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throw a little sparkle all over it (2/3)
part one
Frank wakes up sometime around four, blinking up at the darkness and trying to figure out why he's even conscious. There's nothing, though: just the road, the bus, the quiet sounds of people breathing around him. Frank shrugs and rolls over, smacking his pillow to get comfortable again. Probably he's slept too much, recently—that's usually more Gerard's problem, but it's the only thing that makes sense—
—the only thing, that is, until he hears Katie crying.
She's not that loud, really; not nearly as loud as he'd have expected. For a second, he thinks about ignoring her. She's not his kid, after all. She'll probably go back to sleep soon enough, and it's not loud enough to wake anybody else up—but then he hears Gerard, rolling over and shoving his curtain back, sitting up and cracking his head against the bunk above his because he never remembers that it's there, when he's tired.
"Hey, no," Frank says, sliding out of his own bunk and crossing the aisle. "Gee, no, come on."
Gerard blinks at him, feet dangling over the edge of the bunk. "Frank?" he says, frowning. "Frank, what's going on?" He leans into Frank, sleepy and heavy and uncoordinated, blinking slowly in the dark. Frank pushes on his shoulders, trying to get him back into his bunk, but then Katie starts up again, a little louder this time, and Gerard remembers, starts to try to climb down, awkward and still more than half asleep.
"Gee," Frank says, "Gerard." Gerard stares at him, blinking, and Frank sighs. "Go the fuck back to sleep, you dumbass," Frank says. "I'll take care of it."
"But Katie," Gerard says, "Frank, she's crying." Screaming her little head off, now, actually, and she's going to wake up Bob soon. Frank sighs, pushing on Gerard's shoulder until he settles back in his bunk.
"I'll take care of it," he says. "Go back to bed, fucker." Gee keeps staring, though, frowning a little.
"Frank," he says, "why—"
"Because you were up all night last night, and most of the night before, and I don't want you to pass out onstage, okay?" Gerard doesn't seem satisfied, but Katie's really getting into it, and Bob's starting to move around in that just-waking-up-gonna-kill-you-all way he has; Frank pulls Gerard's curtains and goes into the lounge, shutting the door behind him.
Katie just screams louder when he picks her up, flailing her tiny fists around. She doesn't want food, and her diaper is clean; Frank's pretty sure she just wants to yell. So, fine: Frank's played in a lot of shitty punk bands, and listened to even more. She can scream as loud as she wants; he's heard worse.
"And anyway," he says to her, bouncing her a little, his hand steady on the back of her head, "your lungs are pretty small. I mean, I won't say I'm not impressed by the effort," because, seriously, for somebody as small as she is she sure can scream, "but you're working at a disadvantage here, kiddo." She wails, and he pats her on the back. "I'd show you, but then we'd wake Bob up, and then he'd kill us all—well, maybe not you, because you're pretty cute, but definitely me." A tiny flailing hand catches him on the ear, little fingers hooking in, and Frank winces. "Yeah, thanks, that's just great, how about not?" It's tough to get her to let go of his ear without dropping her, but he manages it, and goes back to walking across the lounge, back and forth, patting her back and ignoring her screaming.
After a while, he starts singing to her. Nothing modern—time enough for that when she's old enough to appreciate it. He sings her lullabies, kids' songs, the stuff his mom sang to him when he was small and sick and scared. Half of the time, he can't remember the lyrics, and winds up humming his way through. Katie doesn't seem to mind, though, and gradually she gets quieter, less violent, until she's hiccupping softly on his shoulder, her face wet against his neck.
"And if that mockingbird won't sing," he continues, "papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring. And if that diamond ring don't sparkle, papa's gonna buy you some...magic markers. And if those magic markers don't color, papa's gonna buy you—" she finally stops crying, and Frank sighs. "Something insane, I'm sure." He thinks, for a second, of taking her back to Gerard—but that'd just wake Gee up, and then the whole point of the exercise would be lost. Plus, Gerard would probably get her excited again, cooing over her.
The carseat will be fine. Frank goes to put her down, though, and she grabs onto his t-shirt. She's quiet, and otherwise peaceful, but she won't let go, and finally he gives up.
"Whatever, fine," he says. "Let's see what's on TV." Pretty much nothing, at this point: at 5 am, it's all infomercials and reruns. "What do you think, kid?" he asks her, stretching out on the couch. "Top model reruns or Law and Order reruns?" She shifts against him and farts, and Frank nods. "Top model it is, then." Tyra's breasts are scarier than ever, and Frank wonders briefly if he should be showing this stuff to an infant. "But, I mean," he tells her, "you're going to see it at some point, right?" Anyway, he's not entirely sure her eyes can focus that far away.
He starts to explain the principle of the show to her, but she falls asleep before they're past the opening credits, her hand wrapped around his thumb. And like this—with her asleep on his chest, warm and soft and sweet, drooling and holding onto him—like this, it's okay. She's still not his, but for a little while he can pretend that she is, pretend that he's anything more than a bystander.
Onscreen, a camera flashes, and Frank closes his eyes.
*
"Guys, have you seen Frank any—oh," Ray says, "I guess you have."
Frank blinks his eyes open. He's on the couch, the TV flickering on mute in front of him. For a minute, he can't remember how he got there, but then Katie smacks him in the face with a tiny hand, and it all comes back: waking up in the middle of the night, hearing the kid, going on a mission of mercy to keep Gerard from working himself into a nervous collapse. Walking around the bus a million times. Sitting down on the couch, channel surfing. Top model.
"You fell asleep on the couch," Mikey says. He's only smiling a little, but it's like a smirk coming from him, and he's got his sidekick out. Frank blinks.
"How many people have pictures so far?" he asks. Gerard looks like he's going to tough it out, but Mikey just shrugs.
"Our moms, mostly," he says. "And Alicia. She says hey."
"By which he means, awwwwwww!!!!" Gerard reports back, leaning over Mikey's shoulder to peek. He's not really tall enough to; he has to stand on his toes to reach. Frank laughs, and the motion is enough to wake Katie up all the way; she starts making noise, and Gerard swoops over to pick her up and feed her, cooing to her and rubbing noses all the way. On the one hand, it's obnoxious as all fuck—on the other hand, Gerard's bouncing around like an insane squirrel instead of doing the Zombie Shuffle; Frank's going to count that as a win.
"Look," Gerard says, "Look, Katie, you're an astronaut!" He flies her down the hallway to the kitchen, making all of the appropriate spaceship noises, and turnabout has always been fair play. Frank grabs Mikey's sidekick and takes off after them, snapping pictures of Gerard and Katie being astronauts, Gerard wrestling with the jars of baby food, Gerard trying and failing to persuade Katie that bananas are awesome by means of various transportation analogies, Gerard with bananas in his hair, Gerard eating bananas, as an example, Gerard spitting "disgusting mockery of bananadom" into the sink, Katie giggling like a fiend.
"You have no idea what's going on, do you?" Frank says, leaning in to bop her nose. "You just think we're a bunch of fucking crazy people."
"In her defense, she's probably right," Gerard says, toweling his hair dry. "Also, fifty cents."
Frank rolls his eyes. "Come on, Gerard," he says. "She's four months old, and I know you think she's the smartest baby in the entire fucking world, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't know what the fuck we're saying. Ow!" Katie has both her hands in his hair and is yanking again, tugging him down to her level. "Ow, fuck, fucking—shit, come on, Gee, stop being an asshole and fucking help me!"
"I think she understands more than you give her credit for, Frank," Gerard says. "Also, it's four dollars now." He's pulling Katie's hands away, though, smeared in gross fake-banana shit.
Frank shoves a five in the jar. "Consider it an advance," he says. "Get out of the way, I'm going to go wash my fucking hair." No showers on the bus, of course, so he's stuck shoving his head under the sink and doing what he can, scrubbing and rinsing. Kid's got tiny fucking hands, but the banana crap is still all over Frank's hair; he's going to be smelling it all day.
"Here," Gerard says, behind him, "you missed a spot, let me—" he holds the back of Frank's neck with one hand and uses the other to work the baby food out of Frank's hair. "This stuff is really sticky," he says. "I don't know if we should really be letting Katie eat it, you know? It seems like it'd be dangerous."
"Making her eat it, you mean," Frank says. "Also, it tastes like shit."
"Mmm." Gerard's pressed up behind Frank, leaning against him while he washes his hair. It's weirdly intimate, somehow—the bus has stopped, and it's like it's just the two of them, Gerard's hands in Frank's hair, the sound of the water running and Katie making a mess of her breakfast, the sound of the door opening—
"—Hi, Cheryl," Gerard says. His hands stop moving, but he doesn't step away, which means Frank can't stand up; on the other hand, if Cheryl's there, he's not sure he wants to. His face feels red, probably from being bent over the sink. "Frank, um," Gerard continues. "Katie doesn't like bananas." He shrugs.
Cheryl laughs. "Fair enough," she says. "I just have a little more information for you all, when you're ready." Gerard shuts off the water and stands up, leaving Frank with his hair dripping into the sink; he grabs the towel from the counter and wraps it around his head like a turban, figuring that his morning can't really get any more ridiculous.
Everyone else is already settled in the other room, when he gets in: Gerard and Mikey on opposite ends of the couch, Bob propped up over his coffee, Ray in a chair looking intent, Brian and Cheryl at the table. Frank thinks about it, then drops to the floor next to Katie's car seat and gives her his fingers to play with; she sticks them in her mouth, which is probably not the best plan ever, but is also kind of stupidly cute.
"Right, well," Cheryl says. "The first thing is that I've been cleared to act as your official caseworker."
"...because you weren't already?" Ray says finally.
Cheryl shuffles her papers. "Not technically, no. We don't deal with a lot of cases crossing state lines, and even fewer that can hit a dozen major cities in two weeks. There was some uncertainty over how your case should be handled, but, well." She shrugs. "I won." Her grin is sharp and a little dangerous, and Frank is suddenly very glad that she's on their side.
"Well, great," Gerard says. "I mean, seriously, thank you." He taps his foot, jostling Frank's leg. "But, um. I'm guessing you didn't come out here just to tell us that?"
"No," Cheryl says. "That's the easy part, so pay attention."
*
"So, basically," Bob says, "you're saying that there are two parts to this thing."
"Right." Cheryl nods, and Bob continues.
"On the one hand, we're trying to get Gerard certified as a fit parent—"
"—which means that we're really trying to get us all certified as fit parents," Ray adds, "because it's not like what we do isn't going to affect Katie."
"Exactly."
"But at the same time, on the off chance that I'm not fit to parent," Gerard rolls his eyes, "we're also trying to track down Katie's mother, to see what's going on with her."
"Basically, yes. We want to know why she gave the child up, if there are any other issues to be concerned about—and, ultimately, whether she would make a fit guardian should you prove to be—"
"A crazy person," Frank says, because it's not like they aren't all thinking it. Cheryl rolls her eyes, but nods.
"Pretty much." They sit for a few seconds, thinking, and then Mikey lifts his head up from his sidekick, frowning.
"So, like, you're going to ride with us for a while? Because, I mean." He looks around at the lounge and shrugs. "We're kind of gross." Gerard makes an arguing face, but Mikey rolls his eyes. "Dude, don't even start, you know it's true."
Cheryl shrugs. "I mean, ordinarily it'd be a pretty cursory inspection—we want to give custody to the birth father, and we want to do it as soon as possible, for the sake of the child." Gerard's vibrating in his seat, practically, he's so excited; Frank leans back against his legs until he stops moving around. "Unless we turn up any really obvious red flags—but, I mean, this isn't an ordinary situation, here." She shuffles her papers again, closes the folder, folds her hands. "I don't know, really," she says. "We'll have to figure it out as we go along."
