Current location:	Bedbedbedbedbeddd...
Current mood:	awake
Current music:	Let Me Take You There - Plain White T's
Entry tags:	fic:bandom, pairing:gerard/frank, type:slash

Just A Formality
consider yourself disclaimed.

GERARD/FRANK. NC-17. SPACE AU.
15 667 WORDS.
FOR anon_lovefest (kind of not really).
EDITED DEC 9 2008.

Frank loves his job. No, really, he does. He doesn't remember how, exactly, he got the job - something to do with Bob's hatred of cameras and frantic running and stowing away on board a 'cruiser, or maybe just filling out a job application, because really, he doesn't remember - but he loves it. He never thought he'd see space, and now, every window he passes looks out into it. And his job loves him, too, which is a big plus.

Well, to be honest, he has two jobs. He loves both, and one loves him back. He wishes both did, but hey. He can deal.

Job number one, the one he's pretty sure he filled out the application for, is bartending. He's the eleven-pm-to-five-am shift at Shooting Star, the one and only satellite club in the galaxy. Someone is trying to set up another one a couple of solar systems over, Gabe Saptora being the most likely bet as it's rumoured to be called The Cobra's Lair, but it will never be as popular as Star.

Star's trendy, and that's really the only word for her. Her crew, consisting of a captain, a doctor, a navigator, a cook, four bartenders, two cleaners, a bouncer and a come-and-go supplier, have private quarters on the top deck, along with a kitchen and television room and captain's lookout and navigator's office.

But the bottom deck - whoo. Completely glass. Seriously. Well, not completely. Glass walls and floors, but opaque bathrooms (thank god). The glass can be coloured with whatever colour the bartender feels like, or can be completely clear.

Frank loves his job. And he loves Star. He loves the crew, from bouncy Brendon Urie, the supplier, who likes to fly loops around the station, cackling maniacally the whole time, to bouncy Pete Wentz, captain of the station, who likes to fly loops around planets, cackling maniacally the whole time, and everyone in between:

            Dr. Travie McCoy (no Star Trek references, please),

            Patrick Stump (the navigator with a network of space spies who tell him where all the coolest stuff to orbit is),

            Bill Beckett (the skinny cook you can trust),

            Bob Bryar (five-to-eleven-am shift, stowaway buddy),

            Jon Walker (eleven-am-to-five-pm shift and god of flip-flops),

            Victoria Asher ("don't call me that!", five-to-eleven-pm shift),

            Andy Hurley (who only uses environmentally friendly cleaning products, even though they're in space),

            Spencer Smith (who mysteriously disappears unless it's Jon's shift) and

            Ray Toro (bouncer extraordinaire - seriously, no messing around, he works out and he's teaching Frank ninja moves in his spare time).

And the crew love Frank just as much as he loves them.

Frank tends to sleep the day away and get up around the time Vicky-T's starting her shift. If she's in a good mood, she makes coffee and leaves it on the counter, ready to jumpstart Frank's brain. Technically, there's no day and night in space, because it's  possible to be sunside of a planet through Frank's whole shift, but all the clocks are programmed to Earth time - England time, to be precise, zero ground at the Greenwich Meridian.

So, he gets up around five pm, drinks coffee, then bums around for six hours until his shift starts. Bumming around includes breaking into Bob's room and jumping on him as he sleeps, then escaping and chasing down Bill. Bill usually greets him with a friendly grope, serves up spaghetti and meatballs or something, then goes back to making out with Travie. When Frank's done with his food, it's about six-thirty, and time for the Simpsons with Jon. Jon predictably falls asleep on Spencer's shoulder just as the crisis is averted in Springfield.

After the Simpsons, Frank goes off to find something to do. Ray's fun to hang out with. His hair scares all the patrons into behaving. Brendon shows up around nine, dragging Ryan Ross, without whom Brendon would never bring the right order, behind him. Those two skip off to find Jon and Spencer - the four of them are way hot when they're together, Frank's walked in on them a couple of times - and Frank goes to take a shower and grab a last bite to eat before his shift starts.

That's when the fun really begins. They're at a new destination every shift courtesy of Pete's hyperdrive that he persuaded Travie to bring with him from his Lieutenant Commander days (please, no Trekkie references), so there's a new crowd coming it at every changeover. Vicky-T fills him in on their new location as he arrives and she leaves, then Frank slides behind the bar and settles in for the night. Day. Shift.

