ladyfoxxx | Fic: James Cameron Got It Wrong (5/6)

Master Post | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

***

The way the rumble of the Trans Am's engine makes the seat vibrate under Frank's ass is getting to be a familiar sensation. He's not riding shotgun this time though, Mikey is. Gerard's driving and Frank and Ray are in the back seat. They're flying down an unfinished road, zeroing in on coordinates Mikey got from a guy who got it from a guy who got it from another guy. Because even in the future, Mikey still knows everyone.

No one's talking in the car, so it's just engine noise and static from the radio. It's making Frank edgy. He keeps twitching and shifting in his seat, in complete juxtaposition to the other guys who are inhumanly still. Finally, he can't stand the silence anymore, asking the first vaguely neutral question he can think of.

"When's the last time you saw him?" He doesn't even need to say Brian's name, everyone knows that's who he means.

The silence drags on a little longer while the other three wait it out to see who'll answer first. Gerard loses the game, which is no surprise; he needs to talk like he needs air. "2008 is when he stopped managing us."

"Because?" Frank presses, he can't help himself. He can't see Gerard's face but his hands on the steering wheel are in Frank's field of vision. He's gripping it so hard his knuckles are white.

"Change of career path. Decided he wanted to be a stuntman."

"You're shitting me."

Gerard glances over his shoulder at Frank through a flying tangle of red hair. "No."

"So what, he closed down Riot Squad?" Frank can't imagine Brian shutting down his company. It's his baby.

"Yeah." Gerard confirms, and his tone makes it clear he doesn't want more questions.

"Not like he had much of a choice." Mikey says, his tone unreadable.

Frank bites his lip to keep from asking more questions, even though he's so fucking curious now. He slumps back in the seat, his mind still spinning over the possibilities, trying to fit the pieces together and coming up short.

He knows there's more to it. The way the guys are acting, something went down, something ugly. Something Frank probably doesn't want to know about, not if he wants to be able to go back to 2005 and pick it up whatever threads he can of his old life. It's hard though, knowing this. It shakes his world up even more than Bob leaving, because at least that was amicable. Brian is - was? - their friend.

Frank presses down his anger and confusion. Things change. He doesn't know - and for once he doesn't want to know - the details.

When they arrive at the coordinates Mikey's got scrawled across the back of a BL flyer, there's nothing there but a derelict-looking shack, half-rotted weatherboards slanting with age and a slash of red paint on the door. Gerard eases the Trans Am to a standstill and turns his gaze on Mikey, who just shrugs. "I never said they were gonna be the right coordinates."

Gerard rolls his eyes but puts on the parking brake, because of course they're going to investigate.

"It could be a trap," Ray points out, and rightly so. Frank doesn't want to think about opening that front door and finding it teeming with dracs, but it's absolutely a possibility. You can't take anything at face value in this future, as he's learning.

"Could be," Mikey says, side of his mouth quirking up, the words practically a challenge. Ray returns the almost-smile with one of his own, before drawing his gun and slipping out of the vehicle in one fast, graceful move. Mikey and Gerard do the same, leaving Frank feeling slow and clumsy as he lets himself out of the car and fumbles for his weapon.

As they carefully approach the shack, Frank finds himself at the back of a small four-person huddle, flanked by Ray and Mikey, and he knows it's not an accident. He's not sure if he's annoyed or relieved at being babysat. The way his hand that holds the gun is shaking, he figures he probably shouldn't complain.

It's impossible to be unseen out in the desert like this. If anyone was inside they would have seen the dust cloud approaching the moment the Trans Am was in range. The closer they get to the place the more vulnerable they are, easy pickings for a concealed sniper waiting inside. It doesn't happen. To Frank's infinite relief, they get to the door unmolested, their own footsteps and the howling wind their only soundtrack.

"Should we, like, knock?" Gerard asks, hand floating up to the door and glancing back at Ray and Mikey, a little unsure. Frank holds back a snort. Aren't these guys supposed to be badass?

Before anyone can even answer, the door cracks open, a white gun barrel with a burnt tip poking through. Gerard lowers his hand. Frank also catches him surreptitiously shift his other hand so his gun is pointing through the door at the area where the person on the other side would be standing.

"Don't try it." The voice coming from inside is gruff and forceful. It's also familiar. "Door's reinforced steel, it'll just blow back on you."

Gerard raises his hands, gun dangling from his thumb by the trigger casing, "We come in peace." He offers the crack in the door his most charming smile. "Now have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal lord and saviour?"

"Whatever you're selling I'm not buying. Now fuck off." The gun vanishes back inside the shack and the door starts to close.

Frank, moving faster than he thought he could, shoves his foot forward, managing to keep the door open a crack. "Brian, wait! We need your help."

Frank can't see anything through the tiny crack in the door, but the pressure against his foot relents a little, then the door eases open to reveal Brian. The Brian from here.

He's older, of course, that much is immediately obvious - lines on his face that Frank recognises from long sleepless tour nights, deepened now, permanent. He's dressed in battered camo gear and a t-shirt that's missing one sleeve. His ink - which of course there's more of now than Frank remembers - is faded and slightly green. He's a few days unshaven, his usually-sharp sideburns getting lost in the stubble on his cheeks.

He's still holding his gun, not pointing it at them, but ready to. "Why would the fabulous fucking Killjoys need my help?" The words are a sneer. He couldn't sound more unimpressed if he tried.