"So what's first?" Ray's frowning. "Do you, like. Do you need to interview us?"
"At some point, yes. Right now, though," Cheryl stands up, "I'm most interested in seeing what kind of accommodations you have set up for Katie."
"Okay," Gerard says, "yeah, sure."
What follows is officially the weirdest tour in the history of MCR. Cheryl's not interested in the instruments or the bunks or any of the normal stuff; she's checking the mini-fridge and the ventilation and the corners of the furniture. They follow her around like nervous ducklings, peeking around her and trying to figure out what she's looking at, what she's seeing.
"You're going to have to stop smoking on the bus," she says, standing up. "Like, seriously, that's a red flag the size of Nebraska."
Gerard coughs. "I'm actually trying to quit entirely," he says, fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweatshirt.
"That's also good," Cheryl says, sounding like she's heard that one before. "Still, at the very least no more smoking on the bus." She's not mean about it, just resigned and practical; it makes Frank think about what her life must be like, helping kids without families.
That's not her biggest criticism, though. "It looks good for right now," she says, "but she's not going to stay in the carseat forever, and you're going to need to figure out how you're going to take care of her once she's crawling around." She smiles a little. "I'd suggest that you start by finding a new hiding place for the porn." Ray blushes, but she ignores him. "I've got to head out now," she says. "But I'll be back in a few days to check Katie over in more detail." She'd fallen asleep sometime during the tour, so Cheryl had just checked her skin, her hands, looked at the clothes they'd bought her and pronounced them acceptable, if "a little bit weird."
"Thank you," Gerard says, stepping forward and taking her hand. "Really, I mean—thank you so much, seriously."
Cheryl smiles at Gerard, then bites her lip. "We also," she says, "need to talk about the exact custody arrangements." She shuffles her papers together, looking at them one by one. "I mean, I take it that you're all planning to raise her together?" Frank nods, glancing around; the others are nodding too, and Gerard looks a little bit like he's about to cry, neither of which are any surprise. "Right, well," she says. "That's wonderful, and I do want to applaud you all for this—but our system's set up for something a little more, um." She takes a breath. "A little more binary, I guess."
Gerard looks like he's been kicked in the nuts, without the benefit of an adrenaline buzz to carry him through it. "You need a second parent," he says.
Cheryl nods. "I mean, practically speaking you're going to be evaluated as a unit—in a situation like this, if any one of you were unfit to parent, that would make the situation dangerous enough that we wouldn't pass it." She clears her throat. "But, for the sake of the paperwork, I'm going to need a second name."
Frank closes his eyes. Gerard's going to pick Mikey—or, well, maybe not Mikey, because Mikey's got Alicia and that might make things weird, later on. Maybe Gerard will pick Ray, who's a fucking genius, or Bob, who's preternaturally chill. Maybe he'll pick Schechter; Shechter would be a good dad. Or maybe he'll tell Cheryl to fuck off, give her that whole lecture on binary and gender roles and non-traditional families and—
"Frank," Gerard says, "Frank." Frank opens his eyes and stares at him, and Gerard shrugs, turning a little red. "I mean, you're really good with her, you know? Like, this morning and everything." He glances away, staring at something on the wall. "I mean, unless you don't want to or—"
"I'll do it," Frank says, swallowing hard. "I mean, somebody has to keep you two out of trouble." Gerard doesn't need the help, but Frank can hang around and burp the baby until Gerard figures that out.
"I—thanks," Gerard says, glancing at Cheryl and then away. "Thanks, Frankie."
Cheryl nods, writing it down, then looks back up. "There's also the question of paternity testing," she says. "This is going to be a lot of work for you all—it would make sense for you to want to make sure." There's a long, silent moment where Gerard stares down at Katie and the rest of them stare at Gerard. "You don't have to decide today," Cheryl says. "Talk it over, tell me tomorrow—this is a big decision to be making." She grabs her papers from the table and Brian walks her out, presumably back to wherever she's riding.
Gerard stands in the middle of the room, shoulders down, twitching quietly.
"If you guys," he says, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "I mean, fuck. I don't want to—"
"Shut the fuck up, Gerard," Ray says, stepping up behind him and wrapping his arm around Gerard's shoulders.
"Seriously, man," Bob says, coming around on Gerard's other side. "Do you honestly think we're that kind of assholes?"
Mikey doesn't say anything, just walks up to the mass of bodies and hugs them all hard. Frank steps around them, stands face-to-face with Gerard, leans forward until their foreheads are touching.
"Frank," Gerard says, lost and exhausted. "Frank, fuck. I—I don't want to ask this of you, especially when—"
"You're not asking, asshole," Frank says. "I'm telling you." He can do this, can help Gerard figure out how to be a dad.
Gerard, of course, is completely unable to take a good thing as a given. "But, I mean," he says. "You guys know that if they check—the paternity test's going to say it's some guy in Duluth or whatever." He sounds choked up and furious, and Frank can't blame him. Anybody who'd abandon a mom with a kid is automatically a jackass, in his book, and when that kid's Katie—well.
Frank rolls his eyes. "No shit, Gerard." The test's not going to show that Gerard stayed up all night with a screaming kid, or that he let her smear baby food all over him, or that his eyes fucking light up whenever she's anywhere nearby. It's not going to show how much Gerard fucking loves her, even just knowing her for a few days—which sucks, really, because that's the important thing, here.
"Yeah, well," he says, shrugging. "What's a little babynapping between friends?"
Gerard makes a choked noise. "You guys are—seriously, motherfuckers, I don't even fucking know—"
"This is touching and all," Brian says, "but Katie is having a diaper situation, and I am not going to be the one to deal with it."
"Brian," Gerard says. He looks up, but doesn't shove them away, so they stay there, wrapped up in each other. "Schechter, are you—is this okay?"
Frank turns around just in time to see the face Brian makes, half oh-god-I-love-you-all-so-much and half oh-god-how-did-I-wind-up-with-you-idiots. "You say that as though this were the weirdest thing you guys have put me through," he says, and Gerard makes another ridiculous noise and pulls himself free of the group hug, walking over to squish his face against Schechter's neck and give him a bear hug. Brian, for his part, looks put-upon, but also touched. "That's great, Gerard," he says, "really, awesome. Now stop snotting on my shirt and go deal with your daughter's diaper."
Gerard pulls away, looks at them all, flaps his hands once or twice, and then—at another wail from Katie—grabs the car seat and the diaper bag and disappears into the kitchen.
"I'd better go with him," Frank says, disentangling himself from the remains of the group hug. "He still doesn't know how to work a fucking diaper."
"Oh, God," Brian says, but Frank's already halfway down the hallway.
*
The first package is there at the venue when they roll into St Louis that afternoon. KATHERINE ELIZABETH, it says C/O MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE. It's postmarked New Jersey, and it's fucking heavy.
"Five dollars says it's from Mrs. Way," Bob says, while Frank wrestles with the packing tape.
"No bet," Mikey says, leaning over Frank's shoulder. "Of course it's from Mom." They get the box open, and the first thing Frank sees is a teddy bear almost Katie's size, dressed in black with a cape and tiny fabric fangs. Mikey grabs it out of the box before Frank can really get a look at it, and lobs it across the room to Ray, who catches it and hands it to Gerard.
"Hey, awesome!" he says, and holds it up to show to Katie. "Look, Katie, it's a vampire bear!" He waves it in her face and she bats at it, grabbing clumsily until Gerard holds it close enough that she can stuff it in her mouth. Frank watches them and laughs; behind him, he hears the click-whirr of Ray's camera going off.
In addition to the vampire bear, the box contains:
- a NO SMOKING sign,
- a red fleece blanket, ridiculously soft and warm,
- approximately ten million pairs of tiny socks,
- a bunch of tiny squishy rubber things,
- a hot pink sweatshirt,
- a baby backpack, and
- several bags of coffee beans.
There's also a letter, which Mikey reads.
"The rubber things are for her teeth," he says.
Ray picks one up and tosses it from hand to hand, frowning. "Does she even have teeth?" Gerard checks, holding Katie's mouth open and looking inside; fortunately, she finds the whole thing hilarious.
"Mom says not yet," Mikey says, reading further, "but that we'll know when we need them." Ray nods, flipping the pacifier over his fingers, then shrugs and bites it experimentally. Frank shakes his head, because, seriously. His life, some days. "She also says that the sweatshirt is so that the poor kid will have some colors to wear," Mikey adds, "which is probably fair."
"Hey!" Gerard looks up, glaring at them. "We totally got clothes in colors."
"Black's not a color, Gee," Mikey says, but Gerard just rolls his eyes and goes back to telling Katie that she's, "the best little skeleton ever, kid, just you wait and see."
Frank unloads the rest of the stuff onto the floor and tosses the empty box behind the couch. Bob watches it sail over his head, then turns to Frank, thoughtful.
"Where are we going to put all this stuff, guys?" he asks, which is—which is a really good question, actually. They all take a moment to think about it. Finally, Ray stands up, grabbing the NO SMOKING sign off the top of the pile and hanging it over the entrance to the bunks.
"We've already got the studio bus," he says. "Why don't we make this the baby bus?" And just like that, that's how it works.
*
The next day, they're playing Chicago. It's a good day—crisp, clear fall weather, endless blue sky and white fluffy clouds. They wrap Katie up in sweaters and stuff her into the baby carrier, and then find someone to loan them a car and trek out to Bob's mom's house for lunch. She feeds them casserole and gives Gerard as much coffee as he wants, and coos endlessly over Katie.
"I have to say," she says, when Frank gets up to refill the coffee, "I had my doubts when I heard about this, but you boys seem to be doing all right." Gerard beams so much it's ridiculous, but Frank can't really blame him. He's smiling pretty hard, too.
Bob's mom always gives them food to take with them, but this time she gives them a box to go with the Tupperware.
"My niece's youngest is too big for it, now," she says, "and it's sturdy enough that I thought it might do for you boys. Amelia, dear," she says, and Bob nods.
"Thanks, Mrs. Bryar," Gerard says, turning on the earnest; she starts to wave him off, but winds up taking Katie again, rubbing noses with her and making silly baby-talk noises. Bob looks a little embarrassed, but otherwise resigned, which is a pretty common look for him.
Getting the crib into the car is easy, getting it onto the bus and into the back bedroom is a little more challenging. Getting it set up, though, is completely fucking impossible, and Frank winds up sprawled on the bed with Gerard, playing with Katie's fingers while Ray and Mikey argue over which parts go where and Bob ransacks the bus, looking for a screwdriver.
"Motherfuck," Bob says, coming back in. "How is it that nobody we know has anything remotely useful?"
"I bet your mom has a screwdriver," Frank says, and Bob flips him off.
"Should you really be making your mom jokes in front of a three-month old? Also, fuck you."
"What, no," Frank says, trying not to laugh, "I'm just saying, your mom's a capable lady! I bet she's got a screwdriver!" He kicks Gerard's ankle, hoping for some support, but Gerard shakes his head.
"Sorry, Frank," he says. "I'm going to have to side with Bob, here." He glances at Bob. "Speaking of which, fifty cents."
Frank looks at Bob, who nods. "Here, hold her," Frank says, picking up Katie and handing her to Ray. Gerard doesn't realize what they're doing until it's too late to run away, by which point Bob and Frank are holding him down and tickling him while he shouts and swears.
