the last gentleman in new jersey (mcr, girl!frank/gerard, R)

[etben]

...I blame shoemaster. For everything. She stayed online with me for I don't even know how many hours, saying YES AND THEN over and over until I finally wrote this story, and then did it all again as I slogged through the edits. I love her best.

Thanks also to lordessrenegade, angelsaves, and pearl_o for reading this over and assuring me it doesn't suck, and also for being made of SOLID AWESOME.

the last gentleman in new jersey
bandslash, mcr, girl!frank/gerard
warnings: genderswitch, het sex, rated R, ~11,000 words.
extra special rps warning: NOT REAL. NEVER HAPPENED. If you got here by googling yourself or someone you know in real life, please go away now.



*

So the thing is - the thing is, Gerard Way is totally not stalking the lead singer of Pencey Prep. Really. He's not. Not even a little.

Well.

Maybe a little.

Just - he was at the Firefly one night, listening halfheartedly to the bands playing, when all of a sudden he turned away from the bar and saw her: tiny and delicate in knee-high boots and ripped fishnets and a shorter skirt than any schoolgirl he's ever met, sweating her way through a button-up shirt, tattoos showing through dark and indistinct where it stuck to her skin. She was screaming into the mike and spitting on the crowd during the guitar solos, flinging herself across the stage. Gerard was so startled, so intrigued, that he forgot three-quarters of a beer and lost his seat at the bar, just watching her go wild.

Besides, the music is good. That's his story, and he's sticking to it.

Anyway, it's not like he's really stalking her - he doesn't know where she lives, or if she's seeing anyone, or what color underwear she wears, or anything like that. He only knows her full name because that's how the guitarist introduces her - "Francesca Antonia Iero, ladies and gentlemen!" - and that's pretty much all he knows.

And that's good, that's fine. He's pretty sure that if he ever actually met her, he'd fall over or insult her grandmother or ask her to marry him; he's perfectly good with admiring from afar.

Which is why, the one night he's really just there to hear the music, there's a scuffle behind him and he turns around just in time to catch Frankie Iero as she comes falling towards him, grabbing frantically at his shoulder and his hip. He steadies her, setting her back on her feet, just like he'd do for anybody else - and then she's there, right there, pressed up against him and grinning and holy shit it's Frankie Iero and his brain goes a little blank. He lets go, hands off, but she stays right where she is.

"Thanks," she says, "It's nice to meet someone with some fucking manners for a change, you know?" The last half of the sentence is louder, practically a shout, and clearly directed at the guys behind her. Gerard winces, and she notices, rolls her eyes.

"Sorry," she says, "I swear to god, I'm not usually this much of an asshole. I'm Frankie," she adds, "Iero."

"Yeah. Um. I know," Gerard says, and kind of wants to beat his head against the bar. Frankie doesn't seem to mind that he's a total idiot, though - she just keeps smiling at him, a little expectant, like - oh.

" - My name's Gerard Way," he says, wishing vaguely for enough space to shake her hand. "I like your band."

She rolls her eyes. "Normally I'd take that as a compliment, but anybody who can sit through the mess that Tim here - " another elbow to the ribs of the guy behind her, who's big enough that he doesn't even seem to notice " -was making is clearly not a person of taste." Gerard freezes, trying to decide whether or not it's creepy to say that, no, really, he's seen every show they've played in the past three months, and they're really pretty good, but then Frankie shoves his shoulder and laughs. "Kidding, dork," she says, and then, as Gerard fiddles with his empty glass, "hey, were you getting a drink?"

Gerard was - he thinks he was - he is now, he guesses. "Do you want anything?" he asks, and oh, shit - worst line ever, seriously, the look on her face is twenty different kinds of did he really just say that shit? - but then she makes some kind of a decision, smiles up at him and nods.

"Beer, please," she says, jerking her head towards the booth on the end. "I'll clear us seats; I need to explain to you just how misguided you are about tonight's show." And, really, there's no way he's going to say no to that. He gets her a beer, and another for himself, and wedges himself awkwardly into the free side of the booth, leaning forward to hear what she's saying about their drummer.

The conversation goes on and on, from her band to other area bands, past and present. Gerard gets all the gossip - who's playing with who, who's covering what, who's breaking up and why - and a comprehensive rundown of all the bands Frankie would love to jam with, time-space continuum be damned. She knows all the movies he grew up on, and isn't afraid to argue with him about Night Of The Living Dead; she laughs at his jokes, but doesn't laugh when he's not trying to be funny. The second band has cleared the stage, and the third band is arguing mikes and values, when Frankie stops right in the middle of what she's saying to stare at Gerard, long and slow and evaluating.

"You know," she says, fidgeting with her beer, "you're one of the only guys in this room who's more interested in talking about the Misfits than getting up my skirt?" Before Gerard can explain that, well, really, that's not entirely true, she's smiling at him, saying, "It's a nice change, you know? Unless this is just one of those 'just pretend to like what she likes' ploys to get up my skirt."

There's a little bit of an edge to her smile, like she's only joking if it's not true, and Gerard almost knocks their drinks over trying to explain that it's not like that, really it's not - because it isn't, after all. Sure, he thinks she's terrifyingly sexy, but he also thinks she's an amazing musician and a really interesting person, really, and he wouldn't -

"Chill, Gee," she says, pushing him back into his seat. "I get it." Her smile is genuine, now, gentle and a little sweet; Gerard sits back, feeling like his spine is melting. "Besides," Frankie adds, "If you get out of hand, I'm pretty sure I can take you." She twitches her hips to the side and re-crosses her legs, right out where he can't help seeing it, and Gerard is trying to focus on her boots and not her thighs, not her insanely short skirt, but it is really not easy.

She just keeps smiling at him, though, so Gerard guesses that he gets a free pass, this once.

There's a chorus of wolf whistles from somewhere in the crowd, and Gerard looks around, ready to - he's not really sure what he's ready to do, but it turns out not to matter; it's just the rest of Pencey coming over with various hangers-on.

"Ready to bounce, princess?" one of the guys asks. He's not from the band, tall and strong and vaguely constipated-looking; he leans against the wall on Frankie's side of the booth, and Gerard hates him pretty much on sight. "Or are you having too much fun with your little gay buddy, here?"

Gerard cringes, because if that's why Frankie wasn't worried about him going after her - but she just rolls her eyes and grins, reaching across the table to grab Gerard's hand. Her fingers are callused and rough against the side of his wrist; her palm is a little sweaty.

