A Bullet Through A Flock Of Doves

Thirty One - Did You Get What You Deserve?

Frank burrowed deeper into the sheets, and in response someone's arms tightened around his waist from behind.

He had a moment of red hot panic - he was in the prison again, and his cellmate was behind him and he was naked - but when he blinked his eyes open further and remembered where he was and who he was with, Frank slumped back against Gerard gratefully. Gerard seemed to be sleeping, although the digital clock informed Frank that it was only one in the afternoon. They'd gotten back to the hotel at maybe ten a.m.

Frank was a little confused as to why he felt fabric instead of skin at his back, but when he craned his head back to look, he saw that Gerard had changed into boxers and an undershirt. Frank raised an eyebrow. Could it really be that Gerard Way was self-conscious of his body? Frank snorted, unable even to wrap his mind around the idea, and slithered out of Gerard's grasp instead. The other shifted unhappily at the loss of contact, but rolled over and continued to sleep in no time.

The carpet was ridiculously soft under Frank's feet as he padded across it to look for some clothes in his suitcase. From the distant pattering on the roof and the chill in the air, Frank figured it was still raining, and even inside he was fucking cold. It was a relief to pull on jeans and a red hoodie, which he and Gerard had bought earlier in the time that they'd spent in Vegas. He also stuffed a few random dollar bills into his pockets. Gerard wouldn't miss them...they had quite a lot of money lying around, and Frank wasn't even sure he wanted to know where most of it came from.

He really just needed to clear his head - he needed to think about what had happened earlier today. What Gerard had almost done...what Gerard had said about that kid. What Gerard had said about him. And what Frank had said...he wasn't sure whether he should elaborate on that or not. He wanted to...he wanted Gerard to know (for some reason); and yet he was worried as to how Gerard would react. The other was unpredictable - what had happened earlier today was evidence of that.

But it had been a good kind of unpredictable. A very good kind of unpredictable, and what had followed was even better. Frank still wasn't sure how to feel about that. It was all just so...out of character. But he wasn't complaining.

Frank at least made an attempt to smooth down his messy hair, although it soon became clear that it was a lost cause. Frowning at the unruly black strands, he glanced away from his reflection in the mirror and back at the bed, where Gerard had wrapped his arms around a pillow in lieu of Frank. Frank snorted again in amusement, resisting the urge to ruffle Gerard's hair. Against all odds, the mass murderer really was sort of adorable.

Shaking his head and smiling to himself, Frank slipped out of the hotel room, leaving a note on the Flamingo Hotel and Casino stationary, which was a soft shade of pink.

Gerard would probably have insisted it was rose or something, the weirdo, was Frank's last thought before he left the safety of the hotel room and ventured into the world which would soon prove to be very dangerous indeed.

xoxoxo

Frank was grateful to find that the rain had lessened, now falling in a dreary kind of drizzle which darkened the hoodie but didn't soak it. He followed the small trickle of people heading towards the monorail station - Frank decided he'd just ride the trains for a while. Trains were always interesting, anyway....he missed the lightrail and subway in New York and New Jersey. The jolt of the car as it started was familiar to him, and this monorail was no different.

It was easy for him to find a seat - not many people were out today because of the weather. He sat near a distracted looking teenage girl with pink hair who was chomping a piece of even pinker gum with great gusto. It was sort of gross, so Frank focused instead on the city outside the monorail windows as it flew by.

The glowing map above the doors and the disembodied voice informed him that the next stop was 'Harrah's/The Quad' - whatever that was. He wasn't going to get off, not here...Frank decided he'd wait until some new people had gotten on. Maybe he'd just ride around, get off at a random stop...yeah, he'd do that. He kicked at the metal pole in front of him and the pink girl shot him a glare which he ignored, hitting the pole hard enough that it hurt his foot.

The doors opened and a slew of people came in, crowding the train and making it impossible for Frank to really look at anyone without another person noticing and probably calling him a creep. He didn't think it was creepy, really...he just liked to observe sometimes. He liked to try to guess about other people - how normal they must be compared his utterly insane excuse for a life.

A couple was sitting across from him, a blonde girl and a brunette guy, and they were talking, smiling, holding hands. Frank furrowed his brow and looked down, clasping his own hands together in his lap. He frowned and shook his head, taking his hands apart hastily. He didn't....they didn't. He and Gerard weren't...they weren't like that. Frank was surprised at the pang of longing that went through him when he looked at the couple, though. He knew better - he'd had relationships which were supposedly like that, and they never, ever ended well. Not well at all.

What he and Gerard had wasn't a....a loving relationship. It was a struggle for power and control - an abuse of power and control. Frank could cope with that. There were no emotions behind what they did. There were no complications beyond physical hurt, which he could deal with. He'd had worse.