Today - tonight - this shift they're orbiting Mercury, and Frank appreciates the Moon-like silver of its cratered surface before fiddling with the colour of the glass. Purple, he decides, purple is cool. Dark purple. Mercury suddenly looks like a purple marble, and Frank grins, checks on the sun-filter - they're really close to the Sun on this side of Mercury - and then turns to face his first customers.

Ray's letting in the first wave. They're typical spaceheads. Vicky-T's shift is almost always the suave, rich crowd, travelling to Star in their own private star-cruisers, but that kind of clientele usually clears out by the time Frank comes into work. Frank loves his crowd. They're fun. They like the music he chooses, they don't order anything complicated and they'd rather dance and laugh the night - day - shift away than cause drug-related trouble.

The first wave are settled with their drinks at the round glass tables near the windows, checking out the Caloris Basin, not quite up to dancing yet, and Frank's flipping through the music when his second job arrives.

This is the job that he's not quite sure how he got. It could have gone like this: stowing away with Bob on an awesomely sleek black cruiser, stumbling into the world of space adventuring and running from the authorities and falling in love with a dashing Captain who refuses to tear Frank away from his life completely and picks him up once in a blue moon to go off on a galactic jaunt before dropping him back to Star to continue his bartending ways.

It's a job because it's hard work, staying in love with Gerard when he only sees him maybe - maybe - once a year. And Gerard doesn't even know Frank's in love with him. Frank's pretty sure Gerard's little brother Mikey - who's his co-pilot, co-adventurer, co-everything - knows, but Gerard doesn't. He just thinks Frank likes the adventure, likes the money he gets from tagging along and hauling contraband across the galaxies from one shady customer to another.

Frank decides, as he watches Gerard slip past Ray's deliberately-averted-eye - Gerard's wanted in every galaxy, there's a huge price on his head, but rest of the crew of Star love him almost as much as Frank does - that Gerard is like Malcolm Reynolds without the flash. Gerard's got flash, but it's adorable flash, not smartarse flash. He's also badass when coming into contact with his enemies, just like Mal, earning him a reputation, but is really soft and kind when you get to know him.

That makes Mikey Zoe. Mikey is so Zoe that it's not funny. He's completely talented at staying straight-faced and droll even faced with the best joke ever. However, he loves his wife Alicia so, so much - just like Zoe loves Wash - that it's truly heart-wrenching every time Alicia has to go undercover. Alicia is Gerard's spy among the enemy's ranks. Her loyalty sometimes comes into question. Mikey fell in love with her anyway.

Frank has a hard time deciding whether he's Simon - come on, total UST there - or Inara. He's actually more like Kaylee, except for the whole 'Captain being putty in his hands' thing. If Gerard truly was putty in his hands, he'd have let Frank become a permanent fixture in his crew already.

Gerard slides into a seat at the bar. He's wearing his black trench coat and his hair looks almost windswept, framing his beautiful black-lined eyes and pale, pale skin. Frank tries very, very hard not to melt. God, how is it not completely obvious to Gerard how in love with him Frank is?

"Mineral water," he orders, not even looking at Frank. He's checking out the Weird Terrain instead, his gaze fixed out the window.
Frank knows Gerard gave up drinking a long time ago. It was actually during one of Frank's jaunts with him on board Gerard's ship, the Romance. Gerard had woken up one morning, not remembering anything from the previous week except that Bert McCracken - the leader of Gerard's enemies - had featured heavily. Even Mikey had been at a loss to explain where Gerard's week had been spent. After that, no more alcohol and thus, no more missing weeks.

Frank obediently serves it up, in the glass he keeps just for Gerard in a little lock box underneath the bar. Saving a particular glass for him and keeping it in the box with Frank having the only key ensures that no one can tamper with it and poison the wanted Captain. McCracken's spies are everywhere, like Patrick's, but more sinister and paid by the galactic government and on the lookout for 'bad' behaviour rather than cool spacey sights.

Gerard sips the water, finally turning to face Frank. He leans against the glass counter, smiles that gorgeous rogueish smile of his and Frank almost, almost melts again, but gives a blinding grin in return. "Ten months, man, ten months. Too long," he says.

The Captain's sweet voice is like music to Frank's ears, the Jersey accent familiar and loved. It gave him shivers to think that he and Gerard might have grown up on the same satellite, the Space New Jersey. Or perhaps Gerard had grown up in real New Jersey, on Earth. Frank had never even been to Earth. Gerard seems eccentric enough, Frank thinks, to have been born there. "We've been out the other side of the universe. Only just got back."