That puts Gerard's back straight up. "You know what, fuck this. We don't need his fucking help." He goes to leave, just like that, after one exchange of words, when they've come all this way.

Frank grabs his arm, fingers tight on the dusty leather, stopping him. "Gerard." It's a warning.

It's also the wrong name for Frank to use, which Brian seems to notice. His eyes catch on Frank's mohawk, tracing down his neck and over his arms and hands. "You're not from here." Brian's voice is caught somewhere between surprised and thoughtful.

"No." There's no point hiding it. Frank holsters his gun. "Where I'm from, you're still my friend, and you're still my manager. I need your help to get back there."

Brian is still for a long moment, his expression giving nothing away. Eventually he eases back a step, pushing the door open wider. "You'd better come inside."

***

"So Better Living did manage to make that Time Displacement shit work, then." Brian says, pulling a dented canteen from where it's hanging from what looks like an exhaust pipe and throwing it down on a scuffed-up table in front of Ray and Mikey. "That's water. It's a long way out here, you probably need some."

All the walls on the inside of the shack are covered in shelving, made of what looks like found materials, wood and metal and chipboard all mixed up together. There are car parts, computer parts and tools on every surface, all up high, and more hanging from hooks and nails in the slanted walls. There's some mismatched furniture as well, an old car seat, some deck chairs and a folding table. The place is a lot more liveable on the inside than it looks from the outside but it's still a far cry from the comfort of even a tour bus, let alone a house or apartment.

The water's some kind of peace offering, Frank can tell. Water is precious out here, you don't just give it away to anyone. No one picks up the canteen, so Frank does, taking a small gulp. He hands it to Mikey, who takes it after a moment of blank-faced consideration. He also takes a drink, and the water seems to loosen his vocal chords.

"Some runners got hold of the tech and we traded for it. Only got to use it once before dracs blew our place open and took it back." Mikey passes the canteen to Ray, who takes it.

"Only once?" Brian turns an assessing gaze onto Frank. "2005, right?" Frank nods, of course Brian would remember this shit, that's what they're counting on. "Has Helena dropped yet?"

"Not yet. A day or two, I think."

Brian shakes his head, looking down so Frank barely gets a glimpse of the smile that tugs at his mouth. "You are in for a fucking ride."

There's a fragile kind of peace in the room at that moment. It's like everyone's reliving the same memories - memories of stuff that hasn't even happened to Frank yet.

The silence is shattered by the squeak of a door and a tiny voice. "Dad?"

All the air rushes out of Frank's lungs at the word. He turns to the source and sure enough, there's a kid in the doorway to one of the inner rooms. A tiny kid, couldn't be more than five, with miniature Brian features and messy brown hair. He's wearing a t-shirt that's too big for him and shorts that look homemade. He's also got a brace on his leg, shiny and metal and heavy looking.

Brian rushes over to the door, kneeling in front of the kid. "Sam, what did I tell you?" His tone is firm but not angry.

"Stay in my room. I know. But it's so boring." The kid's not even looking at Brian, staring over his shoulder at the strangers in his home. Without really thinking about it, Frank finds himself turning his body so his gun and holster won't be in the kid's field of view.

Sam's eyes widen and he leans in, whispering something in Brian's ear. Brian nods, saying gently, "Yeah, same as the posters. Now you gonna go back inside? I'll be there in a minute." Brian places a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder, and either the kid's shoulder is tiny, or Brian's hand is huge.

Sam stares at the Killjoys a moment longer, and Frank can't help it, he shoots the kid a gentle smile, which makes him stare harder, until he blinks and looks away. "'Kay," he says to Brian, then he's stepping back into the room, his leg brace clicking on the floorboards.

Brian pulls the door shut and turns around with a sigh. Frank knows like he knows the chords to Sorrows that this is Brian's kid, and that Brian did not want them to see him. He's desperately curious about the child's mother, but he knows better than to ask. If she's not here then she's probably not anywhere anymore.

"You should tell me what you want and get out of here before you bring the heat down." Brian says simply, stepping away from the door.

"We weren't followed." Gerard says.

"You don't think you were followed," Brian corrects, shooting him a cutting look, and Gerard's about to jump in again, looking frustrated, but Ray cuts him off.

"We need information. About 2005." Ray's tone is carefully neutral. "We're trying to figure out where Fun Gh-, um, where Frank was - a hotel night on Taste of Chaos. We need the hotel name and room number. Figured you might have it."

Brian rocks back on his heels, rubbing the back of his neck like he tends to when he's stressed out or thinking hard. It's such a familiar sight Frank has to swallow down a lump in his throat. He could be telling them about travel arrangements to the next show or lecturing them about appropriate media usage. He's not though. It's a different fucking world.

"I've probably got it. I got my old tour diaries scanned and archived when I shut down Riot Squad. One of the backups survived, I'll have a look."

"Thanks," Frank says with a weak smile. Brian turns and leaves the room without returning it.

***

Rooms 205 and 207 at a Novotel in St. Louis. Brian has the details, date and hotel address scribbled on the back of a torn-off corner of a Better Living poster, which he hands to Gerard, adding stiffly, "I don't remember who shared with who, but they'd be adjoining rooms."

