Crash - Bandom, NC-17, Mikey/Frank.

[gorgeousnerd]

Crashmaster post

The first thing Mikey heard as he walked down the stairs was the sound of fists hitting flesh. Gross. Not as gross as the stench - he was sure he smelled bleach, blood, and booze, and not necessarily in that order - but gross.

Pete scowled next to him. "What?" Mikey asked.

"I owe your brother fifty bucks." Pete shook his head. "Thought I'd get at least a grimace."

The corners of Mikey's mouth upturned a little. "I can bring Gerard next time, if that'd make you feel better."

"No way. He lectured me for an hour when I told him I was bringing you. An hour. Looked like he wanted to puke on my shoes the whole time, too."

They hit the bottom of the stairs, and the crowd roared. Mikey stood on his tiptoes and looked over their heads.

It wasn't like he hadn't seen cage fighting before. He and Gerard had appeared at charity fights in their sector more times than he could count. But he wasn't surrounded by rich assholes in tuxes or waiters carrying champagne this time. Drunk assholes in ripped t-shirts and jeans and vendors spilling cheap beer made up the audience here.

"Wanna get closer?" Pete yelled in his ear.

Mikey shook his head. "Where are we meeting your guy?"

Pete jerked his head to the back, and Mikey followed, shoving and ducking without difficulty. Nice thing about spending a lot of time at concerts: you learned how to get through a drunk crowd without pissing people off too much.

They reached a bar nestled in the back, away from almost everyone, as a loud crack and jeers filled the air. A guy with a fedora and a leather jacket - really? - pushed over toward Pete as the bell sounded and an announcer took the stage.

"The winner in three bouts," he said. "Dirk Destroyer!"

"Patrick," Pete yelled as the crowd yelled again. "This is Mikey. He knows Eyes Only."

Mikey nodded at him. Pete never stopped surprising him; Patrick was a lot younger than Pete, and younger than Mikey. He also didn't have any ink or any of the scene trappings that a lot of Pete's hangers-on liked.

Patrick nodded back. "Thanks for meeting me. I know it's not safe."

"What is?" Mikey said.

He looked back toward the cage. The bar stood next to a chain-link tunnel linking the back and the main arena. A guy who looked way closer to Pete's speed stepped out: short, shirtless, and covered in tattoos. His hair was even shaved on the sides and dyed platinum, with black on his bangs. Total scenester. But it was really the shit-eating grin that sold it.

He glanced over at Mikey. Mikey stared back. The guy winked at him, then ran up to the main part of the cage.

"Introducing, in his first bout this evening..." The announcer took a big breath. "Sweet Pea!"

The crowd laughed. For once, Mikey joined them.

"Holy shit, Mikeyway," Pete said. "Did you just smile?"

Mikey looked around the room. In the back corner was a table and a man taking money. "Hold that thought. I'll be right back."

He slipped a hundred out of his back pocket. It was enough to make it a little interesting, but not so much that he'd get mugged for flashing it around.

"What are the odds on Sweet Pea?" Mikey yelled as he shoved forward.

The collector shouted back, "20 to 1."

Shit. Two-thousand bucks was a lot to carry. But Mikey glanced back up at the ring and watched Sweet Pea circle Dirk Destroyer, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. Dirk was bald and probably nearly seven feet tall. Sweet Pea was lucky if he was five and a half feet. No way he wouldn't get his ass kicked.

Mikey shoved the money at the collector, yelled Sweet Pea's name, and got a ticket back.

"Tell me you put your money on Dirk," Pete said as he came back. Patrick hung by his elbow. He didn't look nervous, exactly. Still, the way he searched the crowd and jammed his hands in his pockets screamed "not from around here". Mikey wasn't either, but he knew how to dress, at least.

Mikey climbed up on the bar as the bell rang. The bartender ignored him.

Dirk lunged for Sweet Pea. Sweet Pea waited, and Mikey winced in advance.

Except...

"Did you see that?" Pete yelled as the rest of the crowd roared.

Mikey did. Sort of. He'd blinked, and Sweet Pea was on the other side of the cage.

"He's got moves!" Patrick shouted. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and judging by the way Pete ogled him, it didn't escape his notice.

It took Dirk a second to recover. When he finally turned, Sweet Pea waggled his fingers at him before rolling forward. Dirk was halfway through a swing when Sweet Pea jumped up and hammered him hard in the stomach. He waited for Dirk to double over, then jumped on his back and put him in a headlock.

Dirk was unconscious by the time he hit the canvas.

The crowd yelled so loud, it hurt. Guess it didn't matter whose blood got spilled.

As he climbed back down, Pete was ordering a pitcher of beer.

"And he's paying for it," Pete said, jerking his thumb at Mikey. "Since he just won a shitload of money."

Mikey rolled his eyes. "Let me get it first."

The collector didn't look happy to fork over two-thousand dollars, and Mikey wasn't exactly glad to take it. But he stuck half of it in his sock and handed the other half over to Pete very conspicuously.

"There," he said. "You can buy as much beer as you want."

"Oh, fuck you very much," Pete said. He slipped Patrick five-hundred and gave the rest back to Mikey. "For the information."

Patrick gaped. "But you don't know if it's any good."

"I've got a feeling. Now put it away before someone jumps you."

Patrick tucked it in his coat quickly.

"Now," Pete said, taking a big drink from his cup, "tell Mikey what you told me about Manticore."

-

The nice thing about going only one round? Getting to sneak out before the show was over.

Frank kicked open the back door. Of course it was fucking raining. Never seemed to stop in this shithole. If he'd had his way, he'd be soaking up sun in Mexico, but no, Ray had wanted to see the old Space Needle.

"Besides," he'd said when they'd bought their first motorcycles, "we're closer to Manticore this way."

As if on cue, Frank's hand shook a little. He couldn't argue with that.

"Hey."

He flipped up his hoodie and looked around the corner. A skinny guy leaned against a wall under an awning. He flicked ash from a cigarette between his fingers.

"Yeah?" Frank said.

"You're Sweet Pea, right?" He put the cigarette in his mouth and dug out a flattened pack from his pocket, which he held out to Frank.

Right. This was the guy giving him the poker face before the fight. Frank slipped under the awning and took one of the cigarettes. "When I'm in the cage, yeah."

Before the guy could offer, Frank pulled a lighter from his pocket. As he lit up, the guy pushed square glasses higher on his nose. "I bet on you."

"Good for you." Frank took a drag and exhaled. Excellent.

The guy held out his hand. "I don't want it."

Frank took the money before he realized what he was doing. A quick count, and— "Dude. I can't take this."

"Why not?"

"Because people don't hand me a thousand bucks without a reason for it."

The guy's face was blank. It would've been creepy, if his pretty face didn't balance it out. Really pretty face, now Frank could see it. Huh. "Don't worry about it."

He turned and walked away, smoking even under the rain. Frank hid the money behind his belt and watched him go, letting his cigarette burn down without putting it to his mouth.

Bad idea, he thought. Really fucking bad idea.

It didn't stop Frank from crushing his cigarette underfoot and running for his bike.

He didn't have the knack of trailing a pedestrian while riding a motorcycle; he kept making too much noise, and more than once, he almost gave the bike too much gas. But the guy climbed in a piece of shit car after three blocks, so that made things easier. He passed through three sectors - they even made it past the dark Space Needle - without trouble, and Frank was really glad for his work ID because he didn't have any problems keeping up. Even if all the sector pigs gave him the side-eye for driving without his light on.

Frank was beginning to wonder if it'd ever stop when they crossed into Sector 1. The beaten SUV the guy drove disappeared into an underground garage. Not a big deal, except that most people Frank knew couldn't afford gas, much less a car or a garage to put it in. And oh yeah, the building of condos that sat on top of it? Some of the most expensive in the city.

Fuck. The asshole really was rich.

Frank parked down the block and nudged his pocket of money to make sure it was still there. Five thousand from the fight. A thousand from the act of charity. He was still fifteen-hundred dollars short. Not a big deal, if he had some time. He could do a couple more fights, maybe make it to payday. It'd be nice to not see Ray's disappointed face, or make an emergency call for the fifth time. The pills were supposed to last the month, after all.

His hands shook on the handles.

Frank turned off his bike. Time was up.

-

Mikey could feel the grime of the cage club wafting off him as he made his way to the garage's elevator. Luckily, there was someone just as messy waiting in front of the doors: his bow tie was undone, red hair dye leaked down the back of his neck, and his cuffs were stained with black ink.

"Mikey!" Gerard practically tackled him with a hug. "You're out late."

"Look who's talking. How was your fundraiser?"

Gerard beamed as he pulled away. "I sold every painting."

"Awesome." The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside. "I told you."

The doors closed. Seconds later, they opened again to reveal a hallway with thick carpet and dark wood panels for walls.

"And I drew some other stuff," Gerard said as they walked toward the front door. "In the car."

"I figured."

Gerard slipped the card in the lock. "Yeah? How?"

Mikey pointed at his cuff.

"Oh, no." He pushed back his sleeve. On his arm were smudged words, and Mikey had to squint for a second to read "meow".

Mikey rolled his eyes and pushed the door open.