And yet....sometimes, Frank looked at Gerard and saw something else. He saw something which totally contradicted what Frank had thought of their relationship before that. He saw affection and a strange softness which made absolutely no sense. Gerard was not affectionate or soft at all, but sometimes Frank would catch the other looking at him with something very much like both of those in his eyes. And Gerard had said he'd cared....he had.

The couple got off at the stop, and Frank paused before standing up and following them out. He was tired of sitting, anyway. He didn't see the other person who followed him out, though.

xoxoxo

Frank walked down the street, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, scuffing his shoes on the sidewalk and wrinkling his nose at the hot summer air blowing over the landscape. May was well underway now, and the desert city was dry and scorching around him.

He headed absently towards a bar, not intending to get drunk or anything...he just wanted a beer, maybe, or even just a soda. Plus, bars were interesting. There were people to see there, too. So he pushed open the heavy door and went inside, ordering a JD and Coke and retreating to a quiet corner where he could sip his drink unobserved.

Despite his attempts, a few girls came up to him while he was there, at least two of them definitely prostitutes. Frank wasn't sure whether to be offended or not - did he really look that easy? One of the girls was actually pretty hot, and Frank had a moment of satisfaction thinking about how angry Gerard would be if he took the girl up on her offer, but he dismissed her before that thought could go much farther. He held a decent conversation with one of the better-looking girls (her name was Anne-Marie and she was visiting from France) until her boyfriend came over and narrowed his eyes at Frank suspiciously.

But the last girl who came up to him was the only really interesting one. She had short, bleached platinum hair and raccoon eyes, and her voice was nervous with a slight stutter when she spoke to him.

"Hi," she said nervously, approaching him but not sitting down on the empty stool beside him like the others. She was wringing her hands and biting her lip a lot.

"Hey," said Frank, looking at her curiously. "What's up?"

"Uh...it's...it's probably nothing? But um. I noticed this guy following you," she said in a rush, eyes huge. "I th-thought you should know."

Frank blinked. "What?"

"There's a guy following you. Uh...it's kind of creepy. He's been watching you in the bar and...I was out on the street earlier, and he was following you there, too."

"What's he look like?"

She scrunched up her face. "Um. He's kind of tall? Black hair, greenish eyes...he's really pale and he's got a leather jacket on. And I think he's a little bit older than you?"

"Gerard," Frank growled under his breath. "Goddammit." Was it really so hard for the other to let him walk around for a little bit? Overprotective bastard.

The girl's face cleared a little. "Oh...do you know him? I...he just left a couple minutes ago, out the back entrance of the bar."

"Yeah, I do. Thanks...?"

"Oh, uh, Gee."

"Gee?"

She flushed. "It's short for Genevieve. Um. And you are?"

"Frank," he said, extending a hand and sliding off his bar stool, shooting furtive glances towards the back door.

She shook his hand and smiled shyly. "Can we...I don't know, meet up again some time?"

Frank gave her an odd look, then sighed and shook his head. "Sorry, ah...I'm not sure that would be the wisest idea."

"Oh," she said, flushing and looking down, disappointed. "Sorry."

"No, it's not...I'm just, you know, taken," Frank said, shrugging helplessly. "I don't think he'd like it very much if we-"

She blinked. "He?"

"Yeah."

"Oh!" she squeaked, and then she smiled. "Well, you know. That's cool. I hope you guys work out."

Frank smiled back unsurely. "Thanks, Gee."

She grinned and bumped his shoulder companionably as he stood up and started to head away. "You're very welcome, Frank."

xoxoxo

Frank peered out the back door of the bar, stepping outside into the side street. A few hours or so must have passed, because the sky was already streaking with the telltale gold of sunset. The shadows were long as he walked down the small avenue, looking for Gerard. He was still sort of pissed that the other thought he had to followed everywhere he went. He could fucking take care of himself, dammit.

He saw a movement out of the corner of his eye and turned towards it....but the source was upon him before he could do anything.

Frank's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

The person pinning him up against the brick wall was most definitely not Gerard Way.

"Billie," he whispered, and the green eyes darkened with anger.

"Finally caught you, little fucker."

Frank squirmed halfheartedly, but for his efforts got an arm shoved up against his throat. He choked and lashed out, but it was like fighting the wall he was smashed up against - useless. "Your fucking friend saved you last time....he's not here now."

Frank whimpered and closed his eyes, waiting for the killing blow, but there was only humorless laughter. He cracked an eye open, and Billie was grinning maniacally. "Aww. I'm not gonna kill you, baby. Not yet. You deserve much, much worse."