Gerard pockets the slip of paper without looking at it too hard. His face is a mix of emotions - gratitude, tension and doubt - as he tells Brian simply, "Thanks." He goes to say something else, hesitating, but Brian is faster.

"Now get out."

Anything Gerard was going to add is lost then. Shock flits across his face, so fast Frank nearly misses it. He doesn't say anything else, he just nods, respectfully, turning to Frank, Mikey and Ray and inclining his head toward the door. It's uncomfortably silent but for the sound of their boots scuffing on the floorboards as they make their way out into the near-blinding sun, dust hitting the back of Frank's throat when he breathes in.

It doesn't feel right to leave it like this, and Frank pauses by the door. He turns around and catches Brian's arm, stopping him from closing it behind them.

"Seriously, dude. Thank you." He says it fast, throwing himself at Brian and grabbing him in a swift hug that he's not quick enough to avoid. Frank is well trained at ninja-attack-hugs and Brian just endures it, not pulling away even though Frank can tell he wants to. After a moment though, Frank feels a reluctant hand on his back, patting lightly.

"It's fine. Just. Get back there." Brian's voice is gruff, sounding suspiciously throaty, but when Frank pulls back his expression is as neutral as ever.

Frank nods, stepping away, and Gerard - seeming to fight an internal battle with himself and lose - says to Brian, "If you ever need anything, you should let us know. We've got contacts - meds, doctors, food, fuel."

"I won't," Brian says firmly. "I've got my own contacts."

Gerard's brow furrows and his mouth pulls to the side, suddenly determined. He pulls the torn-off paper with the hotel details out of his pocket and for a panicked moment Frank thinks he's going to give it back. He doesn't, just tears off a blank piece and writes a string of numbers across it with one of his ever-present markers.

He shoves it at Brian. "Our coordinates. In case you change your mind."

Brian doesn't take the paper, but Gerard doesn't withdraw his hand, stubbornly keeping his arm extended, the paper fluttering slightly in the dry wind.

"I don't expect payback." Brian says, making no move to take it.

"That's not what this is." Gerard sighs, "Look, just take it. Call it an apology. You can throw it away as soon as we're gone if you want."

Something shifts in Brian's expression at the word 'apology', but it happens too fast for Frank to figure it out. For a long moment it's a stand-off, neither of them willing to back down.

In the end, Brian relents, grabbing the paper and glancing at the numbers before he shoves it in his back pocket. "Now go."

Gerard hesitates for a moment before he walks away, reluctant footsteps kicking up sand in the dusty wind. Mikey and Ray turn and follow, and Frank's the last one to leave. It takes everything Frank's got not to turn and look back, call back to Brian, try to convince him to come too.

It feels wrong to leave Brian out here, on his own to fend for himself and his son, but Frank knows there's no other way. Not yet. If any fences are going to be mended it'll happen in its own time and probably not until long after Frank's back in the year he belongs in.

If the plan works, that is. There's still so much that could go wrong.

***

The next few days are a blur of preparations: supply runs, tactical planning, all-night coding sessions to check the hacks they've made to the software are as perfect and foolproof as they can make them - at least without being able to test them. There isn't enough time, and yet there's more time than Frank can fill because whenever he's not actively doing something, he's thinking too hard and too loud about what they're about to do.

Sometimes he finds himself thing about Fun Ghoul, wondering how's he's doing back in 2005. Is it bliss for him - being back on tour, reliving the best years of his life - or torture to see everything again the way it was before this and know what's to come? By the time the St Louis hotel night rolls around, Fun Ghoul will have been back in 2005 for two weeks and eleven shows - anything could happen. Frank thinks about Fun Ghoul spending time with his Gerard in 2005 and when his reaction feels like jealousy he just gets confused. It becomes one more thing he tries not to think about.

He works himself into exhaustion each day, sleeping hard through the desert nights, Gerard's body warm by his side, arms heavy around him. It's a comfort he never knew he needed, and one he's going to miss when he's back in '05. He's going to miss a lot of things about his new relationship with Gerard - a warm hand on his knee, a shared smile over some blueprints, rushed, frantic handjobs in the diner kitchen when Mikey and Ray are out on supply runs. The look Gerard gets on his face the moment right before he comes.

Too late, he can appreciate why Gerard was so insistent they hold back. Sometimes it's easier not to know what you're missing. Still, Frank can't bring himself to regret even one moment.

Then, just as suddenly, Frank's out of time.

Because it's tonight. They're doing it tonight and all the internal pep talks in the fucking world couldn't have prepared Frank for this. The sick feeling in his stomach is so much worse than any pre-show nerves. After all, what's the worst that could happen if you fuck up at a show? Getting boo'ed? Maybe even bottled? That's nothing.

If he fucks up tonight someone could die.

Shit. Shit. He can't think about this. He runs the plan through in his mind again: where he needs to be, what he needs to do and when, Ray's careful voice guiding him in his head. Ray's mapped out the raid down to every last minute and they've all run over it until they know it better than any of their songs.

Frank leans in the doorway of the storeroom, watching Gerard fasten a shoulder holster over his chest and check his weapon. His red hair looks sharp and bright, in contrast to the crisp white of his slacks and shirt, and the jacket he's buttoning over the holster, covering his yellow gun. Frank's wearing a matching white linen suit, as are Mikey and Ray, and four of the hideous rubber masks lie in a pile by the door, the final pieces of a uniform he hopes they'll never don again.

