Frank was actually asleep when Gerard came back, though as soon as the door made its distinctive squeal, he bolted upright, narrowing his eyes at the bedroom door. It opened slowly, and Frank's heartbeat slowed in relief when it was just Gerard, scraping a hand through his ruffled hair wearily. There was something on his arm.

"You're bleeding," Frank informed him, sitting up more completely. The soreness in his body was pretty much gone, and though the bandages were still on, he no longer saw splotches of blood on the white, so they were probably well onto their way to healing. Thank fucking god.

"Not my blood," Gerard said dismissively, taking something from his coat. Frank swallowed when he saw it was a knife, or, well, that knife. His eyes flicked down and away from it, and that was when he spotted the sliver of white sticking out from Gerard's pocket. He furrowed his brow and lunged forward, taking Gerard by surprise as he snatched the paper. "Frank," Gerard said in a long suffering kind of way, holding out a hand. "Give that back."

"5023 West Magnolia Drive? What's that mean?"

"Nothing."

"Well, it obviously means someth-"

"Frank! What do you not understand about 'this doesn't concern you?'"

Frank pouted. "But I-"

"No!"

"Why not, I just-"

"You just can't shut up, can you?!"

"Apparently not," Frank said huffily, crossing his arms and only wincing a little at the pull in his chest muscles. "Why can't you just tell me?"

"It's an address."

Frank glared at him.

"Fine. It's an address in California, and it's where my little brother Mikey is. The government is holding him under house arrest."

"Because they believe he knows something about-"

"Yes. Which he doesn't. So we're going to get him out of there."

"We?" Frank couldn't hide the excitement in his voice.

"Yes," Gerard said through gritted teeth. "Don't make me regret that."

"Oh, I probably will," Frank replied cheerfully, settling back against the pillows again. Then he frowned. "But you didn't know that address before...." Gerard was muttering something about how it was a good thing the government's persuasive tactics weren't like theirs, and then it clicked. "Did you just...'persuade' somebody to give you that?"

"Oh, yes," Gerard said mildly, "though he's dead now."

"What was his na-"

"You know what, Frank?" Gerard interrupted yet again, stalking over to the bed and peering down at him, "I'm going to take you out."

"Out?"

"On a date," Gerard added.

"Really?"

"Yes. But," Gerard said, narrowing his eyes, "there are conditions. One," he held up a long finger, "no talking about what happened this afternoon, what I'm a part of, or this address and Mikey. Two," he held up a second finger, "don't be a wise-ass. Three," his ring finger joined the other two, "no sex, you need to heal if we're going to California."

Frank opened his mouth to protest, but Gerard snapped his fingers and he closed his mouth reluctantly. "Fine," he said grumpily.

Gerard smiled. "Excellent."

xoxoxo

"Sushi?" Frank said, giggling.

"Shut up," Gerard shot back, "it's delicious. And classy."

"If you say so," he said, trying to read the menu and understanding pretty much none of it. "What the hell is...gyoza? That sounds like a disease."

Gerard wrinkled his nose. "You are so uncultured. Good lord. Gyoza are dumplings. They're very good, let's get some." He marked it down on the list which had spaces next to each item to mark them. "I'm getting the dragon and Las Vegas rolls...and a cucumber sunomono. What do you want?"

"Gerard, I've never even had sushi before, I don't know!"

Gerard made a big show of setting the menu down and leaning across the table with exaggerated slowness. "You what?"

"I haven't had it before," Frank muttered. "What do you expect, Gerard? I went to prison when I was 21."

Gerard looked truly sorry for him. "We're also getting edamame and miso soup...and calamari! And you're getting California rolls. Here's the drink menu," he pushed it across the table.

Frank looked at it, his head spinning. "Uh, Gerard," he started uncertainly, "these are all really expensive."

Gerard raised an eyebrow. "Sushi tends to be expensive, yes. Your point?"

"You can't pay for all of this!"

"Yes, I can."

"But-"

"My treat, Frank," Gerard said, nonplussed, pointing at something on the drinks menu. "How about the kiwi one?"

Frank bit his lip. "That's the most expensive one on there-"

"And therefore probably the best. Do you want it, or not? I'm getting champagne myself...I think the Moet Nectar Imperial Rose looks quite good."

"Okay," Frank said slowly, "I'll get the kiwi one."

Gerard didn't react except to check it on the little paper menu. This place really was weirdly fancy, with a bar that had a fish tank built into it, one of the big fish staring at Frank with bulbous eyes. The people around them were all drinking and exchanging polite small talk, their hair coiffed, the women with perfectly applied make-up and the men with cleanly shaved faces. Frank felt out of place with his hair and the tattoos spilling from his sleeves and collar. Gerard, though, was entirely at ease. He just had jeans, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket on, but when the waist-coated waitress came to collect their order, he smiled at her and told her the drinks that they wanted, his face completely blank and composed. Nobody, thought Frank, would have guessed that he'd killed a man earlier today.