"Oh?" is the only reply Frank can give, because Gerard's tongue sweeps out and licks his lips, a completely innocent gesture, just moistening, but in Frank's mind, it's totally not innocent. That's right there, the tongue, is fuel for the next month of jerking off fantasies. He doesn't even wonder why Gerard still isn't meeting his eyes.

"Yeah," Gerard shrugs. He's speaking quietly enough that none of the other patrons at the bar can hear him. With the way Gerard's hair is falling over his face, it probably just looks like Frank's counselling another heartbroken guy searching for his girlfriend at the bottom of a glass. "Joe got lost; we had to tow him back to New Athens for repairs. Took forever."

"I'll say," Frank says. "What's up?" he asks, but Gerard shakes his head, tracing a pattern on the bar top.

"Not here," he says, even softer. "I'll meet you later, in your room." He knows where Frank's room is, knows the window and how to get in through it without letting all the oxygen out, because Frank had pointed it out and showed him the tricks. That had been back when Frank had had hope that Gerard would one day love him back, and use the tricks to sneak into Frank's room for a sexy rendezvous; so, a long time ago.

"'Kay," Frank smiles at him. "Where's Mikey?"

A flash of some unspoken hurt crosses Gerard's face. He lifts his eyes to Frank's. The usually sparkling hazel is despairingly dull. "Later," he says again, and then disappears into the crowd of the second wave that's descending on Frank's bar, his mineral water barely touched.

Mikey. Something's wrong with Mikey. A knot forms in Frank's chest, twists, leaves him breathless and worried beyond any worry he's ever felt before. Not Mikey. He takes a moment to repair his outer shell, plastering a friendly smile on his face, then turns to serve the new patrons. Mikeymikeymikeymikey, is all that's in his head.

The knot twists regularly every few minutes as he recalls Mikey adjusting his glasses, Mikey smiling at Alicia, Mikey staring Frank down into confession after a particularly good prank, Mikey tending to yet another injury in the Romance's sparsely-stocked infirmary. Mikeymikeymikeymikey.

He comes off his shift at five, barely speaking to Bob. The blond bartender senses something's wrong.

He catches Frank by the arm as the smaller man is heading out, and lifts Frank's chin so their eyes meet. "What is it?" he asks gently.

"Something's happened to Mikey," Frank whispers. He has to go. Bob knows Mikey either from the time he and Frank stowed away on the Romance, or from the time Mikey was on the brink of death after a bad skirmish with McCracken's people and Bob had rustled him up a fake ident card to get him admitted to a proper hospital.

Bob blanches. "What?"

"I don't know," Frank says, distressed. "Gerard's in my room. I have to go," he says.

Bob lets go of his arm. "Let me know," he calls as Frank tears up the steps to the top deck. Frank waves over his shoulder to acknowledge that he heard, then goes through the door marked 'Crew Only' at the top of the stairs and proceeds to bump into half the rest of the fucking crew on his way to his room. They all want to know what the matter is. Frank resorts to saying 'Mikey' and pushing past, even past Travie, who's completely strong enough and freakishly tall enough to stop him.

Frank swipes his hand over the lockpad and his door opens. He almost falls inside. The door slides shut. His room is dark - they've progressed to the dark side of Mercury, away from the sun, perfect for sleeping - except Frank doesn't want to sleep. Frank's room isn't small, but it's not big, either, he thinks as he sweeps his gaze over the bed, the desk, the bookcase, the cabinets, the table -

Gerard is sitting at the small table against the window. His eyes are closed, and he looks so tired as he leans against the glass. His hands are clenched in his lap, the only outward sign of tension.

"Gee?" Frank says, alerting the Captain to his presence.

Gerard's eyes flicker open. Frank sees a tear glimmering in one of them. He rushes to Gerard, who stands as Frank gets closer, and hugs him tightly. Gerard buries his face in Frank's neck, his breathing uneven, gasping, almost, and squeezes Frank just as tightly back. Frank strokes his hair, running his fingers through the long black strands. That sort of touch sends Gerard to sleep; Frank should know. They'd had some long, boring trips from one client to the next, spent sprawled together on the Romance's lounge watching old movies.

"What happened?" he eventually says. Gerard smells horrible, to be honest, like he hasn't showered in a month - probably hasn't, Frank thinks, knowing how low the Romance's water supply gets on long runs - but Frank really couldn't care less. He's got Gerard in his arms, even though it's just a friend's hug, and there's things more important than showers right now. Like Mikey. Mikeymikeymikey.

"Allman," Gerard spits, pulling away from Frank and flopping back down into the chair. He drops his head to his hands and is the very picture of moroseness.