Frank's heart broke a little watching Mikey and Ray paint over the colourful designs and logos that decorated their bikes with white gloss paint – the final piece of their disguise. Thank god they didn't have to paint over the Trans Am, since they won't be using it tonight. Not that Frank would have mourned the loss of the spider, but he's become quite attached to the rest of the car's design. Hopefully he'll get to see it again, if they make it out of this tonight.

Gerard does up the final button before looking up to meet Frank's eyes. He looks a little shaky, but determined, all lit up like he's getting ready to go out and face a crowd of screaming kids. Frank wants to say something - he feels like he should, like this is a moment - but nothing comes. He just lets his eyes take in Gerard's face, the tiny lines at the corner of his eyes, the light scattering of freckles from being in the sun, the rough stubble on his chin and cheeks.

He can see his Gerard in there, the one he knows so well. The Gerard with the dirty hair and the earnest face who smokes too much and talks with his hands all the time. The Gerard who spills his heart and soul out on stage every night. The Gerard who's so much younger and who's seen so much less than the man in front of Frank right now. This is the man his Gerard is going to be one day and fuck, Frank's so proud of him.

His chest feels tight and he can't force himself to speak. Instead he just grabs Gerard's jacket by the lapels and pulls him in, kissing him hard and a little rough. Gerard's lips cling to his as he kisses back, grasping Frank's shoulders tight as he opens up for him, finding his tongue and stroking it. There's no sound but their sharp nasal breathing for long moments as Frank's focus narrows to just this kiss, committing it to memory.

When their lips part, he's breathing hard, his voice raspy as he explains, "Just in case."

He doesn't have to tell Gerard just in case of what.

***

Battery City is a lot cleaner than Frank expected. Every post-apocalyptic movie he's ever seen is full of destroyed cities, broken glass and fires in oil drums - but not this one. The streets are almost eerily clean and completely empty. Of course, it's empty due to the curfew - enforced with deadly precision - but it's still fucking ominous. The engines of their two motorbikes sound too loud echoing back off the empty streets - one carrying Ray and Mikey, the other driven by Gerard, Frank riding pillion behind him.

He holds tighter to Gerard's waist, the white linen of his jacket rough under Frank's fingers. The smell of sweat and rubber is thick in his nostrils from the drac mask that covers his head, his vision blurry around the edges through the too-small eyeholes. It's almost better not being able to see that much. This city is too sterile. Too manufactured.

There's Better Living Propaganda projected on every large white wall they pass - heavy black writing and that fucking not-smiley smiley-face from the logo stares down at them. It gives Frank the heebs. He already feels too conspicuous riding double and being the only movement in the deader-than-dead streets.

Ray's taillight weaves to the side and Gerard turns the bike, following him around the corner. Frank's got the route to the tech plant memorised, and he's ticking off turns in his mind as they make them. He knows this is the turn that takes them to the checkpoint for the tech plant and this is where things have the potential to get very fucking messy.

It's the first real stumbling block. They've had one of Mikey's contacts - someone on the inside, a double agent going by code name "Cherri Cola" - call ahead on a hacked line to rush them through. She's supposedly name-dropping some guy called Korse and some kind of fictitious emergency so they can get past the drones without them looking too closely at their counterfeit ID's.

Frank can see the checkpoint coming up - three armed guards, all in white with masked faces, guarding the barrier. He stiffens his spine, loosening his grip on Gerard's jacket in case he has to go for his gun.

Ray barely slows his bike down as they approach, and Mikey shouts something at the gatekeeper, sounding pissed off. The guy at the gate - the one with the fucking machine gun - doesn't even hesitate. He just hits a button, raising the gate arm and waving them through, like he was already expecting them. Because he was.

Frank bites down on his lip, heart thumping as they glide by the guards and away. He breathes out when the guards are out of view, sending a prayer of gratitude to whomever the fuck is listening up there. It can't all be this easy.

It isn't.

They stash the bikes in plain sight in the parking lot - next to half a dozen identical bikes - and dash for the back entrance. This is the tricky part. Mikey's got some hack-tech that should get the doors open, but with no way to test it there's no guarantee. The large metal doors, gleaming in the reflected light of the security lamps, face out onto the parking lot and some office buildings. They're going to be totally exposed the entire time they do this and the longer it takes, the more chance they'll be noticed.

Any actual drac would flash their ID pass and activate the doors, so there's no good excuse for four of them to be hovering around the sensor - Ray and Mikey bent over it while Frank and Gerard keep watch. There's certainly no reasonable explanation for why one of them's using a piece of illegal tech - another Frankenstein's monster created from wires and sensors and what looks like an old calculator keypad.

Ray places a playing-card-sized piece of hardware - connected with wires and duct tape to the keypad Mikey's holding - over the door sensor. Mikey strikes a few keys and code starts scrolling up the tiny green-and-black display screen in his hand. It's been explained to Frank already that this piece of tech is like a key-gen; it'll throw a bunch of code combinations at the sensor until it hopefully strikes one that works. How long that takes is anyone's guess, but Gerard's packing some C4 that's their backup plan.

Frank is really hoping they don't have to use the backup plan.

Frank stands tense, his breath bouncing back on his face under the drac mask, his gun in his hand, tucked up under his jacket for cover, and however long it's taking is too fucking long. He hears the low grumble of a bike engine and tenses up. They're nearly out of time.