"Fuck you, Tony," she says. "Just because I've met the last gentleman in Jersey - " her fingertips dig into Gerard's wrist, just a little "- and you're jealous, that's no reason to be rude." The band bursts out laughing, poking Tony in the side and giving him noogies, but Frankie ignores them, biting her lip and grinning at Gerard.

He tries and fails to make words come out, because thanks for not thinking I'm gay sounds bad, but I'm not actually a gentleman sounds about a thousand times worse. Eventually he settles for shrugging his shoulders and saying, "thanks." The motion pulls his wrist, and her hand where she's still holding on to him, but she doesn't let go.

"We've got a show tomorrow night," she says, flipping his arm over so that his wrist is facing up. "Well - not really a show, but we're playing a party at Dave's house. It's stupid, really - bunch of drunk kids with crappy taste and overactive hormones, none of them pay attention to the music. We don't even make any money on it - they pay us in beer and Cheetos," While she talks, she digs out a pen from somewhere and writes her number up the inside of his arm, focusing to make sure it's legible. "You should come!"

Her band drags her out of the booth before he can answer, and he doesn't think she even hears him say, "I will."

*

The next morning, he doesn't make it upstairs until just after noon; he staggers to the coffee machine, barely opening his eyes. He doesn't even realize that Mikey's there until Mikey grabs his wrist and drags him towards the table; he only just manages to grab his coffee in time.

"Gee," Mikey says, "Did you get a phone number last night?" The evidence is staring right up at them, so Gerard doesn't really have to answer - but he does anyway, tells Mikey about meeting Frankie Iero and buying her beer and talking about Jersey punk bands with her, about her giving him her number and telling him to go to their house party. By the end of it all, Mikey looks vaguely impressed, which is about as impressed as he ever looks.

"So, okay, let me get this straight," he says. "You met a girl, bought her a drink, talked to her for at least an hour, and got her number without even asking?"

Gerard nods. "Might have been an hour and a half," he says - the third band was almost done by the time Frankie left.

"And we're sure she's not a vampire, because I've totally seen her outside during the day," Mikey adds, nodding. "Well done, Gee. You called her yet?"

"Mikey." Gerard takes a sip of his coffee. "I've been up for all of five minutes. When am I supposed to have called her?" He's not even entirely sure where his phone is, for that matter.

Mikey rolls his eyes and stands up; Gerard barely even has time to wonder where he's going before he's back - and oh, huh. There's Gerard's phone.

"It's been on the hall table all week, shut up," Mikey says, grabbing Gerard's arm again. "Nine-seven-three - hey, local! - eight-five-four-what?" Gerard's doing his best death glare, but Mikey just shrugs it right off. "You're planning on showering sometime today, right? I hear that girls like that."

"Mikey - " Gerard sighs, trying to figure out how to make Mikey understand. "I don't even know if I'm going to call her," he says, finally.

"Of course you're going to call her," Mikey says. "You're going to call her, and then you're going to take a shower and decide which shade of black you want to wear today, and then you're going to draw vampires for a few hours, and then you're going to go to the party. You're on your own after that, though," he adds, still tapping away at the keys of Gerard's cell. "I mean, I don't care what you do, but I don't want to know about it."

"What makes you so sure I'm going to call her, anyway?" Gerard asks. "Also, can I have my phone back at some point?"

"Sure thing," Mikey says, handing it over. "And I know you're going to call her because I just hit send, and if you chicken out she'll still have your number in her 'received calls' list." Sure enough, the screen of Gerard's phone says Calling Frankie..., the three little dots of the ellipsis appearing and disappearing in order.

"Mikey!" Mikey's laughing at him, amused but not mean, and Gerard puts the phone up to his ear just in time to hear Frankie say, "Hello?" She sounds sleepy and a little hoarse, and Gerard's mouth goes dry just listening to her.

"Um," he says, trying to ignore the faces Mikey's making at him from across the table. "Frankie?"

"This is she," she says, with a little yawn at the end. "Who're you?"

"It's Gerard. Way. Um." Across the table, Mikey sighs in a longsuffering way. "We were - at the Firefly? Last night?"

There's a rustling sound - like fabric, like maybe sheets, like maybe she's still in bed, oh holy fuck - and she says, "The last gentleman in Jersey, of course! how's it going, Gee?"

"Fine. Um, good. Um." Mikey rolls his eyes so hard that Gerard's a little worried about serious injury, and lets his head drop forward onto the table. "I didn't wake you up, did I?"

She yawns. "Yeah, kind of," which - does that mean she's still in bed? seriously, holy fuck - "but it's cool. What's up?"

"Um." He swallows hard and says, "Well, um, the show - you gave me your number but not the venue or the time, and, um. I was just wondering - "

"Right, right," she says. "Well - " she breaks off, yawning, and he can hear the smile in her voice when she apologizes. "I was going to crash after we left the bar," she says, "but the guys wanted to go hang out for a while, wouldn't let me go."

Gerard doesn't really know what to say to that, but it doesn't matter, because Frankie's talking over him already. "Anyway, yeah - I was wondering if you could give me a ride tonight, so that I don't have to wait around for the guys to be ready."

"Yeah," Gerard says, "Yeah, sure, I mean - of course, I can - yeah. Yes. Um." He drinks the rest of his coffee in a relieved gulp, then almost chokes on it. "Sorry," he says, "Coffee. Yeah, I can drive you." Mikey almost falls out of his chair, he's laughing so hard, and, shit - now Gerard's out of coffee.

"Great!" Frankie says. "Um, I guess you need an address, right?"

"Right, an address! Or, um - two, really, since I don't know where you live." He holds his mug out to Mikey, who's standing up for a second cup of coffee; Mikey fills him up and mock-brains him with the empty pot. On the phone, Frankie rattles off two addresses, which Gerard, after a few seconds of scrabbling, copies down onto a napkin that's only a little bit coffee-stained.

"You got all that?" Frankie asks, and Gerard manages to keep himself to a simple 'yes' this time. "Awesome! Come by at, like, nine or whatever - I have to set up." He agrees - writes down NINE PM and circles it twice - and she laughs down the phone at him.

"Thanks, Gee," she says, "you're the best. See you tonight!"

"Tonight, yeah," he says, and then the phone is buzzing at him and Mikey is laughing at him and there's coffee all down the front of his shirt.

