'm leaving again pretty soon, so…"

"Oh. Okay, don't worry about it, it's not a problem," she replied, before adding: "I'm sorry, but do you think you could just excuse me for one tiny second?"

"Uh… Sure," he nodded, confused. He watched her as she walked over to the stairs, leaning slightly over the old, paint-chipped railing and quickly searching whatever she could see of the floor below.

"Caden?" she shouted; her voice was stern, but mostly she sounded worried. "Caden, you've played with that kitten enough now. Come up here, please. This instant."

He frowned again, rummaging through his brain and trying to figure out what she wanted, while at the same time wondering if this Caden-guy also was some ghost from the past that he was supposed to know. His thinking got interrupted by the sound of stamping feet, heading up the stairs towards them, and a little boy at about six years old soon came into view. He ran straight over to Lisa, giving Frank a quick scan with his big hazel eyes, an action which seemed to leave a somewhat suspicious and wary expression upon his face.

"I'm so sorry," Lisa apologized. "He spotted a kitten downstairs and I couldn't stop him from running after it… This is Caden. My son," she added.

The last words coming out of her mouth were like a tiny row of heavy punches. She put her arm around the boy’s thin shoulders; he still seemed a little suspicious, his head slightly tilted.

Frank could only stare back, feeling hot and cold at the same time, vaguely realizing that his grip on the door handle had tightened considerably. He then looked at Lisa, who gave him another timid smile and a little shrug, telling him that she was fully aware of what he was thinking; the little boy standing beside her looked exactly like he'd been taken straight out of one of Frank's old baby photos.