"Who owes money now, motherfucker?" Bob asks, right before they fall off the bed.
"Ow," Gerard says into the carpet, and then, "oh, hey, is that a screwdriver back there?"
It is, in fact, a screwdriver under the bed—Frank doesn't know why, and doesn't want to—and with that settled, the crib is set up in no time flat. Then Katie wants something to eat, and then they have to change her, and then it's time for soundcheck. During the openers, Gerard disappears for a while and comes back with Katie, wrapped in a blanket and wearing enormous industrial-strength headphones, looking around wide-eyed and uncertain.
"She woke up again," Gerard says, leaning close to talk over the sound of Reggie and the Full Effect. "Brian found these—they're what they use at, like, airports and shit, for people who work with jet engines." They seem to be working: Katie watches Reggie's whole set from sidestage without making a peep, and even falls asleep at the beginning of Alkaline Trio. Frank points it out to Gerard, who smiles and gestures toward the green room.
"I wanted her to see it," he says, when they can hear each other a little better. "I mean, I know she's not going to remember any of it, but I wanted to expose her to it, at least, you know?" Frank nods, and sits in the corner with Katie while Gerard warms up. He slips off the headphones halfway through. She doesn't wake up, but that's okay—he wants to expose her to some things, too, and Gerard's warm-up singing is just the first one.
The show is great—Chicago shows usually are—and they're all laughing and happy on the way out to the bus afterwards, teasing and joking. It's not really a surprise when Pete Wentz is there, leaning up against the side of the bus and messing around with his sidekick; when things happen in Chicago, Pete is usually somewhere around.
They invite him in, as a courtesy, and because if they don't invite him, he'll probably just come in anyways. Brian's at the table, working on his laptop and pushing Katie's carseat back and forth with his foot; Frank doesn't think anything of it until he walks into Pete, who's standing and staring.
"Dude," he says. "Dude, you guys have a baby, what the fuck."
"Swear jar," Gerard says, stepping around Pete to pick Katie up. "Thanks for watching her, Brian."
Pete turns to watch as Gerard settles on the couch, looking completely thrilled. "You guys have a swear jar?" he asks, sounding delighted. "Dude, that's badass—how much do I owe?"
"Fifty cents a word," Frank says, "so, a dollar." Pete stuffs one into the jar, then settles onto the floor, staring at Katie from about ten inches away. She starts to fuss, a little, which could be because of Pete, but then again might not be. "Brian, did you feed her?"
Brian shakes his head. "I tried to, before you guys went on, but she didn't seem hungry." Frank raises his eyebrows at Gerard, who nods.
"Probably a good idea, yeah," Gerard says, and Frank goes into the kitchen to find something new for Katie to rub in his hair. When he comes back out, Gerard's explaining the situation to Pete.
"So, like, we're totally fucking keeping her," Gerard says, "but first we have to go through all the child protection bullshit, get certified and everything. Ooh, broccoli," he says, when Frank hands him the jar.
"Swear jar, motherfucker," Frank tells him. "Hey, Pete, want to feed her?" No reason he should be the only one with vegetables in his hair.
*
They're doing two shows in Chicago, so they crash in a hotel. Smuggling the crib in is kind of tricky—they have to take it in stages, with Ray standing watch and Bob distracting the desk clerk. Then, of course, they have to set it back up again, and Frank gets smacked in the face with one of the bars.
"Crap," Gerard says, "Fuck, Frank, you okay?"
"Hold that steady, motherfucker," Frank says. "I'll show you okay." Gerard giggles, but he holds the fucking bars steady, and they get the crib set back up with only minimal comments from the peanut gallery.
"I gave you an eight, but your daughter was a bit more generous," Ray says, handing her over. "Also, I think you want to change her." He's edging towards the door as he says it; Frank flips him off, but he's already long gone.
"Should you really be giving him the finger?" Gerard says, setting the diaper bag on the bed and pulling stuff out of it. "I mean, like, in front of her?"
"Her eyes can't focus that far away yet," Frank says. "Here, get the wipes, I'll deal with her clothes."
They're still not very good at this diaper-changing business, and the whole right-side bed smells when they're done.
"Whatever," Frank says, when Gerard starts to make apologetic faces about stealing Frank's bed. "It's not like you're that bad to sleep with." He takes a shower and then passes out, face down, listening to Gerard explain Star Wars to Katie.
He wakes up in the middle night to Katie crying and Gerard, tangled in the blankets, trying to sit up and mostly just punching Frank in the ribs. Frank shoves him gently back down onto the bed and goes over to the crib, scooping Katie up in his arms and walking around the room with her, bouncing her carefully in his arms while she cries herself out. The second Frank sets her back down, though, she wakes up and starts whimpering again.
It's late, and Frank's a sucker; he picks her back up and takes her with him to the bed. Gerard's been quiet all this time, but his eyes flicker open when Frank lies down, Katie stretched out between the two of them.
"Hey," he says, reaching out to brush his finger down the side of her face. "Hey, there." She blinks, suddenly quiet, and turns her head towards him, wobbly and awkward. Frank watches the two of them for a long while, until Gerard takes a deep breath and starts singing, soft and scratchy and still half-asleep. "Somewhere over the rainbow..."
Frank closes his eyes, then, but stays awake for a long time, just listening.
The next morning, he wakes up with Gerard's hand on his hip and Katie squirming between them, stretching and yawning. He loses a few minutes like that, watching her tiny, scrunched-up face, and only looks up when Gerard squeezes his hip.
"Hey," Gerard says, smiling. His face is creased from the pillowcase, and his hair looks like it's massing for attack, and he smiles down at Katie like she's the most amazing thing he's ever seen.
"Hey," Frank says, leaning in a little, and then Gerard's phone buzzes.
Gerard rolls his eyes, squeezes Frank's hip again, and rolls away to answer it. Frank sits up a little, making sure that Katie can't roll away from him. "Hey, Cheryl," Gerard says. "Nah, just waking up." He listens for a bit, sitting on the edge of the bed and facing the window; Frank tickles the soles of Katie's feet. "Yeah, that sounds good—give us a call when you get here, and we'll send somebody down to get you. Yeah. Yeah, sure thing. Bye." He flips the phone closed and turns around, giving Katie a finger to play with.
"Cheryl?"
"Yeah," Gerard says. "She's got a doctor with her—they want to check on Katie, make sure she's okay and everything."
"Oh," Frank says, "okay." Gerard looks a little freaked, which is ridiculous: Katie's perfectly healthy, and it's not like they're going to draw blood from somebody who's not even big enough to sit up on her own. "Come on, then," Frank says, sitting up and lifting Katie into his arms, "let's make ourselves presentable."
The appointment goes fine, despite Gerard's nervousness. The doctor—a middle-aged woman named Marva—checks Katie over carefully, then fixes Gerard with a beady-eyed stare and asks him a series of questions about what they've been feeding her, how often she's been eating, how many times a day they have to change her diaper, how well she's been sleeping. She and Cheryl have a quiet conversation on the other side of the room, which is admittedly a little nervous-making, but at the end of it, Cheryl comes back over to them and smiles.
"Well, I'm happy to say that you've got a perfectly healthy three-month old girl," she says, and Gerard lets go of his death grip on Frank's hand.
"She's going to start teething soon," Marva adds, packing up her stethoscope. "You'll want to be ready for that."
"My mom sent us some stuff," Gerard says, and she nods approvingly.
"You'll want to find her a pediatrician as soon as you can," she says. "Ideally, somebody who doesn't mind being called out across the country if she gets sick while you're on tour." Frank nods; his mom told him the same thing. "Good luck," she tells them, standing at the doorway. "You're going to need it."
As soon as she's gone, Gerard turns to Cheryl. "That's good, right?" he asks, holding Katie close. "I mean, if she's healthy—"
"It's a very good sign," she says, smiling at them. "We'll probably have another checkup in a few weeks—I think Brian said something about Cincinnati?" Frank nods.
"What about the other stuff?" Gerard asks. "With her mom, I mean."
Cheryl sighs. "We've tracked down the hospital where her birth certificate was signed, but she checked in under a fake ID, and the nurses I've talked to say she wasn't a regular patient." She shrugs. "I'm going out there in a few days to try to dig up some more information, but it doesn't look likely."
"Oh," Gerard says. "That makes sense." He sounds subdued, and Frank can't blame him. On the one hand, it's awesome—if they can't find the mother, they're one step closer to getting to keep Katie forever. On the other hand, he can't help thinking of some girl, some fan of theirs, pregnant and scared and giving her baby up to a complete stranger. He and Gerard sit together for a while after Cheryl leaves, holding Katie between them and not saying anything.
*
"Hey, guys," Mikey says, when Frank answers the door. "Pete's got a car, and Bob and Ray are busy sleeping. Want to come downtown with us?" Frank looks at Gerard, who shrugs.
"Sure, yeah," Frank says. "Meet you in the lobby?"
Strapping the carseat into Pete's backseat is kind of ridiculously complicated. "In our defense," Gerard points out haughtily, "we haven't actually had to do this yet, so far."
"Yeah, sure," Pete says, wiping tears from his eyes. "Need a hand there, Frank?"
"Fuck you," Frank says, having finally gotten the damn thing situated. "Gee, give her here, I'll strap her in."
Pete, for all that he's a total jackass most of the time, is a surprisingly good tour guide. He points out parts of the city as they drive downtown, helping Frank flesh out his mental map of Chicago, which is still mostly a patchwork quilt of venues he's played, bars he's been to, and hotels he's crashed at, interspersed with the odd landmark and the constant sweep of the lake, cool and gray. They stay downtown, mostly, where the buildings are tall and pointy and everybody is busy enough not to notice four semi-famous rockstars and a baby.
"I'd take you guys up north," he says, while they're walking back and forth under the enormous silver sculpture in the park. "It's generally a cooler neighborhood, I mean—but I figured that you really didn't want to be recognized, all things considered." He nods at Katie, strapped securely onto Gerard's chest and watching intently as he explains reflection to her.
"Thanks," Frank says. "Probably a good plan." This is good, anyway. It's maybe not what he thought he wanted, a year ago—a wife, a family, kids of his own—but it's good.
A few days later, there's a package waiting for them at the venue in Baton Rouge, postmarked from Chicago. It contains:
- three Katie-sized animal costumes (rabbit, cat, and giraffe),
- a mess of strings and plastic that turns out to be a mobile, musical notes dangling delicately and spinning in the nonexistent breeze,
- the world's tiniest xylophone, and
- a note.
"Dear proud parents," Mikey reads, "blah blah blah cutest kid in the world can only be made cuter with animal costumes. Send me pictures, blah blah blah—" Mikey looks up. "He promises not to put them online anywhere, Gee," he says, but Frank has his doubts. "PS the xylophone is from Patrick." Mikey frowns. "He says that Bob will know why."
They all turn and stare; Bob frowns, then starts laughing. "I used to make fun of him," he says. "Like, the dude has every musical instrument in the universe, and I used to give him shit about what he was going to use them for. He said that the xylophone was for posterity." Bob shakes his head, smiling. "I guess Katie counts."
They take the pictures; Frank keeps an eye on the gossip blogs for the next few days, but nothing pops up. Frank sits with Katie sometimes, watching the mobile spin; it's pretty neat. Sometimes Gerard joins them, resting his head on Frank's stomach and telling Katie stories, all dragons and unicorns and an intrepid princess, saving the day.