"Your mechanic?" says Frank, thinking of the blond Gerard had only just hired the last time he'd dropped Frank off on the Star.

"Yeah." Gerard laughs bitterly. "He's in McCracken's inner circle. How could I not know that?"

"Oh, god," Frank breathes, taking a seat on the other side of the table.

"Alicia comes back on board a few days ago for the first time since I hired the fucker," Gerard recounts, "and Mikey drags her into the bedroom before she sees him. They don't come out for ages, and I'm completely fine with that. We dock at New Sydney, and everything's still fine."

New Sydney was the closest satellite city to Star's current location, Frank remembered. Gerard must have seen Star come in to orbit and decided to pick up Frank to help rescue Mikey.

"The second Allman sees Alicia," Gerard continues, "he lunges for his gun and she for hers. They have a stand-off, me completely unaware, off in my cabin, and it's only when the first shot goes off that I come running. Mikey comes in, too, and I see him across the walkway - closer to Allman than Alicia or me. Allman sees him too, grabs him and threatens to shoot him unless we let him off the ship."

"You had to," Frank says. "You had to. You couldn't take the chance Allman wouldn't do it."

"I know," Gerard says, and scrubs his face. "So I hit the switch, the door opens, Allman escapes and drags Mikey with him. Alicia goes after them, and so do I, but Allman shoots at us again and we have to stop following. Alicia disappears as soon as Allman's out of sight, and I haven't seen any of them since. That was yesterday."

Frank takes one of Gerard's hands in his. Gerard doesn't pull away, and Frank squeezes his fingers comfortingly. He can't believe he's being so calm about this. Inside, his mind is raging with anger at Quinn, who he'd actually liked for all of the two seconds he'd known him for. Outside, he's like the Sea of Serenity. "So what are we going to do?"

"I have to go to McCracken," Gerard says. "I have to get Mikey." He pauses for a moment, then goes on to say, "and you're the only one I trust to have my back."

"Of course I'll go with you," Frank scoffs. "As if you could leave me behind."

Gerard smiles at him, the brilliance of it dimmed somewhat with Mikey in such danger. "You're the best friend I've got, Frank. I'm so glad we met."

"Me too," Frank says honestly, though 'best friend' is unbelievably restricting. He can live with being Gerard's best friend, though, he so can. Some Gerard is better than none. He's not selfish, like Pete, who literally kidnapped Patrick from New Chicago and foiled all of Patrick's escape attempts with the lure of new musical instruments to play with until Patrick would never even think of leaving Star, leaving Pete. He's not like that. Frank's happy with just being near Gerard. "So where are we going?" he asks.

"The Reprise," Gerard informs him. "That's where we'll find McCracken's leeches. If Allman's not there, they'll give up the fucker's location."

"I have to go tell Pete. He'll get Spencer to cover my shifts, as always, though Jon's not going to be happy about it, because it'll put him and Spencer on opposite shifts, and he hates that, but it'll all be good, and you can have a shower while I'm gone, if you want, and I'll be right back, okay?" Frank says quickly, his mind still going a mile a minute. Gerard smiles, used to Frank's motormouth. He stands from the little table and heads off to Frank's little bathroom.

"Thanks," he says, some of the darkness in his expression lifting.

"It's no problem," Frank tells him. He wishes he could be the one washing the dirt and smell off Gerard, then shakes himself and thinks - where is Pete at midnight?

Patrick's office, of course. Frank knocks on the door cautiously.

"One moment!" Patrick squeaks. Frank hears a muffled laugh, a gasp, a moan that sounds suspiciously orgasmic, and then Pete's voice murmuring softly.

Star's navigator opens the door, his hat perched crookedly on his head and his eyes half-lidded. Patrick's got a satisfied, sleepy smile on his face. "Yes, Frank?"

"I need to talk to Pete," Frank says.

Patrick glances over his shoulder. "Pete's a little tied up right now."

Frank suppresses his grin. "I bet," he says cheekily. Patrick merely smiles. "I need some time off."

"Do you know how long?" Patrick asks.

"No," Frank shakes his head. "It's sort of an emergency."

Understanding dawns on Patrick's face as he realises that Frank means a Gerard-related emergency. "Ah. Well, all right. I'll get Pete to organise Spencer to cover your shifts until you get back. You realise Jon's not going to be happy about this?"

"Yeah," Frank says. "Tell him I owe him. I have to go, like, now, though."

"Go," Patrick shooes him. "And see if you can actually get into bed with him this time!" he calls after Frank as the tattooed bartender speeds down the corridor, back to his room.