"Kobra," Gerard hisses, "we're about to have company."

"I can't make it go any fucking faster, Poison." Mikey whispers back uselessly, but a moment later he lets out a low grunt of approval. "Yes! We're in."

Frank turns around in time to see the doors slide open with a hiss, revealing a bright white corridor. Gerard goes in first, Frank right behind him and Mikey and Ray at the rear. Frank's starting to think maybe this is possible, maybe they can pull this off, but they don't even get ten steps down that hallway before an alarm starts screeching at top volume.

Gerard freezes for a nanosecond, then calls back over his shoulder, "Run!" and takes off down the hall. Frank's hot on his heels and Ray and Mikey are right behind him. There's no time to panic, Frank just has to move. He runs as fast as his feet can take him, keeping pace with Gerard as they rocket down the hallway, taking turns at double speed, the whole layout of the lab already memorised from stolen blueprints and satellite images.

One alarm doesn’t mean they have to abandon the raid, not yet, they just have to move faster and try to avoid any skirmishes with guards or dracs.

Frank's barely finished thinking the word 'dracs' when they turn the next corner and find themselves face to face with a dozen of them. Frank stumbles to a stop behind Gerard, nearly smashing into him.

The dracs are coming down the hall already, and the moment they catch sight of the Killjoys they pick up speed, running right for them, guns in their hands starting to rise.

Frank's body seizes up, even the blood in his veins seems to slow. For what feels like an eternity, but couldn't be more than a split second, he can't move, he's frozen, limbs and legs useless and he's going to fucking die.

"Split!" Gerard's voice snaps Frank out of it, and with a shove to his shoulder suddenly he's moving, running, pulling his gun out from under his shirt and veering off down another hallway - a longer route to the lab, but hopefully one with less dracs.

Frank can't look to check, but Ray and Mikey will be going the other way, the shorter route, splitting up just like they planned if this happened, one of the many contingencies they built in. Their split should scatter the dracs, give the Killjoys more chances to either get away or take them down.

Gerard's already doing his part for that, ducking into doorways whenever there's cover, pausing long enough to turn and fire on the dracs before taking off again. Rushed glimpses over his shoulder show Frank he's downed three of them; whether they'll get up again Frank can't tell, he's got to keep moving.

They're nearing the final few turns, so close to the lab Frank can almost smell it through the shitty rubber mask, when he turns a corner and finds himself face to face with another fucking drac.

Shit. They beat them here.

Frank goes for his gun but he can't move fast enough. Time slows right down, adrenaline stretching the moment out as Frank raises his gun to fire, but the drac's already got his up, fuck, Frank's not gonna make it, it's fucking game over.

He's about to squeeze his eyes shut, to dive, to try to do something, when the drac shudders backwards, a red stain blooming in the centre of his chest. He hits the floor heavily and Frank turns his head to see Gerard lowering his weapon. He saved Frank's fucking life.

Sound rushes back into Frank's ears, his body stuttering into movement as Gerard shouts, "Move. Move!" and shoves him forwards. His voice is muffled through the mask and Frank doesn't need to be told twice. He dodges the fallen drac and sprints down the hallway, Gerard right on his heels.

They're almost there - only two more turns and they should make the lab. There's no one after them and Frank's starting to think they're gonna make it, they're gonna fucking make it, when suddenly he's flying sideways, his shoulder and elbow slamming painfully into the wall. He scrambles for purchase, managing not to fall, but only barely, and a panicked look around shows him four – no, five - dracs bursting out of a doorway Frank didn't even see.

He's still in a crouch and through the tangle of white-clad legs Frank can see Gerard's already firing at the dracs, backing down the hall, away from Frank. Away from the lab.

"Poison!" Frank scrambles for his gun, barely getting his feet under him. His cry alerts the dracs that he's still breathing and one starts to coming for him. Gerard gets him first, his blast catching the drac in the back and Frank has to dodge out of the way when his body hits the ground.

"Don't wait for me! Keep fucking going!" Gerard shouts over the cacophony of gunfire. Then he's off, ducking out of the way of a drac's dive and sprinting down the hall - the wrong way, dracs hot on his heels. Fuck, he's trying to draw them away.

"Shit. Shit." Frank takes aim at the mess of white-dressed bodies but he can't fire without risking hitting Gerard. "Shit-shit-shit!" He stamps in frustration, wanting to go after them but knowing he shouldn't, he can't. He swears and runs the other way, every step feeling like a mistake, but he's got to get to the lab, Gerard will catch him up, he fucking will.

He dodges around a corner and there's the door - fucking finally. Hopefully Mikey and Ray are already inside. Hopefully the software's working. Hopefully, hopefully -

A solid force hits him from behind and he goes flying, his gun slipping from his hand and skittering away as Frank braces himself to hit the ground. He lands hard on his knees and elbows. No time to feel the pain; he flips over, finding himself looking up at a drac, the grotesque rubber face looking like it's laughing at him.

Frank panics, kicking out with his legs and managing to get the drac right in the balls. He stumbles and Frank flips and rolls across the floor, snatching up his gun and firing.

Just like fucking target practice, his muscles take over, lining up and firing in split-seconds, so fast Frank doesn't even process it until the drac's chest bursts with red and he falls to the ground.