*
It's a travel day, so they're all sacked out in the lounge on the Baby Bus. Sometimes, when they're sick of each other's fucking faces, they'll split up, two on one bus and three on the other, spreading out so that they can have the nearest possible approximation of actual privacy. Since Katie, though, they're mostly sticking together, settling around and watching Katie burble and fart and sleep.
Today, she rolls over. It's kind of big deal.
"She's going to be the best-documented baby on the planet," Gerard complains, but he doesn't stop Mikey from taking yet another picture of Katie, exhausted from her adventures in rotation, asleep face-down on her red blanket.
"Not true," Ray says. "Pete Wentz could have kids." He makes a face, and Frank doesn't blame him; that's a weird thing to think about. Weirder than Gerard with a baby, even, somehow.
Mikey's sidekick buzzes, and he stares at it.
"You know, Mikey," Gerard says, "I know it's hard to believe, but I'm pretty sure that thing has uses other than photojournalism."
"Fuck you," Mikey says, "it's Mom. Hi, Ma," he says, pressing a button and flopping down on the couch. "What's up?" His eyes go wide—not much, but enough that Frank notices, enough that Gerard sits up, looking worried. "Yeah, no," Mikey says, "hang on, I'll tell him." He rests the sidekick against his shoulder and looks down at Katie, smiling a little. "Guys, she's four months old today."
"No way," Frank says, but as soon as he thinks about it, he realizes that it is.
"Her birthday's June 14th," Gerard says, resting his hand on her back. "She's a third of a year old today." He catches Frank's eye, and Frank smiles back, matching him grin for grin.
"You realize what this means," Frank says, kicking Gerard's ankle. "We have to throw her a party."
"Of course," Gerard says, nodding seriously. "It's not every day that you turn one third." He turns around, but Bob and Ray are already up.
"Where'd we leave the streamers?" Ray asks. "I know we had some left over from Vegas, where the fuck are they?"
Mikey puts Mrs. Way on speaker while they decorate, and she asks them for every little detail about Katie—what she's eating, what she's not eating, how long she's sleeping at night, what new faces she's made today.
"Well, now" she says, "Gerard was just the same, you know—didn't fall asleep before four AM for the first year we had him, I swear. I spent so much time in the armchair that it got a permanent assprint from me!" She laughs. "It was all for show, of course. The little faker just wanted the attention."
"Mom," Gerard says, holding up a roll of streamers while Frank stands on a chair to pin them up. They're almost out, but the bus is slowing down; they'll get something at the gas station. "Ma, you remember the part where she's not blood, right?"
Mama Way tsks dismissively. "Just because her biological father is some dipshit asswipe in Minnesota doesn't mean that she couldn't inherit your love of drama, dear," she says. "Some things are nurture, not nature, after all."
"Hi, guys!" Cheryl walks in through the door, then stops dead when they all stare at her, horrified. Mikey grabs the phone and flips it off of speaker, talking quietly to Mrs. Way. "Did I—am I interrupting something?" she says, looking confused.
"No," Frank says, when everybody else keeps staring. "No, I mean—we were just throwing a party," he says. "For Katie."
"She's four months old today," Gerard says, scooping her up from the blanket on the floor. "A whole third of a year old." Cheryl's face goes soft, and she steps forward.
"Can I?" she says, holding out her hands; Gerard looks like he wants to say no, but after a second he hands Katie over, settling her carefully in Cheryl's arms. "She's such a little sweetheart," Cheryl says, smiling down at Katie.
Gerard beams. "She rolled over this morning!" he says, like it's the biggest thing that's ever happened; Frank would mock him, but it was kind of awesome to watch.
"Well," Cheryl says, "don't let me interrupt the party." She hands Katie back, and Gerard hesitates.
"Wait," he says. "You had something to tell us?" Cheryl blinks, then nods.
"I did, yeah," she says. She's smiling, but she seems a little sad. "I just got back from Minneapolis—no luck with the mother, and at this point they're pretty sure she's not going to turn up." She bites her lip, staring at Gerard. "If you two still want to go ahead with this..."
"Yes," Gerard says, then turns to Frank. "I mean—"
"Yes," Frank says, looking at Cheryl. "Yes, we want to."
"Great," she says. "I hoped you'd say that." She walks back to her briefcase, dropped by the door. "In that case, I have some more paperwork for you guys."
The party is a little awkward, after that, with none of them saying what they're all thinking. If Cheryl had been ten seconds faster—if Gerard had been just a little louder—but now, instead of snatching Katie away, she's giving them papers to sign, saying that, yes, they will take care of Katie to the best of their ability, and yes, they have enough money to support her, and yes, they plan to enroll her in an appropriate school as soon as possible, and no, they don't plan to expose her drugs or alcohol or guns or violence. They each have to fill one out, and there's another form for the rest of the guys, to prove that they'll be good influences.
There's a little box marked RELATIONSHIP TO PARENT 1; Frank chews on the end of his pen and stares at it for a bit, then decides to leave it blank. When he glances over at Gerard's paper—it's not like cheating, not for something like this—he sees that Gerard has written bandmate + friend.
Frank leaves his blank.
Just as they're finishing up, Katie goes from grizzling quietly and drooling on Gerard's collar to crying a little. Frank stands up, pushing his stack of papers across the table towards Cheryl.
"I'll deal with it," he says, taking Katie carefully from Gerard. "Come on, Katie Way, let's go find you a birthday lunch."
Katie doesn't seem to have a preference, but sweet potatoes seem like a good bet. Frank digs a bowl out of the cupboard—one of the benefits of living mostly off of takeout, gas-station junk, and whatever they get at venues is that their own dishes mostly stay clean—and spoons some of the orange glop into it.
"Well," he tells Katie, "at least this'll be an interesting color when you smear it in my hair."
"We'll make Bob do it," Gerard says. "It'll blend better." There's not much space in the kitchen, and he's pressed against Frank's hip and side, making faces at Katie. "You got that, Kate?" he says. "Food in Bob's hair, not ours." Katie burbles, and Gerard kisses her on the forehead; his chin brushes against Frank's shoulder.
"She's definitely your daughter," Frank says. "Likes to be messy."
"I—yeah," Gerard says. "I guess she is." He sounds weird, and Frank turns to look at him, but by the time he's turned all the way around, Gerard's back to normal, pushing his nose up and crossing his eyes at Katie. "Hey, wait," he says when Frank grabs the bowl of sweet potatoes. "I think there's a candle in that drawer, hang on." He presses up against Frank, reaching past him to get at the junk drawer. His hair is in Frank's face, and he's holding onto Frank's hip to steady himself, and Frank can't breathe, there's so little space in here.
"Careful," he says, unsteady, "Don't want to squish Katie." Gerard nods against his neck, shifting his weight so that he's pressed against Frank from shoulder to hip.
"Hah, motherfucker," Gerard says finally, pulling back a little. "Found it!" He brings the candle right up in front of Frank's face, waving it and grinning, and Frank smiles back. "Now, where—" Gerard looks around, and Frank holds up Katie's lunch. "Right, exactly," Gerard says. "Now, just hold it—no, here," he says, grabbing Frank's wrist and holding his hand still. "It's easier like this, see?" His hands are warm and a little sweaty, but his grip is smooth and steady. "There," Gerard says, stepping back. "It's not birthday cake, but it'll work."
"Also, she doesn't have teeth yet," Frank says. "Which might make cake difficult."
Gerard laughs. "Thanks, Frankie," he says. "Seriously, thanks."
"For holding the bowl?" Frank says, holding it up. "It's not that hard; I'm sure you could have managed somehow."
"Fuck you," Gerard says. "You know what I meant." He glances at Katie, who's gnawing halfheartedly on Frank's hair. "You want me to take her?"
"Nah, I'm good," Frank says. "Come on, party time."
Back in the lounge, everybody sings Happy Birthday to Katie, and Gerard helps her blow out the candle in her mush. Bob gets volunteered for baby-food duty, and does a decent job of it, although he still winds up with sweet potatoes in his beard.
"Hey, guys," Mikey says, when Bob goes into the kitchen to clean up. "Hey, let's get a picture."
"A family picture, yeah," Gerard says. "That's fucking awesome, Mikey." Brian rolls his eyes, but he's smiling, and Cheryl looks distinctly sniffly.
"Yeah, sure," Frank says, handing Katie back to Gerard. "Just let me—" Gerard is staring at him, though, frowning in confusion, still holding the half-empty bowl of baby food. "Family photo, Gee," he says. "That means you."
"It means you, too," Gerard says, "I mean, you signed the papers and everything." He glances over at Cheryl, sidelong and nervous, and Frank sighs and drops back down onto the couch. It's a little weird, taking a family photo with somebody else's kid, but he doesn't really want to argue it with Cheryl sitting right there.
"Say cheese," Mikey says, and Frank smiles.
Katie falls asleep not long after that, and they tuck her back into her car seat. Cheryl stays for a little while—checks over the arrangements on the bus again, talks scheduling and locations with Brian—and then goes back to her car the next time they stop.
"I'll see you in Detroit," she says. "Keep me posted." Frank stays outside for a while, leaning against the side of the gas station and smoking a cigarette until it's time for them to roll out again.
"Oh, fuck you," he says, when he sees Ray, Bob, and Mikey heading for the other bus. "What, you're going to leave the mess for us?" Inside, though, things are as clean as they ever are, although there's still some tinsel hanging around the doorway. Katie's out cold in her little basket, chewing on her fist in her sleep, and Gerard is standing in the middle of the room, staring at nothing and twitching.
"Frank," he says, "Frank, shit, what if she heard us?"
"She didn't hear us," Frank says, flopping down on the couch. "If she'd heard us, she would have freaked, and she didn't freak, which means she didn't hear us." Gerard turns, frowning and fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt.
"But what if she did?" He sighs, then drops down on the couch next to Frank. "It could fuck everything up, you know?"
"But it didn't, and it won't," Frank says, grabbing Gerard's shoulder and tugging. "Calm down, it's fine." Gerard goes reluctantly, settling slowly until he's lying on the couch on his side, his head on Frank's shoulder. Frank wraps an arm around his shoulders and drums his fingers gently on the back of Gerard's neck, steady and soothing. "It's fine, Gerard," he says again. "Seriously, stop worrying, you're going to wake Katie up."
Gerard sighs, relaxing a little against Frank's shoulder. "Just—I know the system is there for a reason, right? And I don't want to be, like," he waves his hand, almost catching Frank in the nose, "asking for special treatment or some shit." He sighs again. "But I also don't want them to take her away."
"Which they're not going to," Frank says, "because you're going to be a great father, once you stop fucking panicking all the time." He closes his eyes and just breathes for a minute, holding Gerard close enough that they're breathing together.
"Frank," Gerard says finally, sounding calmer. "Frank—you want this, right? Katie, I mean." Frank opens his eyes, stares at the ceiling, tries not to move too much.
"Yeah," he says. "Of course. What would you do without me?"
Gerard rolls his eyes; Frank can feel it, the familiar motion of muscles pressed against his shoulder. "No, I mean—like, if she weren't mine at all," he says, "not even on the birth certificate—would you still want her?"
Frank swallows. "Of course I would," he says. "Just because I'm the only reasonable person on this bus doesn't mean I would have abandoned her."
"No," Gerard says, tilting his head up, "no—" He hesitates, then, with his mouth on Frank's neck and his nose brushing Frank's ear. "Frank—" Stretched out like this, shrugging becomes a full-body event, something Frank feels from his shoulders to his ankles. "I just—I couldn't do this without you," he says, finally. "I really fucking couldn't."