The penthouse was exactly the kind of place eccentric billionaire artist types would live: huge windows, high ceilings, and not much furniture. It was also a mess. It wasn't as bad as it could've been - Mikey had a maid in every week, if only to clean up the paint from when Gerard was too lazy to use a drop cloth - so maybe "cluttered" was a better word. But then, between their geeky stuff and work crap, it was hard not to clutter things.

"Where's your sketch?" Mikey asked, looking around.

Gerard raked his hand through his hair, and dye streaked across his hand. "I'll show you in the studio."

The studio was a converted closet. Gerard told anyone who asked that he liked the lack of windows. It wasn't a stretch, actually.

Gerard tapped the keypad in the usual way: fingers brushing across all twelve keys by row and column to spread his fingerprints, then the code, then brushing the numbers he didn't press again. The door unlocked, and Gerard let Mikey in, then slipped in and tapped the keypad on the other side in the same way until the door clicked again.

"Check," Gerard said. When nothing happened, he said it again, louder. "CHECK."

Lights flashed on, and the studio came into view.

It was cluttered, but neater than the rest of the house. But then, this was where they ran all things Eyes Only; it was good to know where everything was in case things needed to happen fast. Mikey did his usual check to make sure the major landmarks were in their usual spots, and they were.

They waited until a green light and a beep went off, then, as the white noise generator kicked in, Gerard sank into his computer chair.

"So," he said. "How was the meeting with Pete's friend, uh..."

"Patrick. And it was good."

"Good? You get any leads?" Gerard leaned forward, bouncing his hands on his knees.

Mikey walked over to the coffee maker. There still had a pot from before they'd left, so it probably wouldn't be too nasty. He poured two mugs and handed one to Gerard.

"A couple, yeah." Mikey sipped experimentally. Cold, but toe-curling good. He closed his eyes. "He thinks they're running ops in town at the moment. Some disappearances have matched up with sightings."

Gerard grinned. "I fucking knew it. Schechter owes me five bucks."

Mikey slipped money out of his shoe and peeled off a twenty. "Here. I don't want you pestering one of our police contacts over a bet."

"I wouldn't." Gerard frowned. "Where'd you get the dough, moneybags?"

"I'm filthy rich, remember?" It had taken some getting used to. They'd lived pre-Pulse with their parents in a house smaller than Mikey's bedroom now. When the Pulse fried everything, their grandmother had accumulated a fortune in electronics, and she'd left everything to Gerard and Mikey. He'd spent years working shitty clubs to make rent, so. Weird.

"Yeah, because you carry hundreds of dollars in cash around with you all the time."

Mikey shrugged. "I made a bet."

"You? Bet?"

"Don't worry," Mikey said. "I'll donate to the charity. Broadcast go through?"

Gerard tapped his mouse, and the monitor faded into color. Eyes blinked on the screen.

"This is a streaming video bulletin," Gerard's distorted voice said. But the eyes, as usual, were Mikey's.

Gerard hit the space bar, and the video stopped.

"Guess so. I had a fuck of a time with it. The encoding didn't want to stick."

Mikey nodded. "Oh, that reminds me. Pete said he'd get Patrick's files to us by tomorrow night."

"That long?"

"He's doing the research on the drug runners, too."

"Well, better late than never," Gerard said. He sipped his coffee. "Fuck, if we can get something solid..."

Manticore had been their grandma's pet project. Everyone said it was a myth, but Elena had insisted she'd found a dying fish man in a polluted canal. If it was true, he'd told her he'd come from a government installation that did genetic testing. Gerard, of course, had lost his shit when Elena had showed him her cell phone pictures, and he'd promised he'd do whatever he could to help. Mikey was less convinced, but he'd done more for Gerard on less.

It didn't help that what he'd found so far wasn't anything half as cool as a fish man. The leads he'd found implied human trafficking. It was fucked, and Mikey couldn't sit by and let that happen.

Mikey covered a yawn with his hand.

"Go to bed." Gerard put down his mug and stretched his arms over his head. "Big nights ahead."

"But you're staying up. And you've got that thing tomorrow, remember?"

Gerard grinned. "Like I could sleep now!"

"What about your sketch?"

"Oh yeah!" Gerard reached in his pockets and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. As it smoothed out, Mikey could tell that it was him and Gerard, as usual, but as cat people, with fuzzy ears and whiskers. It was Gerard's favorite Manticore rumor.

Mikey snorted. Dork.

-

Frank wheeled his motorcycle down the hall.

The nice thing about illegal apartment squatting was that he never had to worry about oil leaks ruining a deposit or some shit. Hell, it wasn't like anyone cared about stained concrete; the carpet was long gone. And even though it was nearly four in the morning, he could hear music thumping from a bunch of different places, so it didn't matter that he was bumping into every piece of wall that stuck out.

He expected Ray to be asleep, or playing guitar quietly in his room. He didn't expect Ray to be half-dozing in the doorway of their place.

"Toro," Frank said. "You're in my way."

Ray jumped to his feet just in time to catch Frank from slumping to his knees.

"Fuck, Frank. What the hell?"

"Just..." He waved at his bike. "I'll tell you in a second, okay?"

Ray nudged open the door with a foot and dropped Frank on the couch. Frank couldn't stop shaking, not even long enough to help Ray bring his bike in. Or to get his pills, which Ray apparently had in his pocket, and a glass of water on the counter.

"Marry me," Frank said, around his chattering teeth.

"Shut up and drink, okay?" He sounded really worried. Shit. Now Frank felt like an asshole. He gulped a pill and as much water as he could without coughing. But he kept shaking; it'd take at least an hour for the meds to kick in.

"My sock." he said, pointing down as he waited for his throat to calm down.

Ray reached in and plucked out the money, running a quick finger over the bills. "Where the hell'd you get this?"

"It's all legit," Frank said. This much was, anyway. "Don't worry."

Ray's mouth tightened. He knew just as well as Frank did that it wasn't enough money, so of course he was going to worry. "Dude. I have some of my Jam Pony money tucked away, I—"

"No."

"But Frank—"

Frank shoved into a sitting position. "This is my fucking problem. I'm not taking your cash."

Ray ran a hand through his hair. "Just tell me you aren't stealing again."

They'd both done a lot worse than stealing - just their existence in Seattle broke a million laws - but when he'd found out Frank was lifting pieces from Sector 1 and redistributing on the black market to pay for his meds, he'd put a stop to it. And okay, they'd both gotten jobs after that, so it wasn't all bad, but really.

"Frank."

"I'm not."

Not yet. The place he'd scoped out was pretty swank: penthouse, lots of entry points, only two guys with no live-in staff. As long as the men weren't shut-ins, Frank could get in and out in a day without anyone noticing he was there.

Ray leaned against Frank 's shoulder. Frank closed his eyes and sighed.

"You're all I've got," Ray said quietly.

"Sorry," Frank said. It was hard for him to be quiet with his teeth chattering, but he tried. "Should've called."

Ray nodded. "Here, let me help you to bed."

Frank let Ray help him up - even if Ray had been your average, on-the-street person, Frank wasn't the biggest guy in the world - and they walked to Frank's makeshift bedroom, tucked away behind a half-finished wall and curtains.

"You'll tell Bob for me?" he asked. If Ray was going in to work, there was no reason to call in sick.

Ray smiled a little. "Don't worry. I've got it all under control."

-

"It's under control." Mikey flapped his hands at Gerard.

Gerard bit his lip. "But if Patrick sends the files while I'm out—"

"—then I'll read them."

"But what if there's something we need to do?" Gerard was wringing at his t-shirt now.

Mikey rolled his eyes. "Don't you think Patrick would've said if it was time-sensitive? He could've told Pete days ago, even."

Gerard shoved at his shoulder. Mikey pulled his head down and kissed the top of it. At least he'd gotten Gee to shower. But then, if he was going to do it for anything, a visit to the kids in his charity would be it.

Gerard waved and left, and Mikey took his laptop into the studio.

Normally, he spent this time of day either asleep or at the offices of Eyeball: face-to-face kept his cover from being blown. But he could work from home, so it wasn't a big deal to plug in his headphones and go through some of the tracks people were laying down without going in.

He was immersed when red lights started flashing all over the office. Mikey nearly fell out of the computer chair as he shoved off his earphones.

"What the fuck?" he muttered as he leaned in to the security monitors.

Someone was in the record room. It took Mikey a second to see him - they never opened the curtains in there, so it was shadowy - but he passed in front of one of the gold records Mikey had hung on the wall, and it was almost like a spotlight. Whoever he was, he was covered head-to-toe in black, complete with a ski mask that covered his face. It wasn't a particularly subtle look for ten in the morning, but combined with the gloved hands that rifled through the cases of vinyl, it made identification impossible.

Mikey looked at the panic button next to the computer. If he hit it, Pete or Brian would send guys in. But Mikey wasn't in immediate danger. Maybe he'd never hear the end of it from Gerard, but if this was someone that needed the money for food or something, Mikey didn't have the heart to intervene.

The thief paused with a record in his hands. Fuck, that was Gerard's vinyl copy of Walk Among Us. It was his pride and joy: it was hard to get originals of many vinyl albums these days, much less that one. It'd probably make a killing on the black market.

But the thief turned it over carefully in his hands, then put it back in the box.

Mikey tilted his head. Huh.

Before he knew it, he pushed the buttons to get out of the studio and locked the door behind him.

He could hear Gerard in his head now: What the fuck are you doing, you're gonna get yourself killed, get back inside and call Pete.