Frank flips him off over his shoulder, and keeps going. He hears Patrick laugh and shut his office door.

He gets back to his room and starts to pack up some clothes and other necessities he'll need. He doesn't know how long he'll be gone - a month, at least, and he's going to owe Jon awesomely hugely - so he throws in all of his underwear, just in case. Laundry comes way down the list of water use when supplies are running low. He's just debating books when his bathroom door opens and Gerard comes out.

"Do you have a spare pair of pants?" he asks Frank, who is momentarily distracted by Gerard's glistening chest. He follows a particular drop on its path from Gerard's collarbone, down past the dusky nipples, somuchpaleskin!, the lightly defined chest, the almost flat stomach - food is also something they sometimes run low on, on the Romance - disappearing into Frank's towel. "Frank?"

"Yeah," Frank says, and chucks him a pair of black pants Ray bought him for his last birthday that were too big. They should fit Gerard perfectly.

Gerard smiles at him a little strangely, then goes back into the bathroom.

Frank has to sit down for a moment. Sitting on the bed reminds him to pack his thick blanket, black with large silver stars, because sometimes the heater on the Romance breaks, and the temperature can drop low, low, low into the twenties. It wouldn't be so bad if he and Gerard could share body heat, he thinks, then leaves the fantasy hanging because now really isn't the time.

Stuffing the blanket into his bulging pack along with the Harry Potter series - now in one electronic volume for your convenience! - and the book version of The Nightmare Before Christmas, Frank decides he's ready and sits on the bed again to wait for Gerard.

The Captain comes out of the bathroom again, this time, sadly, fully dressed, running his fingers through his now-clean-and-shiny shoulder-length black hair.

"Ready to go?" he asks, apparently having forgotten how blatantly Frank had checked him out.

"Sure," says Frank, jumping up.

Gerard jerks his head, gesturing for Frank to follow him, which the bartender does. The laundry chute is comfortably wide, and the laundry is conveniently right above the 'cruiser bay.

Frank spots the Romance instantly. It's the black, battered Phoenix 200 tucked away in the corner. The Phoenix manufacturer had long since gone out of business, but even when it was still in business, it had gotten up to the 1500 model, so the 200 is way behind the times. Frank loves it. It's so Gerard. There's a phoenix on the port side, the brand label, and Gerard had painted flames around its feet after he'd kicked his alcoholism, telling Frank and Mikey and Alicia it was because he felt like he'd risen from the ashes.

She's not a big ship. Gerard doesn't need a big ship, Frank thinks. It's the inside of it, though, that's always surprised him. They cross the 'cruiser bay and board the Romance, and this is where Frank's supposed to be. He knows it. He always knows it. Every time he steps on board it's like coming home. He feels the light brush of the ship's air-con, and it feels like a welcome-back-nice-to-see-you-missed-you-so-much - all the things Gerard would never say, his ship does.

The cargo bay is large, taking up most of the ship. There's also a kitchen-slash-dining-room, five bedrooms that are little more than closets, a nice bathroom, a rec room, the engine room and the cockpit. Frank dumps his bag in the room that has his name on the sign out the front, climbs the ladder back up to the deck and wanders for a little bit as Gerard fires the Romance up and gets ready for launch. It seems so much bigger without Mikey around, even though the First Mate never took up all that much room. Mikey had presence, like Gerard does. No, has. Has presence.

Frank traces the sign that read 'Mikey's Room' in childlike letters - he always wondered why his and Gerard's signs were so much older than the ones for Frank and Alicia - and then made his way to the cockpit.

"Ready for launch?" Gerard says. Frank nods, takes Mikey's seat reluctantly, and sets about flipping switches just like Mikey had showed him his third time on the Romance. It was accepted that Frank, when he was on board, was like the Second Mate. When Mikey had been in hospital, Frank had sat in this seat, just like now. When he'd been in hospital, though, at least they'd known where he was. Right now they had no idea.

Frank presses the comm. button that opens a link with Pete's headset. "Open bay doors."

"Two seconds," says Pete.

"Pete," Frank says, and that's all that's needed. He hears a scuffling on the other side of the line, a quiet snap - restraints being undone?, he wonders - and then the bay doors slide open. Gerard fires up the engine. The Romance lifts into the air and shoots out, out into space, away from Star and Frank's comfortable routine life, towards his exciting space pirate life and towards Mikey.

"We're coming, little brother," Gerard murmurs, his gaze fixed on some far-off point.

"Just hang on," Frank adds. 

part two