"Sure you could," Frank says, but he doesn't move to get up for a long time.
part three
Frank wakes up sometime around four, blinking up at the darkness and trying to figure out why he's even conscious. There's nothing, though: just the road, the bus, the quiet sounds of people breathing around him. Frank shrugs and rolls over, smacking his pillow to get comfortable again. Probably he's slept too much, recently—that's usually more Gerard's problem, but it's the only thing that makes sense—
—the only thing, that is, until he hears Katie crying.
She's not that loud, really; not nearly as loud as he'd have expected. For a second, he thinks about ignoring her. She's not his kid, after all. She'll probably go back to sleep soon enough, and it's not loud enough to wake anybody else up—but then he hears Gerard, rolling over and shoving his curtain back, sitting up and cracking his head against the bunk above his because he never remembers that it's there, when he's tired.
"Hey, no," Frank says, sliding out of his own bunk and crossing the aisle. "Gee, no, come on."
Gerard blinks at him, feet dangling over the edge of the bunk. "Frank?" he says, frowning. "Frank, what's going on?" He leans into Frank, sleepy and heavy and uncoordinated, blinking slowly in the dark. Frank pushes on his shoulders, trying to get him back into his bunk, but then Katie starts up again, a little louder this time, and Gerard remembers, starts to try to climb down, awkward and still more than half asleep.
"Gee," Frank says, "Gerard." Gerard stares at him, blinking, and Frank sighs. "Go the fuck back to sleep, you dumbass," Frank says. "I'll take care of it."
"But Katie," Gerard says, "Frank, she's crying." Screaming her little head off, now, actually, and she's going to wake up Bob soon. Frank sighs, pushing on Gerard's shoulder until he settles back in his bunk.
"I'll take care of it," he says. "Go back to bed, fucker." Gee keeps staring, though, frowning a little.
"Frank," he says, "why—"
"Because you were up all night last night, and most of the night before, and I don't want you to pass out onstage, okay?" Gerard doesn't seem satisfied, but Katie's really getting into it, and Bob's starting to move around in that just-waking-up-gonna-kill-you-all way he has; Frank pulls Gerard's curtains and goes into the lounge, shutting the door behind him.
Katie just screams louder when he picks her up, flailing her tiny fists around. She doesn't want food, and her diaper is clean; Frank's pretty sure she just wants to yell. So, fine: Frank's played in a lot of shitty punk bands, and listened to even more. She can scream as loud as she wants; he's heard worse.
"And anyway," he says to her, bouncing her a little, his hand steady on the back of her head, "your lungs are pretty small. I mean, I won't say I'm not impressed by the effort," because, seriously, for somebody as small as she is she sure can scream, "but you're working at a disadvantage here, kiddo." She wails, and he pats her on the back. "I'd show you, but then we'd wake Bob up, and then he'd kill us all—well, maybe not you, because you're pretty cute, but definitely me." A tiny flailing hand catches him on the ear, little fingers hooking in, and Frank winces. "Yeah, thanks, that's just great, how about not?" It's tough to get her to let go of his ear without dropping her, but he manages it, and goes back to walking across the lounge, back and forth, patting her back and ignoring her screaming.
After a while, he starts singing to her. Nothing modern—time enough for that when she's old enough to appreciate it. He sings her lullabies, kids' songs, the stuff his mom sang to him when he was small and sick and scared. Half of the time, he can't remember the lyrics, and winds up humming his way through. Katie doesn't seem to mind, though, and gradually she gets quieter, less violent, until she's hiccupping softly on his shoulder, her face wet against his neck.
"And if that mockingbird won't sing," he continues, "papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring. And if that diamond ring don't sparkle, papa's gonna buy you some...magic markers. And if those magic markers don't color, papa's gonna buy you—" she finally stops crying, and Frank sighs. "Something insane, I'm sure." He thinks, for a second, of taking her back to Gerard—but that'd just wake Gee up, and then the whole point of the exercise would be lost. Plus, Gerard would probably get her excited again, cooing over her.
The carseat will be fine. Frank goes to put her down, though, and she grabs onto his t-shirt. She's quiet, and otherwise peaceful, but she won't let go, and finally he gives up.
"Whatever, fine," he says. "Let's see what's on TV." Pretty much nothing, at this point: at 5 am, it's all infomercials and reruns. "What do you think, kid?" he asks her, stretching out on the couch. "Top model reruns or Law and Order reruns?" She shifts against him and farts, and Frank nods. "Top model it is, then." Tyra's breasts are scarier than ever, and Frank wonders briefly if he should be showing this stuff to an infant. "But, I mean," he tells her, "you're going to see it at some point, right?" Anyway, he's not entirely sure her eyes can focus that far away.
He starts to explain the principle of the show to her, but she falls asleep before they're past the opening credits, her hand wrapped around his thumb. And like this—with her asleep on his chest, warm and soft and sweet, drooling and holding onto him—like this, it's okay. She's still not his, but for a little while he can pretend that she is, pretend that he's anything more than a bystander.
Onscreen, a camera flashes, and Frank closes his eyes.
*
"Guys, have you seen Frank any—oh," Ray says, "I guess you have."
Frank blinks his eyes open. He's on the couch, the TV flickering on mute in front of him. For a minute, he can't remember how he got there, but then Katie smacks him in the face with a tiny hand, and it all comes back: waking up in the middle of the night, hearing the kid, going on a mission of mercy to keep Gerard from working himself into a nervous collapse. Walking around the bus a million times. Sitting down on the couch, channel surfing. Top model.
"You fell asleep on the couch," Mikey says. He's only smiling a little, but it's like a smirk coming from him, and he's got his sidekick out. Frank blinks.
"How many people have pictures so far?" he asks. Gerard looks like he's going to tough it out, but Mikey just shrugs.
"Our moms, mostly," he says. "And Alicia. She says hey."
"By which he means, awwwwwww!!!!" Gerard reports back, leaning over Mikey's shoulder to peek. He's not really tall enough to; he has to stand on his toes to reach. Frank laughs, and the motion is enough to wake Katie up all the way; she starts making noise, and Gerard swoops over to pick her up and feed her, cooing to her and rubbing noses all the way. On the one hand, it's obnoxious as all fuck—on the other hand, Gerard's bouncing around like an insane squirrel instead of doing the Zombie Shuffle; Frank's going to count that as a win.
"Look," Gerard says, "Look, Katie, you're an astronaut!" He flies her down the hallway to the kitchen, making all of the appropriate spaceship noises, and turnabout has always been fair play. Frank grabs Mikey's sidekick and takes off after them, snapping pictures of Gerard and Katie being astronauts, Gerard wrestling with the jars of baby food, Gerard trying and failing to persuade Katie that bananas are awesome by means of various transportation analogies, Gerard with bananas in his hair, Gerard eating bananas, as an example, Gerard spitting "disgusting mockery of bananadom" into the sink, Katie giggling like a fiend.
"You have no idea what's going on, do you?" Frank says, leaning in to bop her nose. "You just think we're a bunch of fucking crazy people."
"In her defense, she's probably right," Gerard says, toweling his hair dry. "Also, fifty cents."
Frank rolls his eyes. "Come on, Gerard," he says. "She's four months old, and I know you think she's the smartest baby in the entire fucking world, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't know what the fuck we're saying. Ow!" Katie has both her hands in his hair and is yanking again, tugging him down to her level. "Ow, fuck, fucking—shit, come on, Gee, stop being an asshole and fucking help me!"
"I think she understands more than you give her credit for, Frank," Gerard says. "Also, it's four dollars now." He's pulling Katie's hands away, though, smeared in gross fake-banana shit.
Frank shoves a five in the jar. "Consider it an advance," he says. "Get out of the way, I'm going to go wash my fucking hair." No showers on the bus, of course, so he's stuck shoving his head under the sink and doing what he can, scrubbing and rinsing. Kid's got tiny fucking hands, but the banana crap is still all over Frank's hair; he's going to be smelling it all day.
"Here," Gerard says, behind him, "you missed a spot, let me—" he holds the back of Frank's neck with one hand and uses the other to work the baby food out of Frank's hair. "This stuff is really sticky," he says. "I don't know if we should really be letting Katie eat it, you know? It seems like it'd be dangerous."
"Making her eat it, you mean," Frank says. "Also, it tastes like shit."
"Mmm." Gerard's pressed up behind Frank, leaning against him while he washes his hair. It's weirdly intimate, somehow—the bus has stopped, and it's like it's just the two of them, Gerard's hands in Frank's hair, the sound of the water running and Katie making a mess of her breakfast, the sound of the door opening—
"—Hi, Cheryl," Gerard says. His hands stop moving, but he doesn't step away, which means Frank can't stand up; on the other hand, if Cheryl's there, he's not sure he wants to. His face feels red, probably from being bent over the sink. "Frank, um," Gerard continues. "Katie doesn't like bananas." He shrugs.
Cheryl laughs. "Fair enough," she says. "I just have a little more information for you all, when you're ready." Gerard shuts off the water and stands up, leaving Frank with his hair dripping into the sink; he grabs the towel from the counter and wraps it around his head like a turban, figuring that his morning can't really get any more ridiculous.
Everyone else is already settled in the other room, when he gets in: Gerard and Mikey on opposite ends of the couch, Bob propped up over his coffee, Ray in a chair looking intent, Brian and Cheryl at the table. Frank thinks about it, then drops to the floor next to Katie's car seat and gives her his fingers to play with; she sticks them in her mouth, which is probably not the best plan ever, but is also kind of stupidly cute.
"Right, well," Cheryl says. "The first thing is that I've been cleared to act as your official caseworker."
"...because you weren't already?" Ray says finally.
Cheryl shuffles her papers. "Not technically, no. We don't deal with a lot of cases crossing state lines, and even fewer that can hit a dozen major cities in two weeks. There was some uncertainty over how your case should be handled, but, well." She shrugs. "I won." Her grin is sharp and a little dangerous, and Frank is suddenly very glad that she's on their side.
"Well, great," Gerard says. "I mean, seriously, thank you." He taps his foot, jostling Frank's leg. "But, um. I'm guessing you didn't come out here just to tell us that?"
"No," Cheryl says. "That's the easy part, so pay attention."
*
"So, basically," Bob says, "you're saying that there are two parts to this thing."
"Right." Cheryl nods, and Bob continues.
"On the one hand, we're trying to get Gerard certified as a fit parent—"
"—which means that we're really trying to get us all certified as fit parents," Ray adds, "because it's not like what we do isn't going to affect Katie."
"Exactly."
"But at the same time, on the off chance that I'm not fit to parent," Gerard rolls his eyes, "we're also trying to track down Katie's mother, to see what's going on with her."
"Basically, yes. We want to know why she gave the child up, if there are any other issues to be concerned about—and, ultimately, whether she would make a fit guardian should you prove to be—"
"A crazy person," Frank says, because it's not like they aren't all thinking it. Cheryl rolls her eyes, but nods.
"Pretty much." They sit for a few seconds, thinking, and then Mikey lifts his head up from his sidekick, frowning.
"So, like, you're going to ride with us for a while? Because, I mean." He looks around at the lounge and shrugs. "We're kind of gross." Gerard makes an arguing face, but Mikey rolls his eyes. "Dude, don't even start, you know it's true."
Cheryl shrugs. "I mean, ordinarily it'd be a pretty cursory inspection—we want to give custody to the birth father, and we want to do it as soon as possible, for the sake of the child." Gerard's vibrating in his seat, practically, he's so excited; Frank leans back against his legs until he stops moving around. "Unless we turn up any really obvious red flags—but, I mean, this isn't an ordinary situation, here." She shuffles her papers again, closes the folder, folds her hands. "I don't know, really," she says. "We'll have to figure it out as we go along."