All Frank can hear is his own breath, too loud in his ears. He pulls his mask up off his face, needing to breathe. Fuck, it's like someone's sitting on his chest. He sucks in air, staring down at the prone form of the dead drac, stomach twisting with nausea.

He's never killed anyone before. He won't even fucking eat meat and now he's killed a human being.

He steps closer to the body, panting, the edge of his vision going a little spotty, like any second now he's gonna get dizzy. Fuck, this is dangerous, he has to get moving before more of them come, he has to go.

His feet are stuck to the floor.

This drac was a person once. Under that mask is a human being. Frank reaches down, hand trembling a little, willing himself to pull off the mask, to fucking know it for sure. Look at the real owner of the life he's taken. To see it.

His hands still hovering motionless above the untouched mask when he hears the footsteps coming. He doesn't know how he knows it's Gerard, but it is. He's got his own mask pulled up off his face, bright red hair a mess sticking out underneath it, his face sweaty and concerned as he looks at Frank. There's a fresh singe mark on his shoulder, but it doesn't seem to be causing him grief.

Gerard doesn't say anything to Frank, just grabs his hand, pulling him away from the body, toward the lab. Frank lets Gerard drag him away, but it's a physical effort not to look back.

"Took your fucking time." Ray greets them as they burst into the lab. He's guarding the door, and the moment they're inside, he bolts it closed.

"Hey, we had to deal with the damn welcome wagon," Gerard shoots back, striding inside, not letting go of Frank's hand, so he has to go too.

The lab is seriously huge. Bigger than some venues they've played in, all shiny steel with racks and racks of computers and machinery. Mikey's perched behind a panel of one of the many computer terminals, his fingers running over some crazy state-of-the-art-looking touchpad screen.

Gerard comes up to Mikey and peers over his shoulder at the display. "Please tell me it's working."

"No reason for it not to." Mikey's fingers fly over the screen in a blur. He glances up at Frank. "Time to get naked."

Shit. Of course, Frank's nearly managed to forget that part of the equation.

"Right," he says, reaching for his jacket buttons when suddenly there's loud metallic thump coming from the doors they came in by.

Ray steps away from them, drawing his gun. "You might want to hurry."

"Shit, okay." Frank throws his mask off and hands his gun to Gerard, scrambling to undo his buttons. Gerard crouches to pick at Frank's bootlaces - of course now is the time when it's okay for him to be barefoot. Frank pointedly doesn’t think about the last time one of them helped the other with their boots.

"Scanner's over here," Mikey's saying, jogging a few yards from the computer over to what looks like a small home theatre projector. Frank's rapidly peeling off his clothes as he follows, tossing his jacket and shirt at Gerard and kicking his pants off.

He's down to his briefs when Mikey says, "Stand here," pointing at what seems like a random spot on the floor. "Hold still and don't look into the light. Tell me when you're ready."

Mikey dashes back to the terminal. The noises on the other side of the door are getting louder, so Frank shucks his underwear, no time to be shy, shuts his eyes and calls, "Ready!"

He can sort-of feel and sort-of see the beam of light from behind his eyelids. It's warm on his skin like sunshine or stage lights as it scans over his body, the scanner humming. Frank concentrates on not moving, not reacting to the noises coming from outside, when something soft hits him in the face.

He opens his eyes and grabs it; it's his underwear. "That's it?"

"That's it," Gerard confirms with a smirk and a quick glance down Frank's body and back up again, "Get dressed."

Fuck, that was fast. Frank fights a blush and scrambles to get his gear back on. He winds up dressed, but unbuttoned, hopping over to the terminal and staring over Mikey's shoulder at the display while he pulls his boots on.

He has no idea why he keeps looking at the damn display like he'll be able to read it. It's just a mess of code, like the fucking matrix.

"Did it work?" Frank asks, wiggling his foot down into his other boot and lifting his foot onto the bench to tie the laces.

"Everything looks fine on this end, but, you know," Mikey shrugs, "there's no way to know 'til we get back to the diner."

"Ghoul will either be there or he won't," Gerard adds, looking just as apprehensive about it as Frank feels.

"Guys, less talking, more running.," Ray calls across the lab. The noise from outside the doors is getting louder. "It's a fucking party out there."

"B.Y.O. firepower," Frank adds under his breath. He snatches his gun and his hated drac mask up off the counter and jogs after Mikey and Gerard to join Ray at the doors - which are vibrating, fuck, how many of them are out there?

Mikey pulls up the hem of his pants, removing two small duct-taped cylinders from his boot. "How about some party poppers?"

He tosses one to Ray and pulls a lighter from his breast pocket. Frank already knows what's in those little packages - he saw them being put together - something out of the Anarchist fucking Cookbook.

"Poison, get the door." Mikey's waving a flame under the fuse for his popper. Ray points the end of his fuse into the tiny lighter flame too. Both fuses start sparking at the same time and the sizzle of sulphur smells like fourth-of-July picnics and New Year's fireworks. Except this is gonna be a lot less fun.

Gerard ushers Frank over to the wall beside the door, out of range. He's babysitting again, Frank fucking knows it, but he's not gonna call him out on it now. He just watches as Gerard lines himself up near the door handle, settling his hand on the bolt release.

Ray and Mikey slide up close, poppers lit and smoking; Gerard watches the fuses burn down, timing it out. When they're nearing the stub he grips the bolt release, ready, "On three. Two. One."

