Frank sat up in bed.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, a steady thumping weight that made his heart rush and his head spin in fear.

Gerard was crouched by the bars like a cat, his eyes wide and curious. Frank searched him for any sign of fear, and, remarkably, found nothing. Despite his tense muscles and predatory position, he seemed, for the most part, relaxed, like a lion against a gazelle: there wasn't a chance that he would get hurt.

He slid the covers off of him as quietly as possible, wishing that the bottom bunk was covered in more shadow this time of day. He felt exposed, vulnerable- he felt weak. And he hated it, he hated it.

It was then that he heard the footsteps on the stone floors, echoing through death row like a loud clock. Counting down all of the moments they had left, shortening their time.

Frank huddled in his bunk, wishing Gerard would step away from the door. And, as if he could read his thoughts, the other did, slinking soundlessly to the small, closed shower. Frank could see the faint glitter of the hazel eye which peeked through the slightly ajar door, and he cursed himself for not getting a good hiding place faster.

Then again, there were plenty of cells. It wasn't like the prisoner would target this one.

And besides. Maybe it wasn't even the escapee. Maybe it was just...

Frank froze as they stopped in front of the cell.

He could see a dim outline through the tightly spaced bars, could just barely make out the face.

But what he saw was enough to make him stumble backward, mouth opening in a silent scream. He heard an almost puzzled shuffling sound from the shower, as though Gerard were trying to see what had panicked him so much. Not that he would understand. The man standing outside looked perfectly ordinary. Perhaps more than averagely attractive and maybe even a little crazy looking, but in a crowd, he would hardly stand out- to anyone but Frank.

The man's eyes fixed on him and he made a sound, a hiss, maybe, or a growl. Frank wasn't sure which. He didn't care- because this man was dead. He should be dead. Why the fuck wasn't he dead?!

And if he wasn't dead, Frank realized with a sense of dread, then he was fucking angry. At him.

But he couldn't get into the cell, he knew that. It gave him confidence and he sat a little taller, even daring to leer back at the man who should be- who must be- dead.

He heard a weird grating sound, the clank of metal, and then, somehow, the narrow door in the front of the cell slid open, revealing the escaped inmate.

Frank's stomach dropped. In his hand was a crowbar, and in the other, a remote control. The one which opened death row and all the doors beyond it. How...?

But all he said was a whispered, "Billie."

Billie hissed again, stepping forward into the cell. Frank didn't know where to look- at the crowbar, at his face, at the floor...or should he just close his eyes?

"You little bitch," said Billie, glaring at him with complete and utter hatred.

"Y-you were dead," Frank said in a quiet way, licking his lips nervously and scooting backwards again. His hands twitched, wanting to hold a weapon, but they found nothing.

"No," he corrected, his voice that low hiss again, "you left me there, bleeding to death. You thought I would die. But oh, no. You needed to try harder than that...but you see, I won't let you, Frankie. Never again...I'm going to take care of you right here, right now...finally, after four years of searching." He raised the crowbar and Frank couldn't help it- he screamed for all he was worth, his body prickling in anticipation of the crowbar piercing the soft flesh of his stomach, the agony that would follow, and then, death.

Instead, he felt a whoosh of wind as something- or someone- moved past him, and then he heard a screech.

He eyes were disbelieving, but his mind knew it was true. And from the shouts from the others who could see the scene, he wasn't going crazy. Or they all were.

Gerard had leaped out of the shower, and, apparently, tackled Billie. Frank thought, in a stunned haze, that he must be either a very good fighter or very stupid to jump on Billie Joe Armstrong while he had a crowbar in his hand.

Billie was the one who had screeched, and Frank watched in awe as Gerard twisted the crowbar out of his hands, pinning him down with that oddly feline grace and staring down at him.

"Don't fuck with Frank because he fucked you up," Gerard said mildly. "It was probably your own fault, anyway. You seem like an annoying motherfucker."

Frank couldn't even breathe. Because. What. Gerard? Actually coming to his aid? Did he have a not-quite-as-evil twin?

Billie twisted and tried to spit at Gerard, who turned his head so that the spit fell back down to Billie's face. Frank actually giggled, he couldn't help it, but he actually fucking giggled. His mind was a little scrambled at the moment, who could blame him?

Suddenly the door to death row opened again, but this time, the footsteps were hurried and accompanied by loud voices and bangs on the cell doors.

The guards reached their cell and stared at the scene inside, before one of them took charge and marched in, hauling Gerard off of their lost inmate without so much as a thank you. Billie was hissing and spitting and Frank decided that he and Gerard both looked like tomcats who had just been fighting- Billie being the angry, shamed loser, and Gerard being the barely ruffled, nonchalant winner.

There was a low hum of sound several guards took a squirming Billie away, and two of the guards surveyed Gerard and Frank's cell to remove the crowbar and remote control, as well as to briefly and rather uncaringly make sure neither of them were hurt.

When all the outsiders had gone, Frank was still curled in a numb half ball on his bunk. So when Gerard stepped forward and touched his knee, he started, looking up with nervous eyes. The arrival of Billie had done something to him...made him wonder if more of them had survived. It made him afraid.

"Frank?" Gerard asked, his voice still cool and composed, not a hint of emotion in his tone. "Don't suppose you'd like to tell me who he was?"

Frank blinked at him. He was at a loss right now. Gerard...confused him. He couldn't react to him with lust like he had to his other inmates. He couldn't hate him because he may have very well just saved his life. And...and he couldn't like him, because that was just...out of the question.

"His name is Billie Joe Armstrong."

"And?"

"And it seems like I could have done a better job of killing him, since it didn't work the first time, apparently."

"Mm," agreed Gerard, and Frank didn't know what to do when he sat down on the mattress next to him. "Yes, I would say he looks rather alive to me. How exactly did you not quite kill him?"

Frank looked down. "That's a secret."

"For now," said Gerard.

And then, ignoring Frank's obvious bewilderment, he climbed the ladder and went up to his bunk.