"So what's first?" Ray's frowning. "Do you, like. Do you need to interview us?"
"At some point, yes. Right now, though," Cheryl stands up, "I'm most interested in seeing what kind of accommodations you have set up for Katie."
"Okay," Gerard says, "yeah, sure."
What follows is officially the weirdest tour in the history of MCR. Cheryl's not interested in the instruments or the bunks or any of the normal stuff; she's checking the mini-fridge and the ventilation and the corners of the furniture. They follow her around like nervous ducklings, peeking around her and trying to figure out what she's looking at, what she's seeing.
"You're going to have to stop smoking on the bus," she says, standing up. "Like, seriously, that's a red flag the size of Nebraska."
Gerard coughs. "I'm actually trying to quit entirely," he says, fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweatshirt.
"That's also good," Cheryl says, sounding like she's heard that one before. "Still, at the very least no more smoking on the bus." She's not mean about it, just resigned and practical; it makes Frank think about what her life must be like, helping kids without families.
That's not her biggest criticism, though. "It looks good for right now," she says, "but she's not going to stay in the carseat forever, and you're going to need to figure out how you're going to take care of her once she's crawling around." She smiles a little. "I'd suggest that you start by finding a new hiding place for the porn." Ray blushes, but she ignores him. "I've got to head out now," she says. "But I'll be back in a few days to check Katie over in more detail." She'd fallen asleep sometime during the tour, so Cheryl had just checked her skin, her hands, looked at the clothes they'd bought her and pronounced them acceptable, if "a little bit weird."
"Thank you," Gerard says, stepping forward and taking her hand. "Really, I mean—thank you so much, seriously."
Cheryl smiles at Gerard, then bites her lip. "We also," she says, "need to talk about the exact custody arrangements." She shuffles her papers together, looking at them one by one. "I mean, I take it that you're all planning to raise her together?" Frank nods, glancing around; the others are nodding too, and Gerard looks a little bit like he's about to cry, neither of which are any surprise. "Right, well," she says. "That's wonderful, and I do want to applaud you all for this—but our system's set up for something a little more, um." She takes a breath. "A little more binary, I guess."
Gerard looks like he's been kicked in the nuts, without the benefit of an adrenaline buzz to carry him through it. "You need a second parent," he says.
Cheryl nods. "I mean, practically speaking you're going to be evaluated as a unit—in a situation like this, if any one of you were unfit to parent, that would make the situation dangerous enough that we wouldn't pass it." She clears her throat. "But, for the sake of the paperwork, I'm going to need a second name."
Frank closes his eyes. Gerard's going to pick Mikey—or, well, maybe not Mikey, because Mikey's got Alicia and that might make things weird, later on. Maybe Gerard will pick Ray, who's a fucking genius, or Bob, who's preternaturally chill. Maybe he'll pick Schechter; Shechter would be a good dad. Or maybe he'll tell Cheryl to fuck off, give her that whole lecture on binary and gender roles and non-traditional families and—
"Frank," Gerard says, "Frank." Frank opens his eyes and stares at him, and Gerard shrugs, turning a little red. "I mean, you're really good with her, you know? Like, this morning and everything." He glances away, staring at something on the wall. "I mean, unless you don't want to or—"
"I'll do it," Frank says, swallowing hard. "I mean, somebody has to keep you two out of trouble." Gerard doesn't need the help, but Frank can hang around and burp the baby until Gerard figures that out.
"I—thanks," Gerard says, glancing at Cheryl and then away. "Thanks, Frankie."
Cheryl nods, writing it down, then looks back up. "There's also the question of paternity testing," she says. "This is going to be a lot of work for you all—it would make sense for you to want to make sure." There's a long, silent moment where Gerard stares down at Katie and the rest of them stare at Gerard. "You don't have to decide today," Cheryl says. "Talk it over, tell me tomorrow—this is a big decision to be making." She grabs her papers from the table and Brian walks her out, presumably back to wherever she's riding.
Gerard stands in the middle of the room, shoulders down, twitching quietly.
"If you guys," he says, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "I mean, fuck. I don't want to—"
"Shut the fuck up, Gerard," Ray says, stepping up behind him and wrapping his arm around Gerard's shoulders.
"Seriously, man," Bob says, coming around on Gerard's other side. "Do you honestly think we're that kind of assholes?"
Mikey doesn't say anything, just walks up to the mass of bodies and hugs them all hard. Frank steps around them, stands face-to-face with Gerard, leans forward until their foreheads are touching.
"Frank," Gerard says, lost and exhausted. "Frank, fuck. I—I don't want to ask this of you, especially when—"
"You're not asking, asshole," Frank says. "I'm telling you." He can do this, can help Gerard figure out how to be a dad.
Gerard, of course, is completely unable to take a good thing as a given. "But, I mean," he says. "You guys know that if they check—the paternity test's going to say it's some guy in Duluth or whatever." He sounds choked up and furious, and Frank can't blame him. Anybody who'd abandon a mom with a kid is automatically a jackass, in his book, and when that kid's Katie—well.
Frank rolls his eyes. "No shit, Gerard." The test's not going to show that Gerard stayed up all night with a screaming kid, or that he let her smear baby food all over him, or that his eyes fucking light up whenever she's anywhere nearby. It's not going to show how much Gerard fucking loves her, even just knowing her for a few days—which sucks, really, because that's the important thing, here.
"Yeah, well," he says, shrugging. "What's a little babynapping between friends?"
Gerard makes a choked noise. "You guys are—seriously, motherfuckers, I don't even fucking know—"
"This is touching and all," Brian says, "but Katie is having a diaper situation, and I am not going to be the one to deal with it."
"Brian," Gerard says. He looks up, but doesn't shove them away, so they stay there, wrapped up in each other. "Schechter, are you—is this okay?"
Frank turns around just in time to see the face Brian makes, half oh-god-I-love-you-all-so-much and half oh-god-how-did-I-wind-up-with-you-idiots. "You say that as though this were the weirdest thing you guys have put me through," he says, and Gerard makes another ridiculous noise and pulls himself free of the group hug, walking over to squish his face against Schechter's neck and give him a bear hug. Brian, for his part, looks put-upon, but also touched. "That's great, Gerard," he says, "really, awesome. Now stop snotting on my shirt and go deal with your daughter's diaper."
Gerard pulls away, looks at them all, flaps his hands once or twice, and then—at another wail from Katie—grabs the car seat and the diaper bag and disappears into the kitchen.
"I'd better go with him," Frank says, disentangling himself from the remains of the group hug. "He still doesn't know how to work a fucking diaper."
"Oh, God," Brian says, but Frank's already halfway down the hallway.
*
The first package is there at the venue when they roll into St Louis that afternoon. KATHERINE ELIZABETH, it says C/O MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE. It's postmarked New Jersey, and it's fucking heavy.
"Five dollars says it's from Mrs. Way," Bob says, while Frank wrestles with the packing tape.
"No bet," Mikey says, leaning over Frank's shoulder. "Of course it's from Mom." They get the box open, and the first thing Frank sees is a teddy bear almost Katie's size, dressed in black with a cape and tiny fabric fangs. Mikey grabs it out of the box before Frank can really get a look at it, and lobs it across the room to Ray, who catches it and hands it to Gerard.
"Hey, awesome!" he says, and holds it up to show to Katie. "Look, Katie, it's a vampire bear!" He waves it in her face and she bats at it, grabbing clumsily until Gerard holds it close enough that she can stuff it in her mouth. Frank watches them and laughs; behind him, he hears the click-whirr of Ray's camera going off.
In addition to the vampire bear, the box contains:
- a NO SMOKING sign,
- a red fleece blanket, ridiculously soft and warm,
- approximately ten million pairs of tiny socks,
- a bunch of tiny squishy rubber things,
- a hot pink sweatshirt,
- a baby backpack, and
- several bags of coffee beans.
There's also a letter, which Mikey reads.
"The rubber things are for her teeth," he says.
Ray picks one up and tosses it from hand to hand, frowning. "Does she even have teeth?" Gerard checks, holding Katie's mouth open and looking inside; fortunately, she finds the whole thing hilarious.
"Mom says not yet," Mikey says, reading further, "but that we'll know when we need them." Ray nods, flipping the pacifier over his fingers, then shrugs and bites it experimentally. Frank shakes his head, because, seriously. His life, some days. "She also says that the sweatshirt is so that the poor kid will have some colors to wear," Mikey adds, "which is probably fair."
"Hey!" Gerard looks up, glaring at them. "We totally got clothes in colors."
"Black's not a color, Gee," Mikey says, but Gerard just rolls his eyes and goes back to telling Katie that she's, "the best little skeleton ever, kid, just you wait and see."
Frank unloads the rest of the stuff onto the floor and tosses the empty box behind the couch. Bob watches it sail over his head, then turns to Frank, thoughtful.
"Where are we going to put all this stuff, guys?" he asks, which is—which is a really good question, actually. They all take a moment to think about it. Finally, Ray stands up, grabbing the NO SMOKING sign off the top of the pile and hanging it over the entrance to the bunks.
"We've already got the studio bus," he says. "Why don't we make this the baby bus?" And just like that, that's how it works.
*
The next day, they're playing Chicago. It's a good day—crisp, clear fall weather, endless blue sky and white fluffy clouds. They wrap Katie up in sweaters and stuff her into the baby carrier, and then find someone to loan them a car and trek out to Bob's mom's house for lunch. She feeds them casserole and gives Gerard as much coffee as he wants, and coos endlessly over Katie.
"I have to say," she says, when Frank gets up to refill the coffee, "I had my doubts when I heard about this, but you boys seem to be doing all right." Gerard beams so much it's ridiculous, but Frank can't really blame him. He's smiling pretty hard, too.
Bob's mom always gives them food to take with them, but this time she gives them a box to go with the Tupperware.
"My niece's youngest is too big for it, now," she says, "and it's sturdy enough that I thought it might do for you boys. Amelia, dear," she says, and Bob nods.
"Thanks, Mrs. Bryar," Gerard says, turning on the earnest; she starts to wave him off, but winds up taking Katie again, rubbing noses with her and making silly baby-talk noises. Bob looks a little embarrassed, but otherwise resigned, which is a pretty common look for him.
Getting the crib into the car is easy, getting it onto the bus and into the back bedroom is a little more challenging. Getting it set up, though, is completely fucking impossible, and Frank winds up sprawled on the bed with Gerard, playing with Katie's fingers while Ray and Mikey argue over which parts go where and Bob ransacks the bus, looking for a screwdriver.
"Motherfuck," Bob says, coming back in. "How is it that nobody we know has anything remotely useful?"
"I bet your mom has a screwdriver," Frank says, and Bob flips him off.
"Should you really be making your mom jokes in front of a three-month old? Also, fuck you."
"What, no," Frank says, trying not to laugh, "I'm just saying, your mom's a capable lady! I bet she's got a screwdriver!" He kicks Gerard's ankle, hoping for some support, but Gerard shakes his head.
"Sorry, Frank," he says. "I'm going to have to side with Bob, here." He glances at Bob. "Speaking of which, fifty cents."
Frank looks at Bob, who nods. "Here, hold her," Frank says, picking up Katie and handing her to Ray. Gerard doesn't realize what they're doing until it's too late to run away, by which point Bob and Frank are holding him down and tickling him while he shouts and swears.
"Who owes money now, motherfucker?" Bob asks, right before they fall off the bed.