And okay, he hadn't checked to see if the thief had a gun. But he figured money was probably more important to this guy than shooting someone, and it wasn't like he hadn't been at gunpoint before. (Not that he'd ever told Gerard.)

Mikey paused. There was a hole in the ceiling panels. The thief must've dropped in.

"Cool," he muttered.

He heard the record room open, and as he turned, he realized he was between the thief and his way out. Great. Gerard really was gonna kill him.

The thief was short and a little stocky. He froze in a half-crouch when he spotted Mikey, a case under his arm.

"You wanna get out of my way?" he said in a low voice.

Mikey blinked. "What'll you do if I don't?"

"What the fuck do you think?"

He wasn't pulling a gun. That was good. "You need help? You don't have to steal my music to get it."

The elevator dinged outside the front door. Mikey stiffened.

"You've got five seconds to get out of my way, skinny," the thief said, "or I'll knock you down."

Mikey raised an eyebrow.

But the thief was as good as his word. Before anyone could knock or unlock the front door, the thief charged forward, and Mikey scrambled to move aside. But he was slow; his shoulder bumped the thief's hard, and the sleeve of the thief's shirt slipped. Apparently, he was wearing a black t-shirt with covers for the bottoms of his arms. Weird.

But the tattoos that bared weren't. In fact, Mikey had seen the tattoos before. Only for a second, but then, he wouldn't be very good at what he did if he didn't remember small details.

The thief didn't go for the ceiling; instead, he crashed out the window. Mikey ran after him, slipping a little on the broken glass under his sneakers.

It was lucky their building was built with weird levels; the penthouse had a floor all its own, but the next floor down extended further north and south, so there was a roof not too far below. By the time Mikey looked out, he could see the thief running for the access door.

"Mikey!" Gerard grabbed Mikey's shoulders and pulled him away from the window. "What the fuck?"

"We just got robbed," Mikey said.

He moved around Gerard and into the record room. Some of the albums were still spread on the floor.

Including Walk Among Us.

-

"Iero!"

Frank beamed across the counter at Bob. And then he jumped over and tackled him. "Bryar! I missed you!"

"You were gone one day," Bob grumbled against his shoulder. He pried Frank off, but he looked him and down.

"Aw, you were worried?"

"Only that your ass would be off your route for another week." But Bob gave a small, reluctant smile. "I'm glad it's not."

Frank rubbed his hands. "Got anything for me yet?"

"No. But Toro was looking for you."

Frank hugged Bob's neck one more time before bouncing into the locker room.

Ray was digging in his locker, setting up things in neat stacks. It was his look-busy move. "I got it," he said as Frank came up, head still ducked.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Ray handed him the box. It was smaller than his last one. It didn't stop Frank from prying it open and looking at the smaller pill bottles.

"Motherfucker."

"And he said the price is ten grand next time."

"The fuck it is."

Ray held up his hands. "I'm just the messenger."

Frank slammed the door of Ray's locker with his fist. It rattled loudly, and his knuckles hurt, but damn did it feel good.

"Just tell me you got the letter," he said.

Ray tapped the box with a finger. "Under there."

Frank slipped the pills aside and grabbed the envelope. He tore it open.

Patrols are tighter. Something about snooping? We're okay. Stay safe.

Frank rested his head against the locker next to him. "We need to bust them out."

One of the other bike messengers passed by them and waved. Ray waggled a couple fingers, but he dropped his voice as the person walked away. "Dude, they won't go for it. They know you need the pills."

"Fuck the pills. We shouldn't have left them in there as long as we did."

"They wouldn't have gone," Ray said. "Not if it killed you."

"We don't know that I would die," Frank hissed. "And it's not like they needed to stay, now that we have the contact. I—"

"Iero!" Bob yelled from the front.

"What?"

"Get your ass out here!"

Frank rolled his eyes and handed the box back to Ray. "I'm popular today."

Ray's eyes narrowed. "Did you do something?"

"Nah," Frank said. He tried not to fidget too much under Ray's stare. "Bob probably just didn't finish tearing me a new one about calling in."

Ray shoved at him, and Frank bounced out front.

"Yeah?" Frank said.

Bob jerked his thumb toward the entrance. "You've got a visitor."

"What?"

"Someone came to talk to you," Bob said, drawing out each word. "Talk. To. You."

Frank gave him the finger and went up to the figure hunched by the door. And then he froze as the guy turned to look at him.

"Hey. Can we talk?"

Everything around Frank froze. Options. He had options. He could jump Bob's counter and breeze out the back in a couple seconds, or he could knock down the guy and move past him, or he could go in the back...

...well, if Toro knew that he'd stolen a vinyl collection yesterday. God, he'd never hear the end of it.

The guy blinked, and time revved up to normal speed. He held out a hand. "Mikey Way."

Way. Way. As in one of the saviors of Seattle. Oh man. Ray was gonna give him the biggest puppy eyes in the world.

He was shaking Mikey's hand before he knew it. What the hell? "I guess you probably know who I am. If you found me."

Mikey tilted his head a little. "Frank Iero, right?"

Frank couldn't get a single thing from his face. And he thought he was good at reading people. "Yeah. So why didn't you send the cops?"

"The cops?"

Frank dropped his voice and stepped closer. "Don't play cute. We both know what happened."

Mikey frowned. Or Frank thought it was a frown. "I was wondering if you wanted a job."

"I..." Okay. What? "I have a job."

"It could be a second job," Mikey said. "Or first. I'm pretty flexible with money, since I need a lot of help."

Frank's brain wasn't working fast enough. It sounded like Mikey was saying he wanted to give Frank a job and pay him pretty much whatever he wanted. And this was after he'd robbed the guy. And probably his brother.

Mikey pulled out a card. "Here. Meet me at my place after you get off work if you're interested. We can talk more."

Frank took the card. Mikey nodded once, in what was probably supposed to be a comforting move, waved to Bob behind the counter, and left.

"You know Mikey Way?" Bob said, frowning.

Frank stared at the card. It was for a record company, but Mikey's name was emblazoned on the top. Fuck, he was in over his head.

"Guess so," he said.

-

"I'm not leaving you alone!"

Mikey rolled his eyes. "I'm just interviewing assistants. It's fine."

Gerard ran his hand through his hair. He'd washed it the night before last, so it wasn't at its worst; it mostly looked normal when he was done. "In our place the night after we got robbed."

"Whatever. I'm fine, aren't I?"

Anything Gerard had to say in protest after was interrupted by the ding of the elevator outside the door. Gerard crossed his arms and pointedly sat on the couch. Mikey shot him a look, but Gerard gave him a bland smile.

"I should get to know whoever you pick," he said. "I'll be seeing him a lot, too."

"Or her," Mikey said. He missed Alicia. Too bad she was off making buckets of money in LA.

There was a knock on the door. Mikey raised his voice. "It's open."

Frank wasn't the first person to walk in. A man several inches taller with curly hair and a smile on his face came first. "Ray Toro. Nice to meet you."

"Hi," Mikey said as they shook hands. He knew this was Frank's roommate; the info he'd dug up on Frank in regards to Jam Pony had given him that much. But beyond that, the two were blank slates. Considering how many people had lost records during the Pulse, it wasn't the first time he'd seen it, but it was still less common than most would think.

Frank was behind Ray, eying the place with a wary look. It seemed more disgruntled than evaluating.

Ray moved on to shake Gerard's hand. "Hi. I've heard a lot about you guys."

Gerard brightened. "You have?"

"Who hasn't?" Ray's smile was downright dorky, and Gerard returned it. "When Frank said he was coming to talk to Mikey, I had to tag along."

"Want a tour?"

"Sure!"

They moved off with murmuring voices, and Mikey watched with a small smile. "I like your friend."

"Ray?" Frank looked blankly after them. "Yeah, he's a cool dude. Always on time with rent."

"I thought you squatted."

Frank turned a sharp look to Mikey.

"Bob's an old friend," Mikey said. "He's how I found you. Used to tech for me sometimes."

"Oh." Frank's eyes grew less narrow, but there was still tension to his shoulders. "I didn't know you owned a record company."

"We don't get as much press as Gerard's charities."

As if on cue, he heard Ray exclaim from the hall. "—real Fender Strat? Can I touch it?"

"You want a drink?" Mikey asked, jerking his head toward the kitchen.

Frank shrugged. "You got any beer?"

Mikey shook his head. "Gerard's sober."

"Water's fine, I guess."

If Mikey didn't know better, he wouldn't have guessed Frank for the menacing robber type. His t-shirt was torn, revealing his sleeves of tattoos almost all the way up, and he slouched, his hands jammed in his jean pockets. Slumping into the kitchen, he looked more like a teenager than a cage fighter.

Mikey poured Frank a glass of water and got himself a sports drink. Before Mikey could even pry the cap off, Frank blurted, "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want me to work for you?" Frank put his glass down on the counter. He was giving it a close stare. "I mean, I fucking robbed you."

Mikey shrugged and twisted his cap off. "It's not a big deal."

"Maybe for a rich asshole like you, it isn't." Frank stiffened. "I mean..."

"I get what you mean." Mikey sipped his drink. "We weren't always rich, you know."

"Yeah. Sure."