He slides the bolt and wrenches the door open. It goes easily, too easily, and suddenly Gerard's fighting to keep it from opening too far, dracs on the other side pushing at it and Frank can hear them out there, muffled shouts and near-animalistic growls. He jumps in next to Gerard, adding his weight to the door as Mikey and Ray throw the poppers out through it. The second Ray's released his they're pushing back on the doors, Frank grunting with effort, all of them putting everything into it, fighting against the combined press of the dracs on the other side.

Gerard's just managed to slide the bolt home when the first popper goes off. Frank can feel it thump through the door, the explosion still loud even through the thick metal. The second one goes off a moment later and suddenly there's a lot less noise coming from outside.

Gerard calls it. "Okay, if it's clear enough, we run. Take out the stragglers and don't stop 'til we're out of the city, okay?" He waits for the nods of assent from each of them before putting his mask on, and they all follow suit, reaching for their weapons and forming a loose line in front of the door.

Gerard grips the door bolt. Frank bites down on his lip, fingers tight around his gun. They're nearly there. Fuck, he can do this.

The door bolt slides open with a metallic shriek and Gerard kicks the door wide. The hallway is a mess of fallen dracs and the ones that are still standing start to rush the doors. In near-perfect synchronicity the four Killjoys raise their guns and fire. Every shot shudders down Frank's arm and he wants to close his eyes - not see the destruction he's wreaking - but he doesn't. He just keeps shooting 'til he can't see anyone left standing.

Then they run.

It feels like so much further to get out of the building than it was to get in. They duck down hallways, dodge around doors, firing at the least sign of movement. The dracs are swarming like a stirred-up nest of bees, but the hallways are long and the Killjoys' aim is sharp. The dracs are on the ground before they get time to even raise their guns.

Frank can see the front doors - they've nearly made it. He can practically smell the dust of the zones, when he hears a yelp and turns to see Mikey's hit the deck, tackled by a drac. They wrestle on the floor, a blur of movement, and Frank can't see what limbs belong to whom to fire at them.

Ray doesn't hesitate, he grabs the drac around the neck, slamming the butt of his gun into its mask-covered head with a sickening crack. The white-clad body goes limp and Ray lets go, letting it slump to the floor and sticking his hand out to help Mikey up.

They're moving again in seconds - down the corridor, out the doors, through the parking lot. Frank's lost track of how many shots he's fired, how many dracs he's totalled. It's just survival now, his body's flying on autopilot - all instinct and muscle memory.

Their bikes are exactly where they left them and it's such a fucking relief. Frank mounts up one-handed so he can keep shooting with the other and they fucking tear on out of there. The rest is a blur of gunfire and the cracking burst of the poppers that get them past the security gate.

The lights of the city fade off behind them and then there is dust at the back of Frank's throat. They're back in the zones and Frank can finally breathe again. He rips off the rubber mask, throwing it to the wind, letting the night air whip through his mohawk, rushing down the collar of his jacket and over his back. Gerard tosses his mask too and his scarlet hair whips Frank's face as they speed over the sand.

Frank's still buzzing with adrenaline when the diner starts to come into view. He can feel the tension in Gerard's body as they approach the diner. He doesn't know what he'll do, what he can do if this didn't work. Gerard parks the bike messily, leaping off as soon as it's stationary, and Frank hesitates, hovering back by the motorbike while Gerard surges forward. Mikey and Ray pull up, dismounting themselves as Gerard rushes for the diner, where there's a figure leaning in the darkened doorway.

When Frank can focus, he can see it's Fun Ghoul. He's dressed in the same outfit he was wearing the first night Frank met him - the same clothes Frank's been wearing since, left behind tonight to don the whites of a drac. Fun Ghoul's hair is now a copy of Frank's own, shorn short and white-blond at the sides, the long section of his mohawk dark and flopping over his forehead. His face is stretched in a wide grin and his eyes are warm on Gerard's as he jogs up to him, catching Ghoul's face between his hands and kissing him with so much force they nearly topple over.

"I guess it worked then." Frank says, to no one in particular as he watches as the reunited couple stumble on their feet, kissing hungrily, desperately. Ghoul's arms wrap around Gerard's back, his tattooed fingers splayed flat across his shoulder blades. Gerard's fingers slide up to bury in the other Frank's hair. They're moving as one, hands touching, bodies pressing and the sight makes an ache well up in Frank's chest because, God, he knows what that feels like now. He knows what Gerard tastes like. There's an ache in his dick at the sight too, but that one's easier to ignore.

He wasn't lying when he said he could wait - would wait - until his Gerard was ready. But that doesn't mean he wants to watch it happen right in front of him, knowing he can't have it yet. He has to look away.

"Yeah, I guess it did." Mikey wraps a bony arm around Frank's shoulder, leaning into a wordless hug. A smile twitches at Frank's mouth despite himself.

"How long 'til I get sucked back to '05?" he asks Ray, who's sidled up beside them, his lips stretched in a wide grin as he watches Gerard and Ghoul.

"Only a few hours, dude. You'll survive." Ray ruffles Frank's hair affectionately. Frank punches him gently in the shoulder.

It must be around that point that Ghoul stops sucking on Gerard's face, because Frank hears running footsteps and then Ghoul's catapulted himself at Ray, in an attack-hug Frank perfected years ago. It's weird to be able to watch himself do that, see the way his legs lock around Ray's waist and catch a glimpse of his own gleeful smile through Ray's flying curls.