"Ow," Gerard says into the carpet, and then, "oh, hey, is that a screwdriver back there?"
It is, in fact, a screwdriver under the bed—Frank doesn't know why, and doesn't want to—and with that settled, the crib is set up in no time flat. Then Katie wants something to eat, and then they have to change her, and then it's time for soundcheck. During the openers, Gerard disappears for a while and comes back with Katie, wrapped in a blanket and wearing enormous industrial-strength headphones, looking around wide-eyed and uncertain.
"She woke up again," Gerard says, leaning close to talk over the sound of Reggie and the Full Effect. "Brian found these—they're what they use at, like, airports and shit, for people who work with jet engines." They seem to be working: Katie watches Reggie's whole set from sidestage without making a peep, and even falls asleep at the beginning of Alkaline Trio. Frank points it out to Gerard, who smiles and gestures toward the green room.
"I wanted her to see it," he says, when they can hear each other a little better. "I mean, I know she's not going to remember any of it, but I wanted to expose her to it, at least, you know?" Frank nods, and sits in the corner with Katie while Gerard warms up. He slips off the headphones halfway through. She doesn't wake up, but that's okay—he wants to expose her to some things, too, and Gerard's warm-up singing is just the first one.
The show is great—Chicago shows usually are—and they're all laughing and happy on the way out to the bus afterwards, teasing and joking. It's not really a surprise when Pete Wentz is there, leaning up against the side of the bus and messing around with his sidekick; when things happen in Chicago, Pete is usually somewhere around.
They invite him in, as a courtesy, and because if they don't invite him, he'll probably just come in anyways. Brian's at the table, working on his laptop and pushing Katie's carseat back and forth with his foot; Frank doesn't think anything of it until he walks into Pete, who's standing and staring.
"Dude," he says. "Dude, you guys have a baby, what the fuck."
"Swear jar," Gerard says, stepping around Pete to pick Katie up. "Thanks for watching her, Brian."
Pete turns to watch as Gerard settles on the couch, looking completely thrilled. "You guys have a swear jar?" he asks, sounding delighted. "Dude, that's badass—how much do I owe?"
"Fifty cents a word," Frank says, "so, a dollar." Pete stuffs one into the jar, then settles onto the floor, staring at Katie from about ten inches away. She starts to fuss, a little, which could be because of Pete, but then again might not be. "Brian, did you feed her?"
Brian shakes his head. "I tried to, before you guys went on, but she didn't seem hungry." Frank raises his eyebrows at Gerard, who nods.
"Probably a good idea, yeah," Gerard says, and Frank goes into the kitchen to find something new for Katie to rub in his hair. When he comes back out, Gerard's explaining the situation to Pete.
"So, like, we're totally fucking keeping her," Gerard says, "but first we have to go through all the child protection bullshit, get certified and everything. Ooh, broccoli," he says, when Frank hands him the jar.
"Swear jar, motherfucker," Frank tells him. "Hey, Pete, want to feed her?" No reason he should be the only one with vegetables in his hair.
*
They're doing two shows in Chicago, so they crash in a hotel. Smuggling the crib in is kind of tricky—they have to take it in stages, with Ray standing watch and Bob distracting the desk clerk. Then, of course, they have to set it back up again, and Frank gets smacked in the face with one of the bars.
"Crap," Gerard says, "Fuck, Frank, you okay?"
"Hold that steady, motherfucker," Frank says. "I'll show you okay." Gerard giggles, but he holds the fucking bars steady, and they get the crib set back up with only minimal comments from the peanut gallery.
"I gave you an eight, but your daughter was a bit more generous," Ray says, handing her over. "Also, I think you want to change her." He's edging towards the door as he says it; Frank flips him off, but he's already long gone.
"Should you really be giving him the finger?" Gerard says, setting the diaper bag on the bed and pulling stuff out of it. "I mean, like, in front of her?"
"Her eyes can't focus that far away yet," Frank says. "Here, get the wipes, I'll deal with her clothes."
They're still not very good at this diaper-changing business, and the whole right-side bed smells when they're done.
"Whatever," Frank says, when Gerard starts to make apologetic faces about stealing Frank's bed. "It's not like you're that bad to sleep with." He takes a shower and then passes out, face down, listening to Gerard explain Star Wars to Katie.
He wakes up in the middle night to Katie crying and Gerard, tangled in the blankets, trying to sit up and mostly just punching Frank in the ribs. Frank shoves him gently back down onto the bed and goes over to the crib, scooping Katie up in his arms and walking around the room with her, bouncing her carefully in his arms while she cries herself out. The second Frank sets her back down, though, she wakes up and starts whimpering again.
It's late, and Frank's a sucker; he picks her back up and takes her with him to the bed. Gerard's been quiet all this time, but his eyes flicker open when Frank lies down, Katie stretched out between the two of them.
"Hey," he says, reaching out to brush his finger down the side of her face. "Hey, there." She blinks, suddenly quiet, and turns her head towards him, wobbly and awkward. Frank watches the two of them for a long while, until Gerard takes a deep breath and starts singing, soft and scratchy and still half-asleep. "Somewhere over the rainbow..."
Frank closes his eyes, then, but stays awake for a long time, just listening.
The next morning, he wakes up with Gerard's hand on his hip and Katie squirming between them, stretching and yawning. He loses a few minutes like that, watching her tiny, scrunched-up face, and only looks up when Gerard squeezes his hip.
"Hey," Gerard says, smiling. His face is creased from the pillowcase, and his hair looks like it's massing for attack, and he smiles down at Katie like she's the most amazing thing he's ever seen.
"Hey," Frank says, leaning in a little, and then Gerard's phone buzzes.
Gerard rolls his eyes, squeezes Frank's hip again, and rolls away to answer it. Frank sits up a little, making sure that Katie can't roll away from him. "Hey, Cheryl," Gerard says. "Nah, just waking up." He listens for a bit, sitting on the edge of the bed and facing the window; Frank tickles the soles of Katie's feet. "Yeah, that sounds good—give us a call when you get here, and we'll send somebody down to get you. Yeah. Yeah, sure thing. Bye." He flips the phone closed and turns around, giving Katie a finger to play with.
"Cheryl?"
"Yeah," Gerard says. "She's got a doctor with her—they want to check on Katie, make sure she's okay and everything."
"Oh," Frank says, "okay." Gerard looks a little freaked, which is ridiculous: Katie's perfectly healthy, and it's not like they're going to draw blood from somebody who's not even big enough to sit up on her own. "Come on, then," Frank says, sitting up and lifting Katie into his arms, "let's make ourselves presentable."
The appointment goes fine, despite Gerard's nervousness. The doctor—a middle-aged woman named Marva—checks Katie over carefully, then fixes Gerard with a beady-eyed stare and asks him a series of questions about what they've been feeding her, how often she's been eating, how many times a day they have to change her diaper, how well she's been sleeping. She and Cheryl have a quiet conversation on the other side of the room, which is admittedly a little nervous-making, but at the end of it, Cheryl comes back over to them and smiles.
"Well, I'm happy to say that you've got a perfectly healthy three-month old girl," she says, and Gerard lets go of his death grip on Frank's hand.
"She's going to start teething soon," Marva adds, packing up her stethoscope. "You'll want to be ready for that."
"My mom sent us some stuff," Gerard says, and she nods approvingly.
"You'll want to find her a pediatrician as soon as you can," she says. "Ideally, somebody who doesn't mind being called out across the country if she gets sick while you're on tour." Frank nods; his mom told him the same thing. "Good luck," she tells them, standing at the doorway. "You're going to need it."
As soon as she's gone, Gerard turns to Cheryl. "That's good, right?" he asks, holding Katie close. "I mean, if she's healthy—"
"It's a very good sign," she says, smiling at them. "We'll probably have another checkup in a few weeks—I think Brian said something about Cincinnati?" Frank nods.
"What about the other stuff?" Gerard asks. "With her mom, I mean."
Cheryl sighs. "We've tracked down the hospital where her birth certificate was signed, but she checked in under a fake ID, and the nurses I've talked to say she wasn't a regular patient." She shrugs. "I'm going out there in a few days to try to dig up some more information, but it doesn't look likely."
"Oh," Gerard says. "That makes sense." He sounds subdued, and Frank can't blame him. On the one hand, it's awesome—if they can't find the mother, they're one step closer to getting to keep Katie forever. On the other hand, he can't help thinking of some girl, some fan of theirs, pregnant and scared and giving her baby up to a complete stranger. He and Gerard sit together for a while after Cheryl leaves, holding Katie between them and not saying anything.
*
"Hey, guys," Mikey says, when Frank answers the door. "Pete's got a car, and Bob and Ray are busy sleeping. Want to come downtown with us?" Frank looks at Gerard, who shrugs.
"Sure, yeah," Frank says. "Meet you in the lobby?"
Strapping the carseat into Pete's backseat is kind of ridiculously complicated. "In our defense," Gerard points out haughtily, "we haven't actually had to do this yet, so far."
"Yeah, sure," Pete says, wiping tears from his eyes. "Need a hand there, Frank?"
"Fuck you," Frank says, having finally gotten the damn thing situated. "Gee, give her here, I'll strap her in."
Pete, for all that he's a total jackass most of the time, is a surprisingly good tour guide. He points out parts of the city as they drive downtown, helping Frank flesh out his mental map of Chicago, which is still mostly a patchwork quilt of venues he's played, bars he's been to, and hotels he's crashed at, interspersed with the odd landmark and the constant sweep of the lake, cool and gray. They stay downtown, mostly, where the buildings are tall and pointy and everybody is busy enough not to notice four semi-famous rockstars and a baby.
"I'd take you guys up north," he says, while they're walking back and forth under the enormous silver sculpture in the park. "It's generally a cooler neighborhood, I mean—but I figured that you really didn't want to be recognized, all things considered." He nods at Katie, strapped securely onto Gerard's chest and watching intently as he explains reflection to her.
"Thanks," Frank says. "Probably a good plan." This is good, anyway. It's maybe not what he thought he wanted, a year ago—a wife, a family, kids of his own—but it's good.
A few days later, there's a package waiting for them at the venue in Baton Rouge, postmarked from Chicago. It contains:
- three Katie-sized animal costumes (rabbit, cat, and giraffe),
- a mess of strings and plastic that turns out to be a mobile, musical notes dangling delicately and spinning in the nonexistent breeze,
- the world's tiniest xylophone, and
- a note.
"Dear proud parents," Mikey reads, "blah blah blah cutest kid in the world can only be made cuter with animal costumes. Send me pictures, blah blah blah—" Mikey looks up. "He promises not to put them online anywhere, Gee," he says, but Frank has his doubts. "PS the xylophone is from Patrick." Mikey frowns. "He says that Bob will know why."
They all turn and stare; Bob frowns, then starts laughing. "I used to make fun of him," he says. "Like, the dude has every musical instrument in the universe, and I used to give him shit about what he was going to use them for. He said that the xylophone was for posterity." Bob shakes his head, smiling. "I guess Katie counts."
They take the pictures; Frank keeps an eye on the gossip blogs for the next few days, but nothing pops up. Frank sits with Katie sometimes, watching the mobile spin; it's pretty neat. Sometimes Gerard joins them, resting his head on Frank's stomach and telling Katie stories, all dragons and unicorns and an intrepid princess, saving the day.
*
It's a travel day, so they're all sacked out in the lounge on the Baby Bus. Sometimes, when they're sick of each other's fucking faces, they'll split up, two on one bus and three on the other, spreading out so that they can have the nearest possible approximation of actual privacy. Since Katie, though, they're mostly sticking together, settling around and watching Katie burble and fart and sleep.