Frank realized too late that he'd been staring, and as the dark-haired waitress walked away, Gerard looked at him questioningly. "Something on my face?"

"No," Frank said hastily, ducking his head and staring fixedly at the Formica tabletop. There was a small dent in the surface, and he wondered how it'd been caused.

Gerard's hand moved, and for a second Frank thought he might reach across and hold his hand or something, but then again, this was Gerard and Frank should've known better. His hand fell back down and he just chuckled instead.

The silence was stifling to Frank, and then Gerard said something which took him by surprise.

"So you like the Smashing Pumpkins?"

Frank blinked and looked up, searching for a snide smile or some other sign to point to faked interest, but there was none. Good. If Gerard dissed his musical tastes, then they were going to have serious issues (not that they didn't already). So he replied cautiously, "Yeah." He wanted to ask how Gerard had known, but then remember Greta and him talking about it on the plane.

Gerard hummed. "Favorite album?"

"Mellon Collie & the Infinite Sadness."

Gerard nodded thoughtfully. "That one was good, but I like their second album, Siamese Dream. It's more...I don't know. Favorite song?"

Frank mock-groaned at him. "You're making me choose? Ugh. I guess...Bullet with Butterfly Wings?"

Gerard looked surprised. "Really? Huh. I thought...well, my favorite is probably Today."

"You would like the ironic, sarcastic song about suicide."

Gerard huffed out a laugh. "Yes, I guess so."

Frank was quiet.

"I'm assuming you're also a fan of Jawbreaker?"

Frank was confused. "What-"

"Jinx Removing."

"Oh," he breathed, touching the ink on his neck. "Right. Yeah, one of my favorite songs."

"It is a good song," Gerard said vaguely, staring off into space. Frank wondered what he was thinking about. Then he asked, "What's the scorpion for?" gesturing to the other side of Frank's neck.

"I'm a Scorpio," Frank said, nodding and chewing his lip. "Born on Halloween."

Gerard grinned. "Explains why you're so terrifying." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Frank stuck his tongue out at him.

"April 9th," Gerard offered, "I'm an Aries."

Frank snickered. "Explains the power complex."

Gerard appeared thoughtful. "You know, that's true. Aren't they supposed to be quick to anger and powerful?"

Frank giggled. "Scorpios are supposed to have a great sex drive."

"That's interesting," Gerard said, eyes glittering.

"Ah, gentlemen, your drinks," the waitress said, setting down a neon green margarita with kiwi slices in it for Frank and an elegant glass of gold wine for Gerard. "And here's the calamari and cucumber sunomono, as well as the edamame. The gyoza will be out shortly, and then your sushi. Enjoy!" She hurried away.

Frank looked doubtfully at his drink. "This looks radioactive."

Gerard sipped his champagne and raised an eyebrow. "Try it."

Frank eyed it for a few more seconds before relenting and raising the glass to his lips. It was startlingly cold, and...really good. There was a sharp, tart aftertaste, but the rest was sweet. He blinked and took another drink. "This is actually...huh."

"Good?"

Frank nodded. Gerard smirked. "Told you. Now," he said, picking up his chopsticks (pretty carved ones, not the cheap wooden ones from Chinese fast food places), "this is how you use these properly...."

xoxoxo

The night passed with surprising ease. Gerard had to force feed Frank the calamari because once Gerard told him it was squid, he wouldn't go near it (though it was actually amazing). He nibbled at the gyoza and eventually just ate the whole thing, and wow, that was even better than the calamari. The edamame came in weird little pods which felt leathery and were dusted in salt, though Frank didn't know why because they weren't eating the pod.

The only thing he didn't like was the cucumber sunomono, which Gerard let him try. It was slimy and cold and he just thought it was gross. He told Gerard this, and the other replied by primly saying Frank had bad taste. Frank pointed out that he was dating Gerard, and the other said teasingly, "Well then thank god I'm not a cucumber."

The sushi was, in one word, weird. But not bad. The dragon rolls were probably his favorite (which Gerard wasn't too happy about because they were his favorite, too, and Frank was eating them all), because of the avocado they were wrapped in. He didn't even know what was inside of them, but it tasted really damn good so he didn't care. The Las Vegas rolls were fried and had cream cheese and lox in them, but they made Frank feel fat after a while. The California rolls were simple sushi, but Frank liked them, again, because of the avocado in them, and also because they had this little roll of what Gerard told him was fake crab. He didn't know how to react to that, but again - it tasted good, so he didn't really care.