Ray stumbles, laughing. "Fuck, two weeks in the past and you think you're twenty-three?"

Ghoul giggles, "Dude I feel twenty three. Holy shit." He catches a handful of Mikey's shirt, pulling him into Ray's back and hugging them both at the same time.

"Fuck, you guys. Missed you fucking fuckers," Ghoul announces, his voice muffled into Ray's shoulder. "Fuck, Mikey, you in '05. You and your fucking glasses and your hair. God, you were awkward."

"Fuck you," Mikey retorts, but he's smiling around the words.

It's weird, but now Frank feels desperately out of place. Like he's the understudy and the headline star's just arrived. He tries not to fidget and fails miserably while Ghoul, Mikey and Ray stumble together in the messy hug.

Ghoul's muffled laughter dies and he pulls his face out of Ray's shoulder, dropping onto his feet on the sand, his eyes already on Frank's. He covers the few steps between them and snatches Frank into a tight hug so fast it knocks Frank breathless.

"Thank you. Dude. Fucking thank you," he says, and it makes no sense to Frank.

"Uh. For what?"

"Man, these last two weeks. Fucking insane. Amazing." The words are hot against Frank's ear.

Ghoul releases Frank, hands still gripping his arms tight, his smile wide as he continues, "I forgot what it was like. Touring back then. Fuck, the world back then. Fuck." He grabs Frank again, hugging him tight while Frank stares dazedly over his shoulder. Gerard saunters into Frank's line of vision; his eyes lock with Frank's, then drop to drift over Ghoul and back to Frank. He looks entranced. Hungry.

It's so distracting that Frank misses whatever Ghoul says next, tuning back in on, "I tried not to fuck anything up. I hope I didn't wreck anything but there was just shit I didn't remember, you know? And God, we haven't played some of those songs in years, and I know the guys saw some of my tatts, even though I faked the rash from hell and kept trying to cover them up."

"Dude, dude. Slow down. It's cool, I mean. I'm sure you did fine." Frank knows he's prone to verbal diarrhoea at times, but he's never actually been on the receiving end of it.

He pats Ghoul's shoulder in an attempt at being reassuring. "I hope I didn't fuck up anything here for you."

Ghoul eases back again then, releasing Frank from his death grip to grin at him. "Everyone's still alive and Gerard doesn't hate me. I'd say you did fine."

Frank knows the wide smile he's wearing is the exact same one he's looking at.

***

"You sure it was here?" Ray asks, staring at the patch of sand about twenty feet from the diner.

"Dude, if you look hard enough you can see my ass marks from where I landed." Ghoul kicks the spot with his foot. Gerard and Mikey are staring at it like they actually can see ass marks if they look hard enough.

"Cool," Ray says, dragging the heel of his boot across the area to make a line and then an interlocking line to make an 'X'. He looks up at Frank. "This is your extraction point. So in like," Ray checks his watch, "Two and half hours, we just have to make sure you're here and you," he points a hand at Ghoul, "are nowhere near here."

"Plan," Frank nods.

"Plan," Ghoul agrees.

"God, there's two of them," Ray groans, pressing a palm to his face.

"They're like The Children Of The Corn." Mikey's glances between Frank and Ghoul, looking amused. "Especially with the matching hair."

Frank giggles, hearing it echoed by Ghoul. Mikey just rolls his eyes. Ghoul's got one arm looped loosely through Gerard's. In fact, they've been in touch-contact almost constantly since Ghoul's return. Like Gerard's afraid to let go. The casual intimacy makes Frank's skin itchy and he's still got more than two hours of witnessing it to live through.

Fuck. Better concentrate on something else. "So hey," he says to Ghoul, "You should probably catch me up on what I've missed back in '05, so I don't look too fucking clueless when I get back."

Ghoul looks like he's about to respond in the affirmative, but Gerard jumps in first. "Or," he says, louder than he needs to, drawing everyone's attention. He glances down at his feet and up again, biting his lip. "Or we could... do something else."

He doesn't say what, but the way his eyes are flicking from Ghoul, to Frank, back to Ghoul, Frank can connect the dots. It makes his mouth go a little dry. Frank watches Ghoul's eyes widen as the notion sinks in for him too.

Ray misses it completely, of course. "What? Guys?"

Mikey doesn't. He grabs the cuff of Ray's jacket. "Let's go for a ride."

Ray frowns at Mikey. "Where?"

Mikey snares Ray's wrist in his long fingers and starts to walk to the bikes, dragging Ray behind him. "Somewhere else."

Ray does get it eventually. Frank catches a glimpse of the dawning comprehension on Ray's features before he turns to follow Mikey. He even catches the "oh" and the "oh" that follows, in Ray's high tone. Then Ray's footsteps pick up and he and Mikey are heading for the bikes.

When Frank turns back around, both Gerard and Ghoul are watching him. Their gaze is a warm heat on Frank's skin and fuck it's surreal. But hot. Very hot.

"Really?" he asks, his brain struggling to catch up with his dick.

Ghoul's mouth curls into a grin. He flicks his eyes to Gerard, whos smiles back at Frank in a way that might just make Frank spontaneously combust.

"Oh yes," is all he says.

Next

Fic: James Cameron Got It Wrong (5/6)

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