Today, she rolls over. It's kind of big deal.
"She's going to be the best-documented baby on the planet," Gerard complains, but he doesn't stop Mikey from taking yet another picture of Katie, exhausted from her adventures in rotation, asleep face-down on her red blanket.
"Not true," Ray says. "Pete Wentz could have kids." He makes a face, and Frank doesn't blame him; that's a weird thing to think about. Weirder than Gerard with a baby, even, somehow.
Mikey's sidekick buzzes, and he stares at it.
"You know, Mikey," Gerard says, "I know it's hard to believe, but I'm pretty sure that thing has uses other than photojournalism."
"Fuck you," Mikey says, "it's Mom. Hi, Ma," he says, pressing a button and flopping down on the couch. "What's up?" His eyes go wide—not much, but enough that Frank notices, enough that Gerard sits up, looking worried. "Yeah, no," Mikey says, "hang on, I'll tell him." He rests the sidekick against his shoulder and looks down at Katie, smiling a little. "Guys, she's four months old today."
"No way," Frank says, but as soon as he thinks about it, he realizes that it is.
"Her birthday's June 14th," Gerard says, resting his hand on her back. "She's a third of a year old today." He catches Frank's eye, and Frank smiles back, matching him grin for grin.
"You realize what this means," Frank says, kicking Gerard's ankle. "We have to throw her a party."
"Of course," Gerard says, nodding seriously. "It's not every day that you turn one third." He turns around, but Bob and Ray are already up.
"Where'd we leave the streamers?" Ray asks. "I know we had some left over from Vegas, where the fuck are they?"
Mikey puts Mrs. Way on speaker while they decorate, and she asks them for every little detail about Katie—what she's eating, what she's not eating, how long she's sleeping at night, what new faces she's made today.
"Well, now" she says, "Gerard was just the same, you know—didn't fall asleep before four AM for the first year we had him, I swear. I spent so much time in the armchair that it got a permanent assprint from me!" She laughs. "It was all for show, of course. The little faker just wanted the attention."
"Mom," Gerard says, holding up a roll of streamers while Frank stands on a chair to pin them up. They're almost out, but the bus is slowing down; they'll get something at the gas station. "Ma, you remember the part where she's not blood, right?"
Mama Way tsks dismissively. "Just because her biological father is some dipshit asswipe in Minnesota doesn't mean that she couldn't inherit your love of drama, dear," she says. "Some things are nurture, not nature, after all."
"Hi, guys!" Cheryl walks in through the door, then stops dead when they all stare at her, horrified. Mikey grabs the phone and flips it off of speaker, talking quietly to Mrs. Way. "Did I—am I interrupting something?" she says, looking confused.
"No," Frank says, when everybody else keeps staring. "No, I mean—we were just throwing a party," he says. "For Katie."
"She's four months old today," Gerard says, scooping her up from the blanket on the floor. "A whole third of a year old." Cheryl's face goes soft, and she steps forward.
"Can I?" she says, holding out her hands; Gerard looks like he wants to say no, but after a second he hands Katie over, settling her carefully in Cheryl's arms. "She's such a little sweetheart," Cheryl says, smiling down at Katie.
Gerard beams. "She rolled over this morning!" he says, like it's the biggest thing that's ever happened; Frank would mock him, but it was kind of awesome to watch.
"Well," Cheryl says, "don't let me interrupt the party." She hands Katie back, and Gerard hesitates.
"Wait," he says. "You had something to tell us?" Cheryl blinks, then nods.
"I did, yeah," she says. She's smiling, but she seems a little sad. "I just got back from Minneapolis—no luck with the mother, and at this point they're pretty sure she's not going to turn up." She bites her lip, staring at Gerard. "If you two still want to go ahead with this..."
"Yes," Gerard says, then turns to Frank. "I mean—"
"Yes," Frank says, looking at Cheryl. "Yes, we want to."
"Great," she says. "I hoped you'd say that." She walks back to her briefcase, dropped by the door. "In that case, I have some more paperwork for you guys."
The party is a little awkward, after that, with none of them saying what they're all thinking. If Cheryl had been ten seconds faster—if Gerard had been just a little louder—but now, instead of snatching Katie away, she's giving them papers to sign, saying that, yes, they will take care of Katie to the best of their ability, and yes, they have enough money to support her, and yes, they plan to enroll her in an appropriate school as soon as possible, and no, they don't plan to expose her drugs or alcohol or guns or violence. They each have to fill one out, and there's another form for the rest of the guys, to prove that they'll be good influences.
There's a little box marked RELATIONSHIP TO PARENT 1; Frank chews on the end of his pen and stares at it for a bit, then decides to leave it blank. When he glances over at Gerard's paper—it's not like cheating, not for something like this—he sees that Gerard has written bandmate + friend.
Frank leaves his blank.
Just as they're finishing up, Katie goes from grizzling quietly and drooling on Gerard's collar to crying a little. Frank stands up, pushing his stack of papers across the table towards Cheryl.
"I'll deal with it," he says, taking Katie carefully from Gerard. "Come on, Katie Way, let's go find you a birthday lunch."
Katie doesn't seem to have a preference, but sweet potatoes seem like a good bet. Frank digs a bowl out of the cupboard—one of the benefits of living mostly off of takeout, gas-station junk, and whatever they get at venues is that their own dishes mostly stay clean—and spoons some of the orange glop into it.
"Well," he tells Katie, "at least this'll be an interesting color when you smear it in my hair."
"We'll make Bob do it," Gerard says. "It'll blend better." There's not much space in the kitchen, and he's pressed against Frank's hip and side, making faces at Katie. "You got that, Kate?" he says. "Food in Bob's hair, not ours." Katie burbles, and Gerard kisses her on the forehead; his chin brushes against Frank's shoulder.
"She's definitely your daughter," Frank says. "Likes to be messy."
"I—yeah," Gerard says. "I guess she is." He sounds weird, and Frank turns to look at him, but by the time he's turned all the way around, Gerard's back to normal, pushing his nose up and crossing his eyes at Katie. "Hey, wait," he says when Frank grabs the bowl of sweet potatoes. "I think there's a candle in that drawer, hang on." He presses up against Frank, reaching past him to get at the junk drawer. His hair is in Frank's face, and he's holding onto Frank's hip to steady himself, and Frank can't breathe, there's so little space in here.
"Careful," he says, unsteady, "Don't want to squish Katie." Gerard nods against his neck, shifting his weight so that he's pressed against Frank from shoulder to hip.
"Hah, motherfucker," Gerard says finally, pulling back a little. "Found it!" He brings the candle right up in front of Frank's face, waving it and grinning, and Frank smiles back. "Now, where—" Gerard looks around, and Frank holds up Katie's lunch. "Right, exactly," Gerard says. "Now, just hold it—no, here," he says, grabbing Frank's wrist and holding his hand still. "It's easier like this, see?" His hands are warm and a little sweaty, but his grip is smooth and steady. "There," Gerard says, stepping back. "It's not birthday cake, but it'll work."
"Also, she doesn't have teeth yet," Frank says. "Which might make cake difficult."
Gerard laughs. "Thanks, Frankie," he says. "Seriously, thanks."
"For holding the bowl?" Frank says, holding it up. "It's not that hard; I'm sure you could have managed somehow."
"Fuck you," Gerard says. "You know what I meant." He glances at Katie, who's gnawing halfheartedly on Frank's hair. "You want me to take her?"
"Nah, I'm good," Frank says. "Come on, party time."
Back in the lounge, everybody sings Happy Birthday to Katie, and Gerard helps her blow out the candle in her mush. Bob gets volunteered for baby-food duty, and does a decent job of it, although he still winds up with sweet potatoes in his beard.
"Hey, guys," Mikey says, when Bob goes into the kitchen to clean up. "Hey, let's get a picture."
"A family picture, yeah," Gerard says. "That's fucking awesome, Mikey." Brian rolls his eyes, but he's smiling, and Cheryl looks distinctly sniffly.
"Yeah, sure," Frank says, handing Katie back to Gerard. "Just let me—" Gerard is staring at him, though, frowning in confusion, still holding the half-empty bowl of baby food. "Family photo, Gee," he says. "That means you."
"It means you, too," Gerard says, "I mean, you signed the papers and everything." He glances over at Cheryl, sidelong and nervous, and Frank sighs and drops back down onto the couch. It's a little weird, taking a family photo with somebody else's kid, but he doesn't really want to argue it with Cheryl sitting right there.
"Say cheese," Mikey says, and Frank smiles.
Katie falls asleep not long after that, and they tuck her back into her car seat. Cheryl stays for a little while—checks over the arrangements on the bus again, talks scheduling and locations with Brian—and then goes back to her car the next time they stop.
"I'll see you in Detroit," she says. "Keep me posted." Frank stays outside for a while, leaning against the side of the gas station and smoking a cigarette until it's time for them to roll out again.
"Oh, fuck you," he says, when he sees Ray, Bob, and Mikey heading for the other bus. "What, you're going to leave the mess for us?" Inside, though, things are as clean as they ever are, although there's still some tinsel hanging around the doorway. Katie's out cold in her little basket, chewing on her fist in her sleep, and Gerard is standing in the middle of the room, staring at nothing and twitching.
"Frank," he says, "Frank, shit, what if she heard us?"
"She didn't hear us," Frank says, flopping down on the couch. "If she'd heard us, she would have freaked, and she didn't freak, which means she didn't hear us." Gerard turns, frowning and fidgeting with the sleeves of his shirt.
"But what if she did?" He sighs, then drops down on the couch next to Frank. "It could fuck everything up, you know?"
"But it didn't, and it won't," Frank says, grabbing Gerard's shoulder and tugging. "Calm down, it's fine." Gerard goes reluctantly, settling slowly until he's lying on the couch on his side, his head on Frank's shoulder. Frank wraps an arm around his shoulders and drums his fingers gently on the back of Gerard's neck, steady and soothing. "It's fine, Gerard," he says again. "Seriously, stop worrying, you're going to wake Katie up."
Gerard sighs, relaxing a little against Frank's shoulder. "Just—I know the system is there for a reason, right? And I don't want to be, like," he waves his hand, almost catching Frank in the nose, "asking for special treatment or some shit." He sighs again. "But I also don't want them to take her away."
"Which they're not going to," Frank says, "because you're going to be a great father, once you stop fucking panicking all the time." He closes his eyes and just breathes for a minute, holding Gerard close enough that they're breathing together.
"Frank," Gerard says finally, sounding calmer. "Frank—you want this, right? Katie, I mean." Frank opens his eyes, stares at the ceiling, tries not to move too much.
"Yeah," he says. "Of course. What would you do without me?"
Gerard rolls his eyes; Frank can feel it, the familiar motion of muscles pressed against his shoulder. "No, I mean—like, if she weren't mine at all," he says, "not even on the birth certificate—would you still want her?"
Frank swallows. "Of course I would," he says. "Just because I'm the only reasonable person on this bus doesn't mean I would have abandoned her."
"No," Gerard says, tilting his head up, "no—" He hesitates, then, with his mouth on Frank's neck and his nose brushing Frank's ear. "Frank—" Stretched out like this, shrugging becomes a full-body event, something Frank feels from his shoulders to his ankles. "I just—I couldn't do this without you," he says, finally. "I really fucking couldn't."
"Sure you could," Frank says, but he doesn't move to get up for a long time.
part three