Mikey leaned against the fridge. It was stainless steel and cool, and it felt nice. The penthouse got stuffy sometimes. "A few years back, I had to get Gee into rehab. I sold practically everything I owned and worked three jobs."

Frank frowned. "Bet you never broke into someone's house, though."

"No. But I would have, if I could've gotten away with it." He smiled. "I did pirate movies for a while, though. Only reason I didn't get arrested was because I was a minor."

Frank tapped his fingers on the counter, and then he walked up to Mikey, getting very close in his space. Mikey felt the air heat with the extra body, but he wasn't scared. Frank didn't have any reason to hurt him. He mostly seemed curious, and Mikey was used to touchy-feely musicians.

"That's a good reason to let me go," Frank said, quiet. "But why a job?"

Mikey shrugged. "You left Gee's favorite Misfits album. I figured you couldn't be all bad."

That, apparently, was the right answer. Frank's face split into a grin, with none of the sarcastic edge from the cage fight. It was kind of...sweet, actually.

"Okay," Frank said. "So what kind of job is this?"

-

The first night was a fucking disaster.

Mikey had told him to take a package backstage to a show at Crash. No big deal. Except the band's bodyguard thought he'd stolen the pass from Mikey and practically threw him on the street, and the cell phone Mikey had given him wasn't making any calls, so Frank had snuck his way in and left the package in the green room. It actually would've been fine, if the bouncer hadn't seen him lurking around.

Frank had a broken nose. The bouncer had a broken arm.

He thought that was it. But Mikey had taken one look at him when he'd shown up at Eyeball's offices and said, "Maybe don't break the guy's arm next time."

The next few nights were better. His nose had healed the first night - he'd told Mikey it was just bloody so it wouldn't look suspicious - and he spent most of the night crossing the city on his motorcycle. It was the nighttime version of Jam Pony.

Well, okay, there were some differences. Gas stations, for one. He was used to waiting in line in Sector 6 with his gas can for hours, but his credentials with Eyeball got him into the good places in Sector 1. He could fuel up in less than five minutes, straight in the tank. If he went before eight, all the chauffeurs gave his tattoos the stink eye, but they usually looked away when Frank grinned at them. And after eight, the gas stations were deserted. Freaking sweet.

And he had to stop more at the sector crossings. During the day, if there wasn't an outbreak of some kind, he could between most of them without having to pull out his ID. But Mikey somehow got his acts to play at every venue in the city, so Frank was just as likely to be in a crumbling warehouse in Sector 6 as the real swank places in Sector 1. Usually, they were in 3 or 4, though.

Whatever. It was a little tiring, but that was the nice thing about having a transgenic body. Didn't need to sleep much.

About a week after he started with Mikey, Frank started another night at Eyeball like he normally did. He spent a second watching the bands recording - one had a singer with a face that was particularly twisty, which was extra fun with the soundproofing killing the sound - before slipping in Mikey's office. His secondary office, that is: he had one for meetings that could house most of Sector 6, but Frank suspected the secondary office used to be a broom closet.

Frank poked his head in. Mikey was on the phone, talking low. Not too low that Frank couldn't pick it up with his super hearing, but he heard Mikey say "Gee", and Frank switched into ignoring mode. They were probably just arguing about putting their records into storage again. Shit like that made Frank guilty.

"Gotta go," Mikey said at normal volume before long and hung up. "So. What do you think about producing?"

Frank looked around the room. It felt like the stacks of papers were closing in. "Me?"

Mikey quirked an eyebrow.

"I...you mean producing music?"

"Yes," Mikey said patiently. "I've got a charity thing with Gee in a couple days. But I'm supposed to be giving a band from Jersey some of my time."

Frank giggled. It was his go-to sound when he was nervous. "You know I know shit about music, right?"

"You'll learn."

"Wouldn't Ray be better for this? He actually plays." And okay, Frank did, too. But there was a difference between shredding on your own and making records.

But Mikey wasn't listening. He was turning off his computer - which was a little weird, now that Frank thought about it. Most people in the city used paper and couriers because they couldn't afford better. Mikey did both.

"Come on," he said. "We'll sit in."

"Not with Twisty Face?"

That got an actual smile from Mikey. "Yeah."

"But I'll laugh."

"Not laughing is half the work in this business." He got close to Frank, thanks to the size of the office. If he wasn't Frank's boss, he'd probably lean in and use some kind of flirty line. As it was, Mikey's sweater brushed against Frank's bare arms, and he shivered. "Mind letting me by?"

"Not at all," Frank said. At least he didn't try to say it sexy.

Mikey studied Frank for a second, then rolled his eyes and squeezed past. Frank backed off and followed with a grin.

-

"You ever miss it?"

"Hmm?" Mikey twisted his lens. He could almost see inside the old factory. Maybe the drug bosses would use headlights.

Pete slurped at his drink and put it back in his cup holder. "Jersey."

"Sometimes." Mikey lowered his camera. "You miss Chicago?"

"All the time. If it wasn't for Patrick, I don't know what I'd do without it." Pete sighed, then jumped. "Shit. I always forget about my phone."

His face glowed blue as he checked the display. Mikey pulled out his own cell phone. Frank had answered his text a couple minutes ago, but the vibrate hadn't gone off.

evrythng fine txts r xpensive

Mikey dialed Frank's number. The text had probably taken him ten minutes to answer. He could see him bent over the phone, pushing buttons with a fixed expression on his face.

"...the boss!" he heard when the dial tone stopped. A door slammed, and then, "What part of 'fine' don't you get?"

Mikey snorted. "The part where you're worrying about how much texting costs."

"Excuse me for wanting to save the company money." Frank yawned. "How's your charity thing?"

"Fine. You tired?"

"Now you're fine?"

"You don't have to stay all night," Mikey said. He took a second to close his mouth so he wouldn't yawn back in Frank's ear. "Bands just feel better if the bosses are looking after them."

"If by 'looking after', you mean 'not getting so wasted they trash the place'."

Mikey caught movement at the corner of his eye. He nudged Pete, who missed it because he was looking at his own phone. "Same difference. Anyway, gotta run."

"Oh. Right."

He couldn't wait for more of a goodbye than that before clicking off the phone. It wasn't the first time he'd done it to Frank, and it wouldn't be the last. But it still sucked.

Headlights clicked on in the distance as Mikey picked up his camera. Perfect.

-

"—video bulletin. The cable hack will last exactly sixty seconds. It cannot be traced, it cannot be stopped..."

"...and it is the only free voice left in this city," Frank muttered along. He raised his voice and waved his coffee around. "Can't this asshole do his victory dance without dragging us along?"

Ray walked in, and Frank sat up from his lying position on the bench. "Any packages?"

"No, and Bob told me to stop asking. Or for you to stop asking me to ask him." He stopped and looked at the TV overhead. Eyes Only was saying something about busting a heroin ring. Goody for him. "How many coffees have you had today?"

"Enough." Frank scowled and took a long swig, gasping when he finished. God, coffee in this sector sucked. Mikey and Gerard always had the best beans. And they were free trade, which Gerard had informed Frank during an Eyeball visit with the most earnest expression Frank had ever seen. "We should totally go out tonight, dude. We never go out anymore."

"Because you're working two jobs."

"I've got the next couple nights off. We should..." Frank yawned so hard his jaw ached. "Go out."

Ray crossed his arms. "Tomorrow. You should sleep tonight."

"Okay." Wait. "That was easy."

Ray shrugged. But Frank didn't miss the pink flush to his cheeks.

Suddenly, he was wide awake. "What's going on tomorrow night?"

"I said I'd meet someone at Crash. Nothing big."

"You have a date?"

"Who has a date?" Bob yelled from the front. Ray made a weird gulping noise in the back of his throat.

"Ray!" Frank shouted back.

"Good for you, Toro!"

"It's not a date!" Ray yelled. He closed the locker room door and glared at the eyes still visible on the TV. The screen flickered to static, and he nodded like he'd done it. "Keep your goddamn voice down."

Frank interlaced his fingers and leaned his head on his hands. "Who's the lucky person?"

"It's not...we're just going as friends."

"Friends. Uh-huh."

"I asked you along, didn't I?" Ray sank on the bench next to Frank. "Would I do that if it were a date?"

"If you were nervous. Or..." Oh, this was good. "Or if I already knew the guy."

Ray paled. "Frank..."

"You're going out with my boss's brother?" Frank put a hand to his forehead. "Why would you stab me in the back like that?"

Ray smacked his arm. Frank promptly tackled him in a hug, and Ray made a gurgling noise in his throat.

"You like him. Say it!"

"Erk," Ray said. Frank loosened his grip on Ray's throat. "We're friends."

"A friend you have a date with!"

Ray tried to push Frank away. He gave up when Frank went into snake mode again and ruffled Ray's hair.

"Say you like him," Frank said. "And I'll be your wingman."

"Like I could keep you away."

"Okay. Say you like him, or I'll go tell Bob right now that you're dating Gerard."

"Fine! I like him!"

Frank let go and beamed. "There's hope for you yet, Toro."

-

Mikey stumbled out of his room at sunset. Fuck. It hadn't even been dawn when he'd passed out.

"There you are!" Gerard stuck his head out the door of the office. "Take a look!"

Mikey slumped inside and let the door close behind him. Gerard turned on the monitor.