He ended up getting three refills of the kiwi margarita, and by the time Gerard handed the smiley waitress the check with his credit card (who knew, Gerard had a credit card), Frank was pretty fucking drunk. Gerard got his card back and rolled his eyes when Frank didn't hear him at first.

"Frank, time to go."

"'M tired," Frank slurred, standing unsteadily. "But like, not? At the same time. You're really fucking pretty, G'rard," he mumbled, slumping against him.

"You are definitely drunk," Gerard muttered, patting his shoulder. "Just a fair warning, you're gonna need a lot of orange juice and water tomorrow."

"Juice? I like juice," Frank said. Gerard sighed and held the door open for him. Frank felt kind of dizzy and confused, but at the same time his eyes kept going back to Gerard's mouth. He had a really nice mouth. Frank wanted to kiss it. "Juice," he hummed, "is fucking delicious."

"C'mon," Gerard huffed, dragging him along. "The apartment's only a few blocks away."

Frank plodded along for three of the blocks, and then started clinging to Gerard, who shot him a sideways glance but didn't stop him. Frank was happy! Gerard was pretty, and warm, and Gerard was right here! That was good, he thought sleepily. Yes. Yes, yes, yes.

They were standing in front of the apartment building when Frank grabbed Gerard's wrist. Gerard's brow lowered and he stared at Frank's fingers wrapped around his wrist. "What?"

"I wanna...wanna kiss you," Frank said dazedly, unable to stop looking at Gerard's mouth. "Please? I wanna..." He rose up on his tip toes, blinking and then closing his eyes, leaning in.

Gerard rolled his eyes and said, "Frank, c'mon, we need to go inside. Frank...mmph!"

Frank was kissing Gerard, mumbling a content, "Yeah," as he did. He started threading his fingers into Gerard's hair, and Gerard made an annoyed noise, trying to push him away. Frank was like a leech, though, smacking his mouth happily and pushing his tongue against Gerard's. "Fucking delicious," he whispered.

"Thanks," Gerard said dryly, shoving him away and shaking his head. Frank was hurt. Gerard didn't want to kiss him? "Sadly, I can't say the same for you right now," he huffed, "you taste like alcohol."

Frank wanted to say, "And why do you think that is, huh?" but his voice had stopped working and his throat felt all weird and choked up. Gerard grabbed his arm and led him into the building and up the stairs, into the small, cluttered apartment. Gerard's fucking fingernails were going to leave dents in his arm, dammit. He struggled as an afterthought, but Gerard just threw him down onto the bed. Frank paused, waiting to see what he might do with Frank sprawled out, basically helpless, on the sheets, but Gerard only raked his gaze over him once before shaking his head and turning away. "Get some sleep," he murmured, and that was all it took before Frank was out, eyes sliding shut and Gerard's shadow casting over the bed, the moon at his back.

xoxoxo

Frank was shaken awake an hour later, and he blinked furiously, his head still dizzy but not yet full of splitting pain which would surely come in the morning. Gerard's pale face entered his vision, looking somber.

"Whassup?" he mumbled, throwing an arm out.

"You need to see this," Gerard said, hauling Frank to his feet. Frank grumbled and went not at all quietly, following Gerard to the tiny living room, where Gerard pointed to the TV, which was on. There was a blonde reporter on the screen, but what caught Frank's attention was the picture in the upper left corner.

"Convict Billie Joe Armstrong escaped from the supermax Red Onion Prison in Virginia, which is not far from Richmond. Alerts have been issued, and so far there is no evidence that he made it to the city. It is believed that several other inmates escaped with him, and Red Onion is being forced to undergo rigoruous security procedures. The inmates in this supermax prison are, as Dr. Brendon Urie says, "the worst of the worst." In other breaking news...

Frank drew in a breath. "Well," he said quietly. "That's not good."

"No," Gerard agreed, sitting down on the couch and tipping his head back to look up at Frank. "It's not, especially since Mr. Armstrong seems to have a vendetta for you."

Frank swallowed and hung his head. "With good reason." The glow of drunkenness was fading, and the headache was beginning to set it.

Gerard, for once, didn't press as to what reason that was, and said instead, "So, we should go to California as soon as possible then."

Frank didn't reply.

"Two days from now sound good?" Frank nodded, swiping a hand across his eyes. He was tearing up, and he wasn't really sure why. Gerard was looking at him, pausing. "Frank?"

Frank bit his lip and turned away, going to the bedroom. He heard a scuffle like maybe Gerard had started to get up, but then a thump as he plopped down again, saying something under his breath.

Frank collapsed onto the bed, and then, irritated at how his shirt bunched up against the bandages, took that off, curling up in the mess of sheets, falling asleep to the musky smell of Gerard and the sickly sweet tang of alcohol.