Frank managed to find his breath and spat back, "I deserve punishment?! After what you fucking did to me, lying, cheating bitch who raped me and-"

Billie's hand closed around his neck and Frank's sentence was cut off on a garbled sound of panic. "Don't fucking call me that again," he said grimly, and took something out of his pocket. "No, I'm going to take my own sweet time with this. That's the best way to carry out revenge, don't you know? Now, you're going to go quietly, Frankie dear."

"Like hell I am," he snarled, opening his mouth and inhaling deeply to scream.

Before he could make any sound come out, though, a piece of fabric was shoved up against his mouth. He gagged, trying to find some air. The cloth was wet and smelled sickly sweet, a dizzying smell which made his head spin and his knees buckle under him before his head went black.

xoxoxo

Fucking chloroform, was Frank's first thought when he woke up, dazed. He should've fucking guessed Billie would pull something like that.

His next thought was, Well, good, I'm not dead.

His third was, But where the fuck am I?

Frank proceeded to stare up at the alarmingly low ceiling, and then at the hard couch he was collapsed on. He could feel the springs in it, and whenever he moved, it creaked beneath him. He seemed to be in a basement of some sort, and everything else looked bare and made of cement.

The real question was, where was-

A door Frank hadn't noticed opened, and he heard the distinctive click of a lock. He didn't really have to look up to know who it was, but he did anyway.

"Finally decided to wake up, Frank?"

Frank scoffed and rolled away from Billie. "That's a nice way to put it."

"What, the chloroform didn't agree with you?"

"Just get it over with, alright?" Frank was at least glad that he somehow managed to keep his voice steady.

Billie chuckled. "'Fraid not. This is going to be slow and painful."

"What is?" Frank asked, grinning darkly at him. "You can't exactly rape me, or do I need to remind you of that again?"

His head was throbbing the next second as Billie grabbed him by the hair, forcing him to stand and glaring venomously. "You bitch."

"I don't think I'm the bitch here. Ow, motherfucker!" Frank's head was snapped back as Billie punched him in the face, hard. "Drama queen," he muttered, and received another painful blow to the jaw.

"I can do plenty of things to you," he growled, and Frank's heart sank when he took something from his belt and flicked his wrist. It was a knife, a switchblade like the one that Gerard had, and Frank stared at him, edging back on the couch cushions.

"What're you doing with that?" Frank asked unevenly, eyes fixed on the silver blade.

"I think you know," Billie said, leering and tracing the sharp tip against Frank's cheekbone. He flinched back as it cut into his skin, leaving a thin red line behind.

"I guess it's too late to say sorry?" Frank tried.

"Much too late," Billie clarified.

"Good," Frank growled, "because I wasn't going to, anyway. You fucking deserved it. They all fucking deserved it."

Then Billie was on top of him, nails digging into his chest through his shirt and teeth bared. Frank instinctively shrank back in on himself, fleeing to the deepest, darkest part of his mind. That was where he stayed in times like this, because when he wasn't as aware of it, everything hurt less. And when Billie raised the knife again, Frank squeezed his eyes shut and made himself promise not to open them until this was over.

xoxoxo

"This one," Billie said with some sick kind of satisfaction, "is metal."

Frank raised his head warily, curled into a protective ball on the couch. His face was bruised and sore, and the rest of his body wasn't much better. The couch cover scratched uncomfortably against his already irritated bare skin, and when Billie walked up to him with the toy in hand, Frank swallowed a whimper.

"Is this the fifth one?" he asked, trying to sound bored even though he was exhausted and in pain.

"It's the best one," Billie retorted, slapping Frank's ass. He recoiled and spat at him, but was crying out the next second when the fucking bastard shoved the fucking metal dildo inside of him. Frank made a choked sound, half a sob and half an angry curse, kicking out at Billie and biting his lip whenever he shifted and the hard metal stabbed excruciatingly against his insides. Billie snarled right back at him and in answer started moving the metal hard, grinding it agonizingly against his prostate, making Frank scream and bury his face against the couch to hide the tears in his eyes. The fabric smelled rotten, but it was better than what he was experiencing right now.

Then Billie was reaching under Frank's tense body and wrapping around his cock. Frank wasn't turned on by this - some pain was good, but only if it was mixed with pleasure, and there was no pleasure in this. He just wanted to go far, far away and die. He wanted Gerard to hold him and chase the torture away.

But Billie didn't seem to care if Frank was enjoying it or not - why would he, this wasn't sex, this was violation. He just rolled Frank onto his back, the metal dildo still deep in his ass. It felt like a dagger was lodged there, and every movement made it worse. So Frank stayed still, watching Billie with cold, flat eyes as the other fondled him.