"—trafficking drugs into the city for years," a distorted voice was saying from the speakers. "They killed innocent civilians to do it. But the bosses are behind bars, and everyone involved should—"

Gerard turned it off again. "We did it!"

Mikey nodded. "Great. I'm going back to bed."

Gerard raised a coffee mug. Mikey only needed to take one smell to know it was the expensive beans. He took it and drank half in one long swig.

When his mouth was finally clear, the fuzz was clear from his eyes. "That's cheating."

"We're going out," Gerard said.

Mikey narrowed his eyes. Traitor.

But sure enough, in thirty minutes, they were in Crash. It was a lot quieter on nights where they played prerecorded music. Mikey wasn't sure he'd ever been to the bar on nights like this, actually. He eyed Gerard. "You okay with this?"

"With what?"

Mikey gestured to the backlit bottles of alcohol against the wall.

"They serve water." He rolled up on his toes to see over the crowd and grinned. "Cool, they got a table in the back."

"They?"

When they made it to a shadowy corner, Mikey spotted none other than Ray and Frank. Ray gave a dorky wave and moved closer to Frank to let Gerard in. Mikey raised an eyebrow in Gerard's direction, which Gerard pretended to ignore as he perched on the end of the booth. They immediately launched into a conversation about the latest comics they'd both read.

Mikey shot Frank a look. "Maybe we should get drinks."

Frank snorted. "Maybe we should."

Mikey moved his way back out of the crowd, this time with Frank at his back. A lot of time, in Crash, he had to keep an eye out for the people he was with. Like Gerard. It was nice knowing Frank could handle himself.

But then, as he brushed past Mikey and tackled someone at the bar, maybe it was Frank people had to worry about.

"Bryar! I didn't know you ever left the house!"

Bob endured hugging his middle for a long moment, then extracted him roughly. Frank bounced into Mikey, who shoved at him back a little.

"You make a habit of bruising your bosses?" he asked.

"Something like that," Bob said wryly. "So. Who's Ray with?"

Frank giggled. "Gerard."

Bob's eyebrows approached his hairline. Or they would've, if they hadn't been so light Mikey could hardly see them. "Not what I was expecting."

"You haven't seen them talking chord changes," Mikey said.

"And you have?" Frank asked.

Mikey nodded. "They've been hanging out for a couple weeks. Ray doesn't usually leave until I get home from work."

Something crossed Frank's face, but he smiled before Mikey could figure it out. "And he got on my case for working too much. Asshole."

Mikey leaned in. "You okay?"

"Fine," Frank said, but the word was a little tight.

Mikey put a hand on his shoulder. Bob looked between them and frowned, but he shook his head and said, "I was about to take off, but I'll go say hey. Where are they?"

When Mikey pointed to the back, Bob nodded in thanks before ducking away. Frank didn't watch him leave.

"You didn't know about Ray and Gee?" Mikey asked.

"I knew," Frank said. He flexed his hands into fists, and for the first time, Mikey noticed the letters on his knuckles. He couldn't tell what they said. "Know. Both."

Mikey waved over the bartender. "What are you drinking?"

"Whatever's on tap, I guess." Frank paused. "And the same for Ray."

Mikey ordered a bottle of water for Gerard and the same for himself because he was deeply unoriginal. Frank's doom face broke as the bartender put the dripping bottles on the counter.

"What's wrong with tap?" he asked with a snort

"No alcohol to kill this shit," Mikey said, pointing at Frank's glass. He didn't want to know what was smeared on the outside. Frank promptly beamed and took a long swig.

"So your brother and my friend," Frank said when he'd finished. He wiped foam from his upper lip.

Mikey nodded.

"Think they've fucked yet?" Frank's smile stayed undimmed.

"No."

"How do you know?"

"I can hear Gerard breathe in the kitchen from my room. I'd know."

"There's always my place."

"I'm lucky if I can get Gee out of the house most days." It was Mikey's turn to snort. "So you're not jealous?"

"Jealous? Fuck no. It might loosen Ray up a little, if anything."

Mikey tapped his foot in time to the music. The crowd's noise drowned it out, but he could still hear the bass line. "Then why haven't you fucked him?"

"Ouch."

"You're talking about my brother getting laid, you know."

Frank grinned. "Fair enough. Ray's very much not my type."

Would it be too much like flirting if he asked what Frank's type was? Probably. "In a I-like-women way?"

"In a I-see-him-like-a-brother way," Frank said. He gave Mikey a very honest sort of smile. "I'm not into family."

Mikey practically choked on his laugh.

Further conversation was interrupted by Gerard pushing through the crowd, eyes bright. He took the water bottle from Mikey and said, "I just got a text. From Eyeball."

Mikey straightened. "Shit. Really?"

"What?" Frank said. "Do we have to go in?"

Mikey bit his tongue, and Gerard shot him a guilty look. Mikey shook his head once.

"I've got this one." Mikey fished money out of his pocket. "You and Ray order whatever you want, okay?"

"Wait, you're both leaving?"

"I own a partial share," Gerard said with a grin. It was true, even if he never did anything with it. "I like to make sure Mikey's not losing all my money."

"Okay," Frank said, but he still seemed a little doubtful. "I've got my phone."

Mikey shook his head. "It's your weekend. Don't worry about it."

Gerard pulled him toward the front door. Mikey glanced over his shoulder before stepping outside; Frank waved at him from the bar.

"Fuck," Mikey said as soon as they were in the street. He pulled up his collar to keep some of the misting rain off his neck. "What fucking bad timing."

"I know," Gerard said, face falling. "Ray and I got five seconds alone."

Mikey rolled his eyes. "What'd you get?"

Gerard checked over Mikey's shoulder, then handed him his phone. It was a bunch of numbers. Which was more than they'd had before - the code had been a system of characters Mikey'd never seen - but still. It was a bunch of numbers.

"Um," Mikey said.

Gerard took back the phone. He grinned as they came up on the SUV.

"It's a message," he said. He climbed in shotgun when Mikey opened the doors. "Coordinates and dates and times, I think. I need to organize them a little, but..."

He stared at his cell phone as Mikey buckled in.

"But?" Mikey started the car.

They pulled away from the curb and weaved around the crowd that milled in the parking lot.

"I think one's tomorrow night," Gerard said. "And in town."

"You got it that quickly?"

Gerard shrugged.

"I'll give Pete a call once we're back home," Mikey said. "And once you're sure."

"I'm sure."

"You're not just saying that to get the apartment tomorrow night?"

Gerard ducked his head and let his bangs cover his face.

-

For once, a night off and a delivery night ran together. Frank didn't really care one way or the other, but Ray positively bounced around the apartment, humming under his breath.

"Finally sealing the deal with Gerard?" he asked.

Ray turned pink. "None of your business."

Frank kicked the stand of his bike up. "Which means yes?"

"Can't you let it drop?"

"Really, really no."

Ray frowned, but he said, "We're taking it slow."

"Aw," Frank said.

Ray pulled on a shirt. "This doesn't look too dirty, does it?"

"Have you seen Gerard?" Frank asked. He was a nice guy and all, but hygiene was definitely not high on his list. "Have fun not getting laid."

"You too, asshole."

Frank wheeled his bike outside and took off.

As was appropriate for shady dealings, the pick-up took place at the docks. The moon wasn't out, and there was less lighting by the water, so Frank's headlight was the only source in the whole place.

Luckily, he had kickass night vision, so he could see almost right away once the lights clicked off. He couldn't hear very well over his grumbling engine and the wind whistling around the buildings, but it was a necessary evil.

"Frank? That you?"

"Dr. Weekes," Frank said. "Been a while."

Dallon Weekes walked out from the doorway he'd been waiting in, a box tucked under his arm. He was a tall fucker, but everyone was taller than Frank.

"You got the money?"

"No," Frank said. "I came out here because I like the sea air. Fuck."

He fished the roll of bills out of his pocket.

"And what's with the hike?" Frank said, handing over the money as he took the box. "Your shit isn't that good."

"Lack of competition. I could make you jump through fiery hoops if I wanted."

"Kinky," Frank said. He rattled the box. At least it didn't feel lighter than usual.

"You're lucky I can get the notes out, much less—"

The second Frank stopped jostling the pills around, the breeze died down. And he could hear people breathing. People not Frank and Dallon.

"Get on the bike," Frank said in an undertone.

Before Dallon could so much as blink, a shadow moved at the corner of Frank's eye. Frank dropped the pills without thinking and put his arms over his head. It was just in time; something hard glanced off his forearms. He ducked and swept his leg around. Someone swore as his foot connected with what felt like bone.

"Freeze! Seattle PD!"

If there was a word in the English language that got Frank moving faster than 'freeze', he didn't know it. He jumped on his bike and revved the engine. Dallon was only a second behind him.

"You let someone follow you?" Dallon yelled in his ear.

Frank hit the gas and let the bike jump forward. Dallon wouldn't be able to hear him now, which was just fine. There wasn't time.

The easy way to the exit - the warehouses were connected to the city by a bridge - was the road around the warehouses. But it wasn't the way Frank had made his way in, and it wasn't the way he was leaving. Instead, he weaved through the narrow paths through the warehouses, the little alleys meant as walkways. The sea air was blowing the wrong way to mask the fish and gasoline smell, and Dallon gagged behind him. Frank hoped he wouldn't barf in his hair.

