Frank Iero Must Die {Frerard}

17

In the van, Frank called the person he knew in the archives. The conversation seemed mostly one-sided, and Frank only said things such as, "Okay," and, "I see." When he hung up, he shook his head. "He's a nice guy, but he's afraid to steal those dead assassins' files. They're kept under lock and key, not under his control. He said he could turn a blind eye if we bust in though."

There was a huge discussion over the pros and cons, but we eventually came to the mutual agreement that we had no other choice. As much as we all hated the risk we would have to take, our survival depended on this. It looked like it was going to be breaking and entering, then.

We were all tense. The apprehension for what was to come weighed heavily on our shoulders, and none of us were willing to bring it up once we'd made up our minds. It became a forbidden topic, avoided at all costs for no reason but fear and worry.

Most people have some sort of habit or tell for when they are nervous. For example, Pete wouldn't stop tapping his damn feet, Mikey was humming at a frantic pace, and Frank kept reaching up to readjust the fringe that not longer existed, instead finding empty air and panicking for a second before remembering that he was disguised.

My nervous tell was a little less obvious. My eyes would flit from place to place, and I would smile uncomfortably. I had long ago take. It upon myself to discover my tell so that it wouldn't mess me up in the field. Only someone who knew me very well could spot it, and Mikey was sitting in the front next to his boyfriend, so I was reasonably surprised when Frank spoke. "Gee, we're going to be fine, you know that right?"

I nodded, unconvinced. "Yeah, I know." Frank laughed, sliding his body towards mine and cuddling in to my side, "No you don't. You don't know that, but it's okay, because we're going to give this fucking thing all we've got."

That was the thing about my boyfriend, he could be all cute and happy, but he had his two feet firmly planted on the ground. He knew what was realistic, he saw the world for what it was, and yet he never gave up. Was it wrong that he was all I strived to be?

I was jolted from my tangled thoughts by a pair of lips pressing against mine. I returned the pressure, smiling at Frank as we pulled apart. "What was that for?" I asked teasingly. "Because I can." My boyfriend beamed up at me, tugging a lock of my pale hair, something that it appeared that he loved to do. It could get irritating, but I let it go out of sheer appreciation for the look of childish joy on his face as he played with my hair. So much for emotional detachment.

In all honesty, making the jump from fuck buddies to boyfriends had been the best choice I'd ever made. If not, I would have just kept falling for him more and more, but then again, who couldn't? Well, maybe the people he killed, but that was besides the point.

In the front seat, Pete and Mikey were bickering about one thing or another, and I smiled to myself at the peace and comfort of the moment. I knew that this wouldn't last very long, especially seeing as we were about to dive head first in to a revenge/escape/saving-our-asses plan.

Frank and I passed the time that it took to drive to New York City by exchanging kisses in the backseat and yelling at Mikey and Pete whenever they kissed instead of focusing on the road.

It was strange, really. I almost felt like we were a group of high school friends hanging out, not highly trained assassins (and Mikey) on what was probably a suicide mission. I started to wonder what my life would be like if I'd met these guys in high school, but stopped myself. That was the type of thinking that upset me, and I couldn't afford to be too emotionally unstable at the moment.

When we finally arrived, Pete took us to a small apartment that he owned separate of his job, something that only he knew about. It wasn't the nicest place in the world, but it was a good place to set up our makeshift control centre. Besides, he had weapons.