"I forgot how pretty you were," Billie said almost wistfully, and Frank's brow lowered. "Shame," he added, and then the knife was in his hand again and he was tracing the blade down Frank's stomach. Frank's eyes widened and he tried to twist free when it became apparent as to where the knife was headed, but Billie only chuckled and dug the blade a bit into his hip. Beads of blood appeared and Frank started sweating, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "You have more scars now," Billie remarked, touching them with his other hand. Frank shivered. "Wonder who gave you those...maybe it was your little cellmate?"

Frank called him something which wasn't very nice at all, and Billie's expression soured as he rested the knife just above Frank's crotch. Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. "This'll teach you to talk back at me," Billie said, raising the knife and bringing it down -

- a phone rang.

Frank went limp with relief when Billie huffed in annoyance and clambered off of Frank, taking his cellphone from his pocket and raising it to his ear. "Yes? Oh, come on, Mike, really? Right now? Can't it....fine. Alright, fine." He hung up and raised an eyebrow at Frank. "Stay right here now, you hear me? I've got to go, but I'll be back soon." He narrowed his eyes. "Don't try anything while I'm gone."

Frank nodded, waiting until Billie had gone out the door and locked it before collapsing and sucking in a breath as he managed to work the stupid piece of metal out of him, throwing it as hard as he possibly could across the room. Blood was drying in small amounts on his hips and stomach, and there was some oozing with slow stickiness from his neck, staining it scarlet.

Frank groaned and hid his head in his hands, the bare curve of his spine feeling much too vulnerable in the dank air of the basement. He couldn't find it in him to care about it, though. He was so fucked already. Maybe he should just get it over with now. He looked around for a possible weapon, maybe the belt from his jeans and a chair if he could find one...then that, at least, wouldn't give Billie the pleasure of finishing him off, right?

Frank stood slowly, painfully, and hobbled over to the corner, where some old junk was stacked. There were some dusty books, what looked like an old-fashioned accordion, and...a bar stool. Frank pulled it away from the wall, and looked up. There was an old light fixture on the ceiling, and he'd probably be able to tie the belt around it, and the other end around his neck. It'd be all to easy to just-

The door opened, and Billie stepped in again. He saw the belt and stool in Frank's hands, and he laughed. "Oh, no you don't, Frankie." He grinned viciously and stepped towards him, knife in hand again. "That's my job."

A gunshot echoed through the room, and Billie stared at his stomach, where red was blooming. He teetered unsteadily and fell, crumpled in front of Frank.

Behind him, Gerard was standing in the open doorway, handgun clutched tightly in his white-knuckled hands, breathing hard. Frank stared at him, still naked and holding the belt, the stool behind him. He dropped it, though, when Gerard tossed him the gun. "Kill that son of a bitch," Gerard said in a low, furious voice, and Frank put his finger on the trigger, nudging Billie onto his back. The other looked up at him dimly, hands holding the wound on his belly. Frank closed his eyes and pulled it, and the second bullet lodged itself firmly into Billie's heart. He went still.

"Jesus Christ," Gerard said after what seemed like a long time, crossing the room, but still standing several feet away from Frank. He was paler than usual, but his face was flushed as though he'd been running. "What the fuck," he added after a few beats, stepping towards Frank, reaching out and then receding. His hand fell back to his side, and when Frank looked hesitantly at him, Gerard's eyes were just sad and worried. There was no anger left in them, and that was what finally persuaded Frank to fall against him, clutching Gerard to him desperately...to make sure that he was real, that Frank wasn't actually dead instead.

"I'm sorry," Frank said, and once he said it, he couldn't stop repeating the phrase, and Gerard pulled away abruptly.

"Why are you apologizing?" Gerard asked, the expression on his face almost pained. "This isn't your fault."

"Yes," Frank started, "I-"

"No," Gerard said firmly. "He raped you. That isn't your fault."

"How can you-"

"You're bleeding," Gerard said quietly, and Frank flushed, looking away, but Gerard caught his face softly in his hands and stroked his thumb across Frank's cheek. "Shh. It's...you're safe now." Gerard exhaled unsteadily. "I thought...I almost didn't find you."

"Gee," Frank said with sudden remembrance.

"Yes," Gerard said, closing his eyes. "The girl from the bar tipped me off that you'd gone in search of a pale man with black hair and green eyes. What she neglected to mention to you was that he had tattoos." When his eyes opened again, his mouth was a hard line. "How could he do this to you?"

In reply, Frank took Gerard's hand and placed it against the scars on his chest. Gerard cringed visibly, and Frank silently pressed his face against Gerard's shirt. "We should go," Gerard said then, turning away and handing Frank his clothes. "That gun doesn't have a silencer." He picked up said gun and started towards the door.

Frank dressed and followed him out, bowing his head.