Since his nose and ears were out of the question, Frank checked his rearview mirror. Sure enough, uniformed cops chased after them on foot. One of them even had a motorcycle. It was beat up and not Frank's sleek black Ducati, but he was gaining.

Fuck. If Dallon wasn't holding on, this wouldn't end well.

Frank gunned the bike and weaved through the warehouses. Dallon squeaked in Frank's ear and squeezed his chest. Between that and the speed, it was lucky Frank was still upright on the bike, much less managing to—

"Look out!" Dallon yelled.

Frank jerked the handles to his right and let go of the gas before he registered two guys standing in the alley in front of him. His knuckles scraped the side of a building, which would've been fine if the bike didn't shudder as Dallon grazed something. Probably one of the guys they passed. Who the fuck heard a bike coming - who saw a bike coming - and didn't jump out of the way?

His face got close to the wall. Very, very close.

The second he figured he could get away with it, he yanked the bike back up and gunned it again. Dallon trembled behind him.

"If we live through this," Dallon shouted, but anything else he had to say was drowned out by gunfire.

Frank smiled grimly. Things were just starting to get fun.

-

Mikey had never really known the definition of "deer in the headlights" before. Funny how a charging motorcycle got it through his head. If Pete hadn't yanked him toward the wall, he would've gotten a lot more than a foot to the back.

One of the people on the bike yelled something as the bike turned a corner.

"You okay?" Pete asked.

Mikey's ducking reflex was apparently better than his dodging reflex; the second he heard guns fire, he dropped to his knees and covered his head.

Pete was similarly covered next to him. "The fuck?"

Mikey lowered one of his hands long enough to draw his gun from the holster. It had been a present from Gerard, back when they'd first inherited from Elena.

"Aren't you a pacifist?" Mikey had asked him at the time.

Gerard had shrugged. "If people try to kill you, I'd rather you kill them first."

So he was ready when someone ran around the corner. Pete had his gun out, too; he only aimed a little slower because he'd been watching Mikey's back.

"Whoa, whoa!" The man dropped his hands from where they were covering his head and held them out in front of him. "It's me!"

"Shit!" Pete pointed his gun at the ground again. "Patrick! No running into alleys without checking first!"

Patrick pressed against the wall as a fresh round of gunfire went off on the roofs. "I was kind of busy dodging fire. Don't worry, I'll let myself get shot next time."

"Which way did the bike go?" Mikey asked.

Patrick pointed. Mikey ran out of the alley.

He didn't get far. The entire SWAT team was positioned on top of the warehouses, if the lights on their guns were any way to tell. He hovered behind a dumpster and grit his teeth; maybe he would've run for it if he didn't already have a lump the size of his fist on his back. He just hoped whoever was driving away didn't get killed before he could talk to them.

Mikey couldn't see the bike, but the engine's whir grew quieter with distance. The shooting stopped with a yelled order.

"First Patrick, now you?"

Mikey jumped. "Maybe you should wear a bell."

Pete shifted his bulletproof vest and scowled at him. "And blow our cover?"

"It was already blown." Patrick came around the corner and crouched next to them. "I think someone followed us."

"But I checked. I was careful."

"Maybe someone else found the same code," Mikey said with a sigh. "You get anything?"

"A few pictures," Patrick said. "You two?"

Pete holstered his gun. "They met in the dark. The dark. It breaks all the bad guy code."

"We don't know they're bad guys," Patrick said. He flipped through the pictures on his camera.

"And now we'll never know," Mikey said. He got to his feet. "Let's go back to the car."

Getting out was a bit tricky. The bridge to the docks was closed off by electrified fences at night, and the fences were crawling with cops.

"I don't suppose you could talk to them?" Mikey whispered to Pete.

Pete shook his head. "I'm off tonight. No way they'd call me in."

"I'm just technical," Patrick said. "Sorry."

Mikey knocked the back of his head on the wall behind him. "Stash the camera. We'll have to—"

"Wait." Pete grabbed his arm. "You hear that?"

"Hear what?"

But he could. It was the motorcycle, racing up the line. Patrick ducked around Mikey and stuck his camera around the side; for someone who wasn't really a patrolman, he was on the ball. Out of the corner of Mikey's eye, Pete smiled at Patrick like a goofball.

"They're going for the fence!" Patrick said.

Sure enough, the motorcycle raised into a wheelie, and they crashed through the gate. The cops' shooting missed the two passengers completely as the bike dropped back onto its front wheel and screeched away.

"Whoa," Pete said.

Mikey jumped forward. "Come on."

The cops were running away from the fence for their cars. They didn't notice Mikey, Pete, and Patrick slipping through the emptied control booth - even though the fence was down, it didn't mean the electricity was off - or when they piled into Mikey's SUV, hiding behind some bushes nearby.

"All that," Pete said, slumping in the front seat, "and we got nothing."

"I wouldn't say that."

Mikey angled the rearview mirror. Patrick waved his camera with a somewhat pleased look on his face.

"You've gotta see this," he said.

-

Frank waited ten blocks before he slowed the bike and stopped running lights. He would've put more distance in, but they would've had to cross zones and fuel up, and that screamed bad idea. At least before they figured out their next move.

They pulled up in front of an abandoned department store and stuck the bike by the front doors; it was shadowy enough that several cops passed without giving them a second look. Frank didn't even fucking breathe until he couldn't hear sirens in the air.

"All clear?" Dallon whispered.

Frank nodded. And then he shoved him. Dallon might've been half a foot taller or whatever, but he still stumbled backward. "What the fuck, Weekes?"

"I..." Dallon exhaled. He pulled a knit cap out of his pocket and crammed it on his head. "I've gotta get out of here."

"I checked my back the entire way here, like I always fucking do," Frank said, teeth grit. "It had to be something on your end."

"Yeah, I tried to tell you earlier. I thought someone was spying on my messages."

"What?"

"But I didn't think it was the fucking cops!" Dallon stepped out of the doorway and looked up and down the sidewalk.

Frank got in his way. "Who could it have been, if it wasn't the cops?"

His brain caught up when Dallon became extremely interested in the concrete beneath his boots.

"Fuck," Frank said. "And you came anyway."

Dallon bit his lip and looked up. "You'll die without the pills. If you just came back—"

Frank jumped on his bike. "Then I'll fucking die."

"Frank!"

But Frank was already speeding off.

-

Four people was a tight squeeze for the Eyes Only office. Mikey had to sit in his chair, or Pete and Patrick wouldn't have enough room to stand. Pete had an arm slung around Patrick's shoulders, but it didn't seem like it was because of lack of space. Patrick didn't notice; his half-awed, half-disgusted face was reserved for the room.

"So this is where you two run Eyes Only," he said. "It's so small."

"It's just the two of us," Mikey said. "We don't need more space."

Gerard bounced in his chair. "This is amazing!"

Mikey swiveled. The monitor was filled with one of Patrick's pictures; he hadn't had the right lens for the light or distance, and it had gotten even blurrier when enlarged, but Mikey could kind of see the two people on the bike. It was right before they crashed through the fence, and the bike was perpendicular to the ground.

"Sweet," Pete said, leaning closer. "Action shot."

An action shot, but not one from a movie. It was too messy. The rider in the back was nearly doubled over, probably because he was trying not to fall off and because he was trying to keep his head down and not shot. Mikey shivered. It had been bad enough not being in the direct line of fire.

The rider in the front was even harder to see. It was all Mikey could do to pick out his head from his torso. Mostly, he looked like an amorphous blob man. Except—

He pointed at the monitor. "What's that?"

Gerard squinted. "A shadow?"

"It doesn't look like a shadow. Too many lights."

Gerard zoomed in on the picture. The image grew more pixelized, but there was something on Blob Man's neck.

"Huh," Gerard said.

"Can you make it clearer?" Pete asked.

Gerard gave Pete his best disdainful look. Mikey suspected Gerard stole it from him.

Patrick pat Pete on the shoulder. "I took a lot of pictures. Maybe there'll be a better one."

"How much is a lot?" Pete said.

Gerard returned to his folders. "1634? Really?"

Patrick shrugged. "I figured more was better."

"It is," Gerard said, nodding and smiling. "But I'll need a lot more coffee. And a couple days."

"Great. I should get some sleep before my shift." Pete stretched and yawned. "Coming, Trick?"

"Yeah. Unless you want help?"

Gerard shook his head. "Not really much to do anyway."

Mikey showed them out and made more coffee. The sun was just starting to rise outside the window, which made him yawn. Bed sounded good.

He dropped off Gerard's coffee and was about to go to his room. But he paused over the keypad and looked back at Gerard. Or, more importantly, the faded Metallica shirt he'd never seen in Gerard's collection before.

"So," he asked. "How's Ray?"

Gerard ran his hand through his hair a few times and didn't look away from his monitor. "Go to bed, motherfucker."

"I'm telling Mom you said that," Mikey said.

He left the room just before an empty paper cup hit the door.

-

Frank had one pill left.

It was small in his hand, white, just like any other pill you could find. And if he didn't get more of them in the next thirty-six hours...well. He wouldn't be worrying about cops or pills or anything else ever again.

Ray slipped around Frank and grabbed his toothbrush from the sink. "You taking that, or are you staring at it?"

Frank frowned. "Why don't you need them?"

"Huh?" Ray already had his toothbrush in his mouth.

"The pills. It's not like you're dying of progeria without them."