"Shower, right?" he says.

Mikey nods. "Shower, clothes, panicking, date. Go forth, my brother."

*

Gerard pulls up in front of the first address at eight-fifty-five on the nose, showered and dressed and mostly done panicking. He's just trying to decide whether to honk the horn or go up and knock or just call Frankie again when he sees her on the front porch, waving at him. Her mouth's moving, but he can't hear anything; he rolls down the window and waves back.

"Thanks, Gee," she calls. "Give me a second; I just need to grab my stuff." She disappears back into the house for a second, then comes back out, lugging a guitar and an amp and her purse.

Gerard fumbles the car off and gets out, saying, "Hey, wait, do you need help?" - but she's already at the car, hefting things into the backseat; he winds up holding her purse and trying not to stare at her ass as she leans in to settle the amp just right.

"Thanks," she says, taking her bag back from him. "I'm good, though." She swings herself into the passenger seat and slams the door behind her; Gerard hurries around to the other side and gets in.

"Thanks again," she says, poking at the dials until warm air comes rushing towards their faces. "I really appreciate it." Satisfied with the climate control, she starts rummaging in her purse, coming up with something silver and gleaming - a flask, he realizes, when she lifts it up and tilts her head back, taking a quick swig. "You want some?"

Gerard thinks about it, but shakes his head. "Driving," he says. "Normally, sure - but, you know, safety." He pulls up to a stoplight and glances over at Frankie, who's biting her lip and frowning; it's stupidly adorable.

"Shit, Gerard," she says, "I'm so sorry - I totally didn't think about that. I mean," she adds, a smile pulling at one corner of her mouth, "I'm glad, don't get me wrong - it's nice to know that there are good people around, you know? But I didn't mean to wreck your night."

She actually looks upset, and he puts a hand on her shoulder, smiles at her, raises his eyebrows. "It's one night, Frankie," he says. "I think I can manage that long without a drink - who knows, it might even be good for me." He sounds like an idiot, he knows, but she's smiling at him again, so he really doesn't care.

"You just wait and meet the teenies Tony keeps inviting to these things," she says, "and see what you think then." She hesitates for a moment, then tilts her head to brush her cheek against Gerard's hand. "Thanks, Gee."

Her skin is warm and soft against his knuckles, and Gerard would totally be willing to stay like this forever, but the light turns green and the cars behind them start honking, and all of a sudden he has to pretend to be a functioning human being again.

They make it to the party without obstructing traffic any more, talking about bands and Jersey and Frankie's neverending battle against her school's dress code.

"God," Gerard says, "Now I feel old," and then, "hey, watch it!" as Frankie shoves at his shoulder.

"You're not old," she says, rolling her eyes. "You're what, twenty-two?"

"Twenty-three," he says, but Frankie just shrugs.

"So you're a human being instead of some underdeveloped asshole," she says. "So what?" She shifts in her seat, crossing and re-crossing her legs, and Gerard doesn't look at Frankie's legs - bare and pale, no fishnets this time, and the skirt seems to be even shorter - once.

He can't decide if that's winning or losing, though, which probably means it's losing.

Once they get there, Frankie gets dragged away by her band and Gerard wanders aimlessly, scouting out the edges of the yard. In the far corner, he pauses, looking back at the light and bustle, and lights a cigarette. It's early November, just starting to get chilly, and he stuffs his hands in his pockets, smoking, staring up at the moon.

"Hey," he hears, and he knows it's Frankie even before he turns around. She's rocking back and forth on her feet, but she doesn't seem cold, just buzzed. He offers her a cigarette, and she takes it, tipping her head back to watch the sky.

"I love this shit," she says, not even looking at him. "I mean, I know it's all dumb high school stuff and I'm supposed to be wishing for something better, but I really do love it, you know?" She catches his eye and grins. "It's fun." Gerard nods - it wasn't his thing, back in high school, but he can see why Frankie loves it: the energy, the excitement, the rush of people and ideas and music.

She beams at him, easy and uncomplicated. "Thanks for coming," she says. "I mean, professional cartoonist and all, I know this isn't really your scene - but I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," he says, and he means it - even if she decides in twenty minutes that she hates his stupid face, he's glad to be here, staring up at the moon and smoking with her.

Somebody yells for her, then, and she grins, stamping out the cigarette on the damp grass. "Showtime," she says, dragging Gerard back up the lawn. Her fingers are pressed against his pulse again, warm and steady, and she glances over her shoulder at him as they go. "Any requests?"

"Rock the fuck out," he says, and then she's bracing herself on his shoulder to jump onto the stage, and the show is going on.

*

It would be nice to say that Frankie spends the entire show staring at him, but given the way she plays, that's pretty much a physical impossibility. She glances over at him during the breaks, though, and blows a kiss in his general direction during the chorus of one of the newer songs. The crowd doesn't seem to notice anything, but most of them are mostly, if not completely, trashed; he's glad to be back and to the side, out of the range of the most uncoordinated moshers.

Pencey doesn't play for very long, and soon enough Frankie's setting down her guitar and leaping off the makeshift stage, disappearing into the crowd. She fights her way free after just a few minutes, though, and walks straight over to Gerard, sweaty and electric with post-show excitement.

"Do you mind?" she asks, showing him the beer she's picked up from somewhere. "I mean, I don't want to be mean when you can't - "

"Go ahead," he says, leaning close so that she can hear him, and she cracks the can with a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, Gee," she says, sliding an arm around his waist to squeeze him. After a moment's hesitation, he lets his arm settle onto her shoulder, his fingers brushing her upper arm; she leans back against him with a sigh and takes another drink of her beer. They stay like that for a moment, just breathing and watching the crowd, when Frankie sees someone she knows - he can feel it, the exact instant when she perks up and starts paying attention.

"Hey, guys!" she shouts, waving. "Over here!" The rest of Pencey comes wandering over, beer in hand. "This is Gerard," she says, leaning into him a little more. "Gee, these are the guys." They nod at him, not seeming to notice that Frankie's treating him like a sweater, and continue their argument about the best local pizza. Frankie puts in a few comments, egging one side or the other on, but mostly she seems content to lean against Gerard and drink her beer.

When the band finally reaches an agreement - although Gerard gets the sense that this is one of those arguments that isn't ever really resolved, only put off until another day - they all look at Frankie, who shakes her head.

"Sorry, boys," she says. "Making an early night of it tonight." They boo and hiss, but Frankie shakes her head.

"I'm tired," she says. "And I brought my own ride, so you fuckers can't hold me hostage tonight." She grins up at Gerard when she says it, though, and brings one hand up to hold his against her shoulder.

"Oh, whatever," one of the guys says. "Like you weren't holding the beer bong for Shaun last night."

Frankie tosses back the rest of her beer, takes the new one that one of the guys offers her. "Didn't say I wasn't," she says, taking swig. "Just said that I had other plans for tonight." They get a few raised eyebrows for that, and more than a few appraising stares, and Gerard looks away; Frankie rubs her fingers over the back of his hand and tilts her head against his neck.

"Dude," the bassist says, "I really don't care about Frankie's sex life, I just want some pizza. Can we motor, already?" They head off in a cloud of grumbling, and Gerard thinks he hears the argument about the best pizza starting up again.

Frankie turns around, but doesn't let go of his hand, so they wind up pressed together, his arm over her shoulders.

"Do you mind if we go, like, now?" she asks. Her breath smells like beer and she's warm against him, one hand sliding to his waist. "I'd just - I'd really like it if we could leave, now." She sighs and drops her head forward, leaning against his shoulder and giggling a little.

"Sure thing," Gerard says, and starts walking them towards the car. It's not exactly easy to walk like this, with Frankie wrapped around him and leaning heavily, but he goes slowly and carefully, and they make it to the car before too long.

He thinks she grabs his ass while he's helping her into the car, but he could be wrong.

The drive back is quiet and quick, and before he knows it he's pulling up to the curb in front of her house and killing the engine. Frankie is looking over at him when he turns over, eyes wide and dark, and before he can offer to help her out or thank her for inviting him, she's leaning forward and kissing him, sweet and careful, one hand on the back of his seat and one on the side of his face. She licks across his lips, once, and then sits back in her seat, grinning, loose and happy and maybe a little nervous, and oh, fuck.

"Frankie," he says, "Frankie - " he pushes her hair out of he face, and she leans into his hand, pressing her lips against the inside of his wrist, and, seriously, his life kind of sucks right now. "Frankie, I - I don't think this is a good idea," he says, finally.

She opens her eyes slowly, like she's waking up from a really nice dream, and smiles awkwardly at him.

"Yeah, I guess not," she says. "I mean, you're probably - "

And - "No, not at all," because that is not what he meant, and he turns her face towards him again, waits until she makes eye contact. "Frankie, I am not probably anything - I just - you've been drinking, okay? And you're eighteen," he says, because, seriously, eighteen. "And - and I don't want you to regret this in the morning." He keeps his hand against her face, stares at her, hopes that she'll understand -

- she closes her eyes and smiles, slow and regretful. "I had to pick a gentleman, huh?" she says, and presses a kiss against his palm. "It's cool, Gee. I mean, I can't say I'm thrilled, but I understand, and I guess I appreciate it." She frowns, looking at him through her eyelashes. "Well. Maybe tomorrow I'll appreciate it."

Gerard leans in to kiss her again, quick and hesitant, and she grins against his mouth.

"None of that, Mr. Gentleman," she says, "not if you're not going to let me have my wicked way with you." She pulls back and starts fidgeting with the seatbelt, and Gerard only barely manages to get out of the car in time to help her with her door.

"Going to walk me in?" she asks, like there's any question of it. She leans on him all the way up the walk; he can't tell if she needs it or just wants it, and he honestly doesn't care. At the front door, she grins up at him again, a little sheepish but mostly just happy, and she sways against him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Do you, um," Gerard says, trying not to lean forward the inches it would take to kiss her again. "Do you need help getting to your room?" She grins at him, kisses the corner of his mouth, and opens the door, pulling him into the house.

"I thought you'd never ask," she says, shutting the door behind them. "Welcome to my lair, Gerard Way."

They sneak through the house like the world's least coordinated criminals: Frankie's more unsteady than she'll admit, leaning on Gerard all over the place, and Gerard has no idea where they're going. Knick-knacks and furniture loom out of the dark, sudden and disorienting, and Frankie trips over something right at the base of the staircase. Gerard steadies her, and they wind up pressed against the wall from nose to knee, breathing in each other's faces.

"How much of that was accidental?" he asks, rubbing their noses together, and Frankie giggles.

"Most of it?" she says, grinning unrepentantly, then wobbles. "Sixty percent, at least."

Gerard helps her up the stairs, into her room and over to her bed, helps her lean back, kisses her forehead - and then goes sprawling across the bed when Frankie yanks on his arm, stronger and more coordinated than he would have expected for how drunk she is.

"I'm sorry," she says, grinning at him. "Did you think I was going to let you leave?"

"Frankie - " he says, pulling back, but she rolls them over, pinning him to the bed underneath her and staring down at him, alert and intense.

"Look, Gee," she says, "I have you figured out, okay? If we do anything now, you'll give yourself a guilt-ulcer in the morning - but if I let you leave, it's going to take me all of tomorrow to get you back." She frowns. "Maybe more, since I still don't know where you live."

Gerard stares at her. "So we're...not?"

Frankie grins, kisses his nose, and rolls off him. "Not now," she says. "Now, we're going to sleep, and I'm going to sober up, and in the morning, we're going to make out until my mom starts banging on the door." Which - sounds like a pretty good plan to Gerard, except for how the buckles on Frankie's boots are kind of digging into his shins.

He points that out to her, and she sighs. "Yeah, I should change," she says, rolling off him and sitting up. "Pass me my PJs?" Gerard does, and then turns away when she starts unbuttoning her shirt, kicking off his shoes and pants and then staring at the wall, listening to the rustle of clothing behind him and trying to figure out what each sound means - two thumps for her boots, but the rest of it is a blur - until she puts a hand on his shoulder and turns him around.

She's wearing a pair of sweatpants - old, baggy, low on her hips - and a t-shirt with holes at the bottom and the shoulders; she's totally fucking gorgeous. She pulls him into bed with her, pressing him back against the pillows, and pulls the blankets over them. It's surprisingly easy to sort out the tangle of arms and legs, and soon she's curled up against his shoulder, arm across his stomach, knee tucked between his knees. He can smell her hair every time he breathes in, sweat and product and Frankie, and he falls asleep with her hand on his hip.

*

He wakes up with her mouth on his neck, her hand spread over his chest, her hair tickling his ear. It's the best way to wake up that he's found so far, and he doesn't open his eyes.

"I know you're awake," Frankie says, and he can feel the way she's smiling against his neck. "Hi." She's lying on his right arm, but his left is free; he takes her hand in his and turns his head so that his nose is in her hair.

"Mrgh." Hi, he means, and also you're amazing, and can we do this forever? She laughs against his neck; he thinks she gets it. She rolls on top of him, straddling his chest, setting her hands on the pillow on either side of his head. When he opens his eyes, she's grinning down at him, disheveled and sleepy-eyed and gorgeous. Her eyeliner from last night is even more smudgy, a streak down onto her cheek - and that's a look, but not really what he thinks she's going for. He reaches up to wipe it away, then slides his hand down to cup her shoulder, sliding her t-shirt out of the way and touching skin, warm and pale and smooth. He can feel her pulse against his thumb, quick and maybe a little bit unsteady, and when she sucks in a deep breath, his hand lifts with the motion of her body

"Hi," she says again, staring at him. "I'm going to kiss you now, even though I haven't brushed my teeth. Sorry." He doesn't get a chance to point out that he's not exactly minty fresh himself; before he can breathe, she's leaning forward, pressing her lips to his, slow and sweet, almost tentative. He slides his hands to her hips, feeling points of bone against his palms, sliding his fingers just barely under her shirt. Frankie grins against his mouth, bites his lower lip, and then kisses him again, again, again.

When she pulls back, his hands are on her ribcage, her shirt bunched up over his wrist. "Sorry, just got a crick in my - " She twists her head from side to side, grimacing a little and rubbing at the back of her neck with one hand. The motion does some truly amazing things to her breasts, and Gerard stares. He can't not, really, and he's pretty sure Frankie doesn't mind. She arches her back, stretching, and his hands slide higher, so that his thumbs are just brushing her nipples.

"You could, um," she says, pressing forward into his hands, and Gerard takes the cue, slides her shirt over her shoulders, helps her pull it over her head. She drops it off the side of the bed and leans back in to kiss him, then makes an annoyed noise against his mouth. "Seriously, sore necks are not hot," she grumbles, rolling off of him and onto the bed. He can see her tattoo, just barely, lines of ink disappearing down onto her back, and thinks about turning her over, getting a good look it - but Frankie's got other plans, tugging on his shoulder until he rolls over on top of her.

He kisses her again, trying to make it good, trying not to crush her - not that he's some burley he-man type, but Frankie is seriously tiny - but she wraps both hands around his back and pulls him down against her, pressing herself against his body with a satisfied hum, licking the corner of his mouth. They kiss like that, melting together on her bed, Frankie moving underneath him and sliding her hands down to grab his ass, holding him down. When he kisses her neck, she makes a completely ridiculous squeaking noise, and so of course he has to do it again, and then again, kissing his way down her neck to her bare shoulders, biting gently at the muscle there, feeling her shiver against him.

He likes that - the way her body arches up and falls back against the bed, the way she clings to him, the way she breathes in and then out, shuddery and helpless - and when he kisses her breasts, it's even better, more intense, soft skin under his mouth and Frankie making these low, dirty noises.

Gerard could do this forever - Frankie's breasts, Jesus Christ - but after a while he realizes that the knocking noise he's hearing isn't coming from anything they're doing. He freezes, and Frankie lifts her head off the bed to glare at him, but he points at the door, raising his eyebrows. Definitely knocking, definitely not them -

"Fuck," Frankie mutters, collapsing back against the bed, "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Mom! What do you want?" He probably shouldn't find her yelling hot, but he really kind of does.

"I want you and your fellow to get dressed and come down for pancakes, sweetie, and I want it in the next ten minutes." Now that they're not busy, Frankie's mom comes through loud and clear; Gerard feels like he can even hear her rolling her eyes.

"Mom," Frankie says, but Frankie's mom is at least as stubborn as her daughter, if not more.

"I want to meet this one, Frankie," she says. "It's not often that my little girl gets all - "

"Mom!"

"Ten minutes, sweetie," Frankie's mom says, and walks off down the hallway. Frankie has her hands over her face, but the skin he can see is flushed with embarrassment and annoyance. Gerard pets her ribcage, soothing, and she smiles up at him, pulls him in for one last kiss, then rolls out of bed.

"Come on, Gee," she says. "You heard the lady."

"Pancakes, though, right?" he says, watching her hunt for a clean shirt. She finds one and pulls it on, then turns around so he can see the face she makes at him.

"Yes, pancakes," she says. "Pancakes and the Spanish Inquisition. Come on."

*

The pancakes are delicious, and Mrs. Iero seems nice, but it's really hard to look her in the eye or answer her questions when all he can think is I was just sucking on your daughter's nipples. He manages not to say that out loud, but he's pretty sure she knows anyway; she smiles at him and settles them at the table and stares at Frankie, who rolls her eyes.

"Mom," she says, "this is Gerard Way. Gee, this is my mom. Um, Linda Iero." Frankie's mom - Linda, Linda - nods, ruffles Frankie's hair, and turns back to the stove. Frankie makes a face, then leans over to kiss Gerard while her mom's back is turned.

"Where do you go to school, Gerard?" she says, like she doesn't know what they're doing behind her back. Gerard swallows, suddenly awkward, and Frankie rubs the back of his neck.

"Um. I went to SVA, but now I work for Cartoon Network?" It turns into a question, something along the lines of are you going to throw me out of the house for being too old?, and Linda's eyebrows go up, but she doesn't seem to mind. She finishes flipping the pancakes onto a plate and comes over to the table to dish them out.

"Oh, an artist! What do you do, exactly?" And she actually seems interested in the answer, nodding along as he explains about his job, how it's simultaneously totally awesome and kind of awful. They demolish the stack of pancakes in no time flat, and she gets back up to make more; when she turns away, Frankie gives him a thumbs-up and squeezes his hand under the table.

"But you're a local boy, right?" she asks, while the pancakes sizzle. Gerard nods, squeezes Frankie's hand back, laces their fingers together. "How did you two meet, then?"

"I'm a big fan of Frankie's band," he says, "and we met at their show a few nights back." Across the table, Frankie beams at him, blushing a little, her hair falling into her face. Gerard reaches over to tuck it back behind her ear, then freezes when he realizes that Linda is facing them again, a mug of coffee in each hand, smirking at them.

Frankie doesn't seem phased at all, though; she takes the coffee from her mom with a grin. "Yeah, mom, I know," she says. "I'm banging a groupie, fine, get it out of your system or I'll never bring Gee here again." Gerard is caught between laughing at the two of them and trying to defend his virtue when Frankie covers her mouth with one hand and turns back to him, looking horrified. "God, I mean - I don't think you're a groupie, I swear, it's just - it's a thing, you know?"

Her mom goes back to the pancakes. Gerard's pretty sure she's laughing at them, but he takes the opportunity to scoot his chair closer to Frankie and put a hand on her knee, leaning in to kiss her gently. "It's okay," he says, nose-to-nose with her. "I don't really mind being your groupie." She giggles at that, and bumps their foreheads together, and they grin at each other, and Gerard has never been so happy in his entire fucking life.

"I'm glad you're happy, Gerard," his mom says, "but I'd like to think a nice young man like you has higher hopes than being my daughter's groupie." She sets another plate of pancakes in front of him and ruffles his hair.

Gerard is halfway through his second plate of pancakes and listening to Frankie and Linda negotiate band practice times when his phone rings. He jumps in his seat, and both Ieros turn to stare at him, identical tolerant grins in place.

"No, don't worry about it," Frankie says, when he goes to get up; Linda nods in agreement. He's pretty sure they're just hoping to hear his conversation with - fuck, it's Mikey.

"Hello?"

"Gee? Where are you?" Mikey doesn't sound worried, but Mikey never really sounds worried, and, fuck, Gerard never called last night to tell him he wouldn't be home. He probably assumed Gerard was dead in a ditch somewhere, or maybe that he'd been kidnapped by werewolves.

"Um. I'm at Frankie's place," he says, and there's a pause, wheels turning in Mikey's brain and the Ieros cracking up silently across the table.

"The girl from Pencey Prep?" Another pause, then, "are we sure she's not a zombie? because they can go out during the day, right, and - "

"Mikey, Christ." Some days, he's really not sure how Mikey's brain works. "No, she's not a zombie." Frankie snarfs her coffee and almost falls over giggling; Linda pats her on the back and watches Gerard, laughing quietly. "She's a girl, and she's awesome, and her mom made us pancakes, okay? and that is all," he adds, before Mikey can ask any more questions. "I'll be home sometime later, okay?" He cuts off Mikey's response and puts his head down on the table, shoving his pancakes out of the way.

After a second, he hears the scrape of Frankie's chair on the floor, and then her arm is around his shoulders and she's petting his hair, and things aren't quite so awkward any more.

"You want the rest of those pancakes?" she asks, low and soft with an undercurrent of something else, breathing against his ear; Gerard is really not all that interested in pancakes, anymore. "Great," she says, and leans in to kiss his ear before pushing her chair back and standing up, collecting plates from the table. Gerard sits up, but she smacks his wrist when he moves to help, so he stays where he is, sipping his coffee and watching Frankie clean up.

He's suddenly very aware that she didn't put a bra on, this morning. When she looks over at him, her expression says that it wasn't an accident, not at all.

"Okay, Mom," she says, pulling Gerard out of his seat. "We're going to go hang out for a while, okay?" Gerard doesn't know who Frankie thinks she's fooling, since there's no way her mom doesn't know what they're going to do, but he keeps up appearances, smiling at her mom and thanking her for the pancakes and trying to stand so that it's not completely obvious how turned-on he is. He's pretty sure he fails, but Linda waves them away, and then Frankie's dragging him towards the stairs.

"Don't scare this one off, Francesca," she calls after them, and her laugh follows them all the way upstairs. Frankie shoves him into her room and slams the door behind them, collapsing against it with a sigh, closing her eyes for a moment.

"So that's my mom," she says. "Aren't you lucky?" Her shirt is pulled to one side again, slipping down her shoulder, and she's definitely not wearing a bra, and yes, actually, Gerard is pretty fucking lucky.

He steps forward without even really meaning to and leans in to kiss Frankie, his hands on her hips, pushing her up against the door. She moans into his mouth, just a little, and kisses back, wet and messy and amazing, biting at his lips and licking his teeth. He settles his hands at her waist, thumbs brushing against the undersides of her breasts, still kind of amazed by how small she is, and she slides her hands up under his shirt, tugging at the fabric until he backs away enough for her to pull it over his head.

When he goes back to her, they bump into the door hard enough that it rattles in its frame, and they both freeze, Gerard's hands on her breasts, his leg between hers. There's no response, though: all they can hear is the sound of the radio and the clatter of her mom in the kitchen. Frankie relaxes into him with a sigh and a slightly hysterical giggle, muffling it against his shoulder. Gerard rubs his hands up and down her back, breathing against her hair until they're both calm enough to make eye contact.

"So, hey," Frankie says, pushing him back and looking at him. "Not that this isn't great, because it totally is, but what do you say we take this someplace horizontal? Like, say, my bed?" She flips the lock one-handed, without looking, and grins. "The door can keep itself shut, I think."

Gerard doesn't need any convincing, but Frankie's not letting him argue: she walks forward, her hands on his hips, steering Gerard backwards until the edge of the bed is bumping up against his knees. He sits down, looking up at her, and slides his hands up her sides again, pushing her shirt up until it's out of the way, until she hauls it off and flings it into a corner of the room.

And then - God, then her breasts are right there, high and tight and tempting, and he's leaning forward to kiss them. His hands are on her hips, holding her steady, keeping her trapped between his knees - not that she's trying to get away. The first time he licks across her nipple, she puts her hands against the back of his head, in his hair, encouraging him. He licks again - a little harder, a little rougher - and she whimpers, just a little, just enough that he has to try it again, and then again. She gets a little louder each time, but her hands stay gentle, petting through his hair, slow and sweet.

It isn't until he bites her nipple - gently, in case she doesn't like it, but still firmly - that she actually pulls his hair. It hurts, a little - but mostly it's just hot, feeling her wanting it like that. He does it again, trapping a nipple between his teeth and sucking just a little, and she arches towards him, swearing quietly.

"Fuck, Gee," she says, "God, just, please - " He keeps going, licking and biting and sucking, pulling her closer with his hands on her hips, feeling her shiver and tremble. She slides her hands down to his shoulders, bracing herself, putting most of her weight on him; her arms are shaking, just at the edge of his field of vision.

When he pulls back, she groans and swears and grabs at the back of his head, but he stays where he is, looking up at her.

"Bed?" he asks, tilting his head to one side. "I mean, for real?" It seems to take a second to process, but then she nods, lets him scoot out of the way so that she can knee-walk up the bed and sprawl out. She's breathing a little fast, rubbing one hand over her ribs, fingers drifting toward her breasts like she doesn't even know she's doing it.

"Well, come on," she says, watching him through half-open eyes. "Lose the pants and get up here." She pinches her nipple as she says it, and arches up off the bed, and Gerard gets lost for a minute before he remembers that yes, right, they have a plan, here.

He fumbles his way out of his pants, leaving them in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed, and scrambles up to join Frankie, cupping her breasts and watching her touch herself, kissing her to see what it tastes like when she moans. She tugs on his shoulder, and he eases himself closer, pressing up against her side and sliding one leg between hers, still kissing her, counting her ribs with his fingertips. She bites his lip and giggles, squirms a little against his hand, then gets her hand down the back of his boxers to give him a good old-fashioned pinch on the ass.

He jumps, which shoves him up against her even more; neither of them mind.

After they settle, though, it's - not any less hot, but somehow calmer, easier. They kiss and kiss and kiss, lazy and deep, just holding on to each other and breathing together. Frankie grins into his mouth, and Gerard grins back, kisses the exact middle of her lower lip, tilts his head to lick at the corner of her smile. She's petting his hair again, brushing it back from where it falls into her face, and he's cupping her breast just to feel her, warm and sweet against him, all clean sweat and pale skin.

It doesn't last, though - sweet kisses get sloppy, then frantic, and Frankie starts rolling her hips, pressing up against his leg between hers. The motion pulls at her sweatpants, tugging them a little lower on her hips every time she rocks up against him, and Gerard can't help it, has to put his hand on her hip, just to feel that bare skin.

They're most of the way off, anyway - they were low to begin with - but he still glances at Frankie's face while he tugs them just that much further, to see if she minds. She grins at him, wild and breathless, and raises her eyebrows; he scoots them down until his hands are on elastic instead of bare skin, then hesitates. Frankie nods again and lifts her hips up, so he moves his leg out of the way and slides the sweats down her legs entirely, dropping them off the bed.

She spreads her legs a little wider, tilting her hips up towards him. He slides one hand up her leg, watching her shiver, then presses it gently against the crotch of her panties. She's warm, and wet through the cotton, and she twists her hands in the sheets while he touches her.

He's not entirely sure what he's doing, but it doesn't seem to matter; everything he does makes Frankie moan or shiver or arch up against him. He presses his fingers down, then drags them slowly upwards until she jerks against him and grabs his wrist, holding his hand where it is and lifting her hips against him. Gerard's no idiot - he knows what the clitoris is, what it does, and he leaves his fingers right where they are, rubbing gently, letting Frankie set the rhythm. He twists his fingers a little, and she shudders against him, pushes herself against his hand. His fingers push in a little farther than he'd intended, pulling the panties down; she doesn't moan or anything, but she says his name, dragging the A and clenching her teeth on the D.

She's treating him like her own personal sex toy, and it's - it's really, really hot. Gerard's trying to figure out if he can get her to make that noise again, the one that's somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, when she sucks in a breath and says, "Gee, wait," lifting up her head to look at him.

He stops, but keeps his hand where it is, pressed against her, not wanting to move. She grins at him and leans up for an awkward kiss, all teeth and tongue.

"I mean, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself and all, but - I mean, here, let me," she's saying, sitting up and reaching for him, and Gerard has no idea what she means until he realizes that he's pretty much been humping her leg. She doesn't give him time to get awkward about it, though - just gets her hand into his boxers and around his dick, and holy fuck, Frankie. He makes a noise he'll never be able to repeat on his own, and Frankie giggles, pressing her face against his neck.

He doesn't think Frankie's done this very much, actually. It's not that she's horrible, or that Gerard even needs anything much at this point, but she's very focused, watching her hand and his face, seeing what reactions she gets, biting on her lip a little, grinning when she gets him to make noise. It's amazing - watching her face light up, the way she's so clearly focused on making this good for him, a little clumsy and a lot sincere - and it's that, more than her hands or her tits or any part of her, that has him fucking her hand and gasping for breath and coming all over them both.

While he's still trying to breathe, Frankie lifts her wet hand, looking at it curiously, and licks the tip of one finger, tentative and exploratory. She makes a little face, but grins over at Gerard, which is all his brain needs to go completely offline; he flops backward, his hand landing somewhere just short of the crumpled pillows. Frankie wipes her hand on his shorts and settles next to him, leaning against his knees and running her hands idly over his ribs, lazy and sweet. When Gerard gets enough cognitive function back to open his eyes, she's grinning down at him, open and delighted.

It takes some doing, but he manages to sit up, scooting back to lean against the headboard and the pile of pillows, pulling her after him and turning her around, settling them together. She goes willingly, and only complains a little when he accidentally pokes her in the side, and soon she's cuddled up against his side, tucked under his arm, leaning up to kiss him.

He slides one hand up her thigh, slowly, gently, until he's touching her through her panties again; she moans against the side of his face and shivers a little. There are little red marks at creases of her legs, where the elastic of her underwear digs in, and he tugs it out of the way to brush his fingertips over the skin. She hisses out a breath and lifts her hips off the bed, which is about as clear of a hint as Gerard could ask for: he pulls her panties down past her hips, down to her knees. She kicks them the rest of the way off, giggling a little, and lets him pull her leg higher, spreading her out across his lap.

She presses her face against his neck, breathing fast and unsteady, and he eases his hand up between her thighs. Her hair is dense and coarse, and he slides his fingers through it a few times before reaching lower, pressing against her clit, loving the way she moves against him, the way she moans when he's gentle and gasps when he's just a little rougher. She's wet and slick and frantic under him, against him, and he lets his fingers slide lower, figuring that she'll stop him if he goes too far - but she just gasps out his name and bites his neck and shivers until he slides a finger inside her.

It's easier than he'd have thought, mostly because of how wet she is, how slippery. He slides his finger in and out and then back in, learning the feel of her, then hesitates, teasing her with the tips of two fingers until she swears at him. Two is more of a stretch, tight and hot, and she gasps and lifts up her hips, does this whole-body arch and shiver, spreading her legs even wider, her thighs trembling

He stays like that, sliding two fingers in and out of her, spreading them a little to hear her breath hitch and stutter, and she goes with it, pressing forward when he does, rubbing herself against him. When he presses his thumb against her clit, rubbing in rhythm, he can feel her shiver from the inside and from the outside. She's making these little noises, rough and choked off, gasping into his neck. He thinks he maybe catches his name in there, somewhere, but most of the words he can make out are variations on fuck.

When he kisses her, she's uncoordinated and uncareful, licking his teeth and biting at his lips and gasping every time he twists his fingers. Gerard moves his hand faster, just a little, and presses against her clit, and she shudders, groans into his mouth, bites down on his lower lip, just hard enough to be the good kind of painful. Another twist of his fingers, and she's coming, breaking the kiss to gasp brokenly while he strokes her, soothing her while she shivers and arches and comes apart in his arms.

Eventually, he slides his fingers out of her; she makes a face, but leans up to kiss him anyway.

"Hi," she says, when they break apart. "You're kind of amazing, did you know that?"

"It was okay, then?" As soon as he says it, he wants to take it back, but Frankie just rolls her eyes and smacks him lightly on the back of the head.

"No, idiot," she says. "You made me come so hard I'll probably be able to feel it on Tuesday, but it wasn't any good." She kisses him again, then stretches and yawns. "God, I'm still so tired." She glances at Gerard, smiling a small, contented smile. "Want to take a nap? I mean, I don't have anywhere to go..."

A nap sounds like the best idea ever, actually. Frankie finds him a pair of shorts to wear, and gets back into her PJs - sans underwear, this time. They duck under the blankets and curl together back-to-front, Gerard's nose in Frankie's hair. There's sunlight in her room, he notices, reflecting off the walls and pooling on the floor; after that, he's asleep.

*

Gerard wakes up to sun on his face, Frankie in his arms, and the sound of tapping at the door. Frankie doesn't really wake up when he pokes her, just sighs and rubs her face sleepily against his shoulder, smiling a little. She's turned around, somehow, and has an arm and a leg across his body, anchoring him to the bed; he kisses her forehead and lets his eyes slide shut.

"Frankie! Gerard!" Her mom's voice is like an air-horn, and Frankie shoots upright, looking around frantically, grabbing at the sheets. "Are you two decent?" Reality hits, and Frankie sinks back onto the bed, hiding her face against Gerard's neck and groaning. "Frankie? Francesca Antonia, do I need to come in there and - "

"Mom, we were taking a nap," Frankie says, her voice humming against Gerard's skin. "Keep your shirt on." One of his hands is actually under Frankie's shirt, and he wiggles his fingers; she grins at him and leans up for a kiss, lazy and open-mouthed.

"My shirt is just fine, thank you," Frankie's mom says. "But you, young lady, have homework that needs doing, and I'm sure Gerard had other plans for today." None of Gerard's plans could have ever been better than this, but Frankie groans, wrinkling her nose.

"She's right," she says, resting her forehead against Gerard's. "I mean, it's just chem, nothing big, but I kind of do have to get it finished for tomorrow."

"It's cool," Gerard says, tracing patterns on her back. "I mean, I've got stuff to do, too - I could get my sketchbook, we could work together? I mean," he adds, "If you want."

Frankie beams at him, kisses him, then sits up. "I totally want," she says. "Mom, we're coming!"

Fifteen minutes later, Gerard's in the corner of the couch in the living room, drawing vampires - the rough draft of a new project he's working on. Frankie's on the other end, working her way through her chemistry homework, frowning and chewing on the end of her pencil. Her toes are tucked under Gerard's legs, and every so often she wiggles them. When Gerard turns and looks, she's back at work, but if he stares long enough, she starts smiling, sometimes blushing. He's not sure how much work they're actually accomplishing, but he wouldn't trade this for anything.

Besides, he doesn't have to have anything in until Wednesday. He can waste a little time, right now.

After a while, he glances over to see Frankie asleep again, her head propped against the back of the couch, chem book sliding off her lap. Her mouth is open and she's snoring slightly, awkward and vulnerable and beautiful.

When his phone rings, he's got three pages of drawings of her - the light on her hair, the curve of her mouth, the way she tucks her knees up and turns on her side, pressing her face against her arm. It's Mikey, again, wanting to know where he is, reminding him that Ma's sister is coming for dinner, so he should really think about coming back and making nice. After Mikey hangs up, Gerard stares at the page for a minute, then shuts the book carefully and slips it back into his backpack. Maybe he'll show it to Frankie at some point.

Frankie wakes up when he shakes her ankle, blinking her eyes open and staring groggily at him. "I have to go," he tells her, keeping quiet, not wanting to break the moment. "Dinner, family - " He shrugs. She nods, sitting up and stretching, and stacks her stuff on the coffee table. He takes her hand to stand up, then pulls her into his arms, holding her close.

On the porch, they kiss for long minutes, until Gerard's lips are chapped and Frankie's eyes are wide and dark, all pupil. Every time they pull apart, they find something else to talk about, something to mention or ask, and they lean together little by little until they're close enough to kiss again. It's windy, and more than a little chilly, but he presses his hands against her neck and she slides hers under his shirt and they kiss, close and endless.

"Okay," she says finally, holding him at arm's length. "Okay, if we stay out here any longer, my mom is going to come looking for us, and then my entire family is going to tease me for a month straight." She presses another kiss to his mouth, then steps back, wrapping her fingers around her elbows like that will keep them in place. Gerard understands perfectly: he's got his hands stuffed in his pockets, because otherwise he's going to reach for her again. "I'll call you later," she offers, grinning wryly. "I've got your number in my phone." Her cheeks are a little pink, and it takes all of Gerard's self control to turn away, to walk towards the car and get in instead of taking the three steps forward to press her up against the front of the house.

She stays on the porch while he drives off, waving, and Gerard almost misses the stop sign at the corner.

At home, he muddles his way through dinner somehow. His mom frowns at him, suspicious, and Aunt Doris feels his forehead and declares that he's coming down with something, the poor dear. Mikey grins like a loon through the whole meal, and Gerard can't even find it in him to punch his shoulder.

Upstairs, he turns on his cell phone, and sees that he has 1 New Text Message. It's from Frankie, of course.

thanks for not being a gentleman, it says. call me?

Gerard smiles, sits down, and presses Send.