"I'm a different X5," Ray said, scrubbing. "Better."

That was the point where Frank was supposed to say "fuck you" or some similar version, but he didn't. He dropped the pill back in the bottle and put it in the cabinet.

Ray frowned at him in the mirror. His mouth was covered in white suds. "Dude."

"What?"

"Dude."

Frank sighed and grabbed his robe from the bathroom door. "Cops raided the drop-off. I never got the pills."

"Shit. Frank!"

"Weekes knew we were being watched, too." Fucker. "Or he thought he did."

Ray followed into the living room, wiping toothpaste off his face. "We need to get you more pills."

"Where? It's not like they sell them at the pharmacy."

"We can ask Mikey."

"Oh, sure. 'Hey, boss! If I don't take this super illegal government cocktail, I'm going to get old prematurely and die. Is that covered in our company health plan?'"

Ray brushed his hand through his hair. "What other choice do we have?"

Frank hugged his legs with his arms. "I could always go back to Manticore. That's what Dallon said."

"Dallon...wait." Ray frowned. "What happened to the box? Tonight's box?"

Frank shrugged.

"Is he okay?"

"Was when I left him."

"You left..." Ray ran for his coat.

Frank rolled his eyes. "He's long gone."

"Screw you, I'm trying anyway. Take your pill." Ray slammed the door behind him.

Frank went to bed. Without taking his pill.

-

Mikey woke up long enough to turn off his alarm at noon. They were getting close to a real clue, and sometimes that meant days without sleep.

Around four, his phone buzzed. He answered without opening his eyes.

"'Lo?"

"Hey."

"Frank," Mikey said. He cleared his throat. "Something wrong?"

"Hmm? Nah. Just...I can't come into work tonight. Some kind of cold flu thing."

Mikey pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to yawn. "Oh."

"Were you asleep?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you had coffee yet?"

"Mmm."

"That's what I thought." Frank laughed. "If I wasn't...um, if my body weren't fucked up, I'd go in."

"Don't—" There was the yawn. "Don't worry about it. I can take it for a couple nights."

Frank didn't answer. "You there?" Mikey asked.

"Yeah," he said. His voice sounded thick, like he had a sore throat or something. "Thanks."

"No problem. Feel better."

Frank didn't say anything else, but he didn't hang up right away, either; Mikey could hear him breathing. But when Mikey opened his mouth to say something, the line went dead with a click. Weird.

Mikey was still bruised and sore from where the guy on the bike kicked him. Once he took some Tylenol, he checked in at Eyeball. Everything seemed fine. And Gerard was happily zooming in on pictures in the office - still in Ray's shirt, of course - so Mikey carefully laid on his side and went over some contracts on his laptop from bed. He got tired again at around ten in the morning, so he went back to bed.

The phone woke him up again at eight that night.

"Mmf?"

"Mikey? It's Ray."

Mikey smiled and rubbed at his face. "Gee forget to charge his phone again?"

"What? No, I'm calling you."

"Oh." He sat up, blinking. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Frank's just...he's under the weather."

Mikey frowned. "That's what he said yesterday. He couldn't call?"

"He's...sleeping. And I didn't want to wake him up."

"Was he barfing all day or something?"

"Sure." Ray practically squeaked the word. "Sorry I didn't call sooner. I've just been waiting on him, you know how it is."

"Dude, he usually doesn't start work for another hour."

"Oh. Right."

There was a noise on the other end, and the sound of rustling. "Gotta go," Ray said.

"Thanks for—"

But he hung up before Mikey could finish. Mikey frowned at his phone. He shook it off and climbed out of bed.

He found Gerard in the kitchen, greasier and more tired-looking than the last time he'd seen him.

"Anything?" Mikey asked.

"Maybe," he said. He had red marks on his face, like he'd fallen asleep on his keyboard. Again. "I'm putting together some shots. Making a composite."

"Were there that many pictures?"

"I had to fix the lighting on all of them," Gerard said. "And all of them had different lighting. Who were you talking to?"

"Ray." Mikey frowned at his phone. Ray wasn't calling back.

"Oh shit. Did my phone die again?"

"He was calling in sick for Frank."

"That sucks." Gerard looked up from the coffee maker. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know. Ray sounded freaked."

"Huh. You want me to call him?"

Mikey thought about it. "No. I'll swing by on my way to the office. Take him some chicken soup or something."

Gerard gave him a look.

"Right, regular soup," Mikey said. "Vegetarian. I knew that."

Gerard grinned.

"Shut up," Mikey said. "It's just weird. Ray set off my weirdar."

"Sure," Gerard said. He looked like a freaking clown. "Weirdar."

-

Being a transgen came with a lot of benefits: superhero-type powers, immunity to a lot of the basic sicknesses, general awesomeness. But when things went bad? They went really bad.

The first day was something Frank had done a lot of times. It started with shakes, which were easy to ignore until the fever started, which he could generally deal with until he puked his guts everywhere. And everything could be pushed off with over-the-counter pain meds until the second day.

The second day was when things really started to get fun. He'd only reached this point once, when he'd broken his leg just after he and Ray had gotten out of Manticore the first time and he hadn't been able to get to the first delivery. But the loss in bone mass wasn't really as obvious as the way his hair started to gray, or the wrinkles and liver spots on his skin. And everything from the first day carried over, minus the ability to deal with it. It would all go back if he had the pills - X5 metabolisms couldn't be beat - but he didn't have the pills. Not this time.

So, of course, this was the point someone had to knock on the door. He shivered in bed and hoped it wasn't the security guard who was supposed to watch the building for squatters. He so wasn't in the fucking mood.

"Frank?" a muffled voice said. It didn't sound like the guard; he usually barged in anyway, since the door didn't have a lock. Hopefully, whoever it was wouldn't know that.

But the door swung open, and Frank threw the covers over his head. Big mistake. Every muscle in his body screamed with pain.

"Is anyone...hey."

Mikey? Great. Just fucking great.

"Hey," he said. An excuse. He had to have some kind of excuse. "You shouldn't...I mean, I'm not...dressed. Yeah. Naked."

"Sorry. I should've called. I'll wait out here."

Frank clenched his jaw through another wave of tremors. God, they hurt. "P-probably shouldn't get too close. I don't know if I'm contagious."

"I'll take my chances. I've had all my shots."

Could he make it to the bathroom? Only one way to find out. He put on a burst of speed, and sure enough, it carried him in, and hopefully faster than Mikey could see. If he hit the sink a little hard and slammed the door, well, nothing he could do about it.

"You okay?" Mikey called.

"P-peachy."

Except he wasn't. His hair was starting to gray at the roots, and his hands were wrinkled and gnarled. His face still looked pretty Frank-like, at least.

As he grabbed one of Ray's hoodies from the laundry pile - smelly was the least of his problems right now - Mikey said, "I brought tomato soup. I made sure it wasn't made with animal fat or anything."

"Not hungry," Frank said as he pulled the sleeves of the hoodie over his hands. Okay, now he looked sick, but not about-to-die sick. "But thanks."

He took a breath and opened the door.

Mikey stood in the kitchen with his bowl or Tupperware or whatever. Something approaching an expression crossed his face when he saw Frank.

"Get back in bed," he said.

"What? I'm not a wilting flower." Even if it felt like he was swaying a little.

Suddenly, Mikey stood in front of him. Frank blinked. "When'd you get superpowers?"

"When I got rich. Part of the gig."

He supported Frank's weight just in time for his knees to buckle. Mikey wasn't Ray; he stumbled while he tried to keep Frank from face planting. But he was a lot sturdier than he looked.

They weaved into Frank's bedroom again, and Frank crashed on his mattress with a sigh. He pulled the blanket up to his chin.

Mikey's hand brushed his forehead. Frank jumped, and Mikey pulled his hand away.

"Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "It's what my mom always did when I had fevers."

Frank had heard something like that before. He wasn't entirely sure how Manticore made their transgens, but however they did it, there weren't moms around after. "Sounds nice."

"Your mom didn't do that?"

Nice one, Iero. "Um. She wasn't very touchy-feely."

"Huh." Mikey tilted his head. "Where's Ray?"

Out hunting the black market for illegal drugs. "At work. He's doing overtime to cover my route."

"I didn't realize you were still working for Bob."

Frank shrugged as another wave of tremors hit.

"Geez," Mikey said. "You been to the doctor?"

Frank shook his head.

"I can take you."

"No!"

Mikey blinked through his glasses. Right. Volume control.

"Um, it's okay," Frank said. "Just the flu."

"When's Ray getting back?"

Whenever he found something. So never. "In a few hours."

"I can hang out. If you don't mind."

Frank normally would say something along the lines of "hell no". If things got much worse, he'd be putting Ray in danger. But he was tired. And if he never got to see Toro again...well, it'd be nice to have someone there.

"Whatever," he said.

He drifted for a while. Not so much that he didn't keep the blanket and the hoodie up, or his face turned away, but enough that only a strong set of shakes woke him up. Every time he woke up, Mikey was doing something with his phone: pressing buttons, talking quietly, answering. He never seemed to notice Frank staring at him.

Actually, it was kind of nice. Mikey never looked worried about anything, not even expensive work crap, but there he was, frowning and pacing and playing with his jacket.

Frank's phone buzzed by his ear. He grabbed for it, but Mikey was faster.

"Hello? Yeah, Mikey. He's...what? Okay."

He lowered the phone. "Frank?"

"Yeah?" Shit. His voice sounded like Grandpa Death. He hoped he didn't look like it.

"Ray said 'take your pill' and that he's on his way. He said you'd get it."

He did. It meant Ray found something. "Bottle. Bathroom cabinet."

It wasn't until Mikey held the bottle out to Frank that he realized, hey, maybe he should've gotten that. Oh well. He grabbed the bottle with twisted fingers - Mikey had thoughtfully removed the lid already - and shook the pill into his mouth. He grimaced and dry-swallowed, but the pill went down.

"He took it. Okay. Yeah." Mikey hung up the phone.

"Thanks," Frank said.

He was out before he could hear Mikey's answer.

-

Mikey had never been happier to see Ray as he was in the moment he walked in the apartment. Someone else followed on his heels, but he had a hood up. He jerked his head toward the room.

"That him?" the man asked.

Ray nodded, and the man motored past Mikey and shut Frank's bedroom door.

"Who's that?"

"A friend," Ray said. "I thought I said you could leave."

Mikey gave him his best blank face.

"Ray?" the man called from Frank's room. "Could use a hand here."

"You really can go now," Ray said. He walked to Frank's room and let himself in, closing the door behind him before Mikey could see anything.

Mikey frowned at the door before tiptoeing forward. The voices in the bedroom were quiet. Too quiet to be overheard, unfortunately. And all his gear was back at his place.

"Great," he said. "Nice one."

He slunk back to the living room, hands jammed in his pockets. It wasn't until he heard a splash that he stopped. A puddle? Inside? He inspected the blankets hanging around, pulling them away from the walls. Yep, they covered holes. No wonder Frank was on death's door.

Ten minutes passed. Mikey knew exactly how long it was because he checked the time on his phone every five seconds or so. He knocked a couple times on Frank's bedroom door, but anyone inside completely ignored him. He paced back and forth, passing Frank's covered motorcycle and the dingy couch without sitting.

He didn't take an easy breath until Ray came out. The tension was gone from his shoulders.

"He's doing better," Ray said quietly. "I think we can just let him sleep."

Mikey looked around Ray. Sure enough, Frank had stopped shaking, and even though he was sweating, he was sprawled out and resting somewhat comfortably. The man Ray brought with him had his hood down; his hair was buzzed to nothing, and he looked like a bruiser. But he was handling vials of blood, so apparently, the only bruising he did was with needles.

"Shit," Mikey whispered. "What the hell happened?"

"He, uh, has a condition. I just had to get his pills."

"But he took a pill."

"It was his last one." He glanced toward the man in the bedroom. "Pedicone here's a specialist. He was supposed to be out of town."

At the mention of his name, the man looked up from the case he put the vials in and waved a hand. He climbed out of the room.

"I'll be back later," Pedicone said. He pulled his hood back up.

Ray nodded and clapped him on the back. Pedicone nodded at Mikey and left, the case of vials slung around his shoulder.

Mikey watched him go. "If he starts to feel shitty again, you can bring him over. If you want."

Ray smiled. "So he doesn't have to stay in this hole?"

"It's not—"

Ray closed Frank's door, laughing. "I get it. Your place isn't falling apart from mold or whatever."

It was only the relief on Ray's face that let Mikey leave with any kind of lift on his conscience.

-

Frank woke to the sound of voices in the living room.

He tried standing. Okay, yeah, that was working out. His super healing seemed to be back in play, which was nice, but. Ray had done something.

He opened the door.

"Iero!"

He got half-tackled. Frank grabbed the guy, whoever he was, and rolled him onto his bed. He crouched, but his attacker was laughing. And then Frank saw his face, and it was Frank's turn to tackle.

"Pedicone! You asshole! Why didn't you tell us you were back in town?"

Pedicone laughed and shoved Frank off him. "Because I'm laying low. You may not have heard of it, hanging out with the Ways and shit."

"You know about that?"

"Please." Pedicone sat up. "Ray told me about your problem."

Frank glared at Ray.

Pedicone climbed off Frank's bed. "You're not the only Manticore alum whose system they fucked with. Luckily for you, I've got a lab."

"He ran some tests last night," Ray said.

Night? Frank peeked out the blanket from his window. Shit, it was nearly sunset. He'd missed another day of work.

"You and a half a dozen other transgenics have this," Pedicone said with a grin. "All your samples look the same. So you get to be my guinea pig."

"For what?"

"The cure. Manticore purposely dosed you guys, but I think I can turn it back."

Cured. And all this time, Frank had thought it was genetic. "But Dallon said..."

"Dallon Weekes?" Pedicone shook his head. "You're lucky he kept you alive as long as he did. His emphasis was never in research."

"And yours was?"

"I've got X5 brains and years of practice. No human could keep up."

"Tell that to Ray," Frank muttered.

Ray kicked Frank. Or barely tapped him with his toe. Frank kicked him back, and Ray grimaced.

"I was trying to be nice," Ray said.

"I wasn't," Frank said sweetly.

Pedicone rolled his eyes. He pulled a bottle out of his hoodie pocket. "I developed this for X5-654 a few months ago. He never showed for it."

"How come?" Frank asked.

"Never mind." That meant dead. Frank winced. "Take two every day with water and let me know if there's side effects."

Ray raised an eyebrow. "Should there be?"

"Usually is," Pedicone said. "Guinea pig, remember?"

Frank took the bottle. "If I start foaming at the mouth, I'm hunting your ass down."

"Fair enough. Let me know how it goes."

Frank tipped a couple of fingers off his forehead. "Yes, sir."

Pedicone left. He only flipped his hoodie at the door, so Frank got a real good look at the bar code tattoo on the back of his neck. Ray watched him too.

"I don't know how you guys can be so gung-ho about it," he said. "I start to itch if my hair's over my collar."

Frank scratched the skin on his neck where the scorpion was inked. "You know how many kids in this city have that tattoo?"

"Yeah, I've seen it. Makes me twitchy." Ray's face slackened a little. "Mikey seemed really worried."

Frank groaned. He'd forgotten about that. "What did you tell him?"

"That you had a condition. Why?"

"Shit. I told him I was contagious."

"Just tell him you were delirious. He'll cut you a break."

He already got breaks from Bob when the pill deliveries went south. He didn't want Mikey to have to cut him breaks, too. "Tell me you called in already."

"Dude, I think he gets it."

Frank started tearing through his room. Where the fuck had he put his phone?

"At least take your pills first!"

He stuck his tongue out at Ray, but he went for a glass of water in the kitchen. Might as well get it over with.

-

Mikey kept looking at his phone.

"Just call him," Gerard said, tapping his fingers to a beat next to his keyboard. "Or go into work. You're distracting me."

"From what?"

Gerard's nose was practically against the monitor. "Call Pete, maybe he has something."

Mikey made a noncommittal noise. And then his phone rang. He picked it up so fast, he nearly dropped it.

"Hey."

"Frank," Mikey said. "Shit."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I have a...thing. It shouldn't happen again." He sounded really sorry.

"Dude, you don't have to apologize."

"No, I scared you." Frank's voice was low. "It was fucked. I should be back at work tomorrow."

Mikey scowled at the phone. "You're kidding, right?"

"Uh. No?"

"I don't want you back at work until you're ready." God, the thought. Frank passing out in the studio, or worse, falling off his bike? "Seriously. Promise me you'll take it easy until you're sure you're okay."

"I am okay." Frank choked. Not because he was sick.

"Are you laughing at me?" Mikey asked.

The noise stopped. "No. 'Course not."

"Shut up, Iero," Mikey said. He shook his head, but the corners of his mouth tipped up.

"Right, boss. I'll see you tomorrow night. Or tonight, if you need me?"

"No!"

"Okay. I'll go lay down like a slug. Have a good one."

The phone clicked off.

"Everything okay?"

Mikey nodded, but he ran his thumb over the buttons on his phone and frowned.

-

It was a relief riding at Jam Pony the next day. It wasn't great seeing the backlog of packages - Frank actually felt a twinge when he saw them stacked around Bob - but Bob was the only one who didn't look at him like he'd die if he stepped wrong. He even worked up a rant: "Try to make it in on the busiest day of the week, call in yourself instead of Toro", blah blah blah.

Frank just hugged him. It was Bob's way of saying he loved Frank. Even if he scowled the entire time.

Of course, Mikey was pretty good about work, too. He only gave Frank a funny look when he first showed up at the Eyeball offices, and considering how shitty Frank had looked, it was only fair. He and Frank sat in on a couple recording sessions, which was only weird in that Mikey hadn't been around much the past couple weeks; everything else seemed fine.

"But I don't know," Frank said back at home, between bites of his vegetarian chow mein. "He makes my Spidey-sense tingle."

Ray blinked.

"Not like that, pervert."

"Sure," Ray said, although it was obvious he didn't seem convinced. He took a bite of chicken, swallowed, and said, "Like how?"

"Like...I don't know. Like he knows something. Or suspects."

"You're paranoid."

"Oh yeah," Frank said. "But we have good reason to be."

Ray put down his chopsticks and wiped his mouth on a napkin. "What you think happened with the raid?"

"I have no idea. I didn't think the cops in this town gave a shit."

"They usually don't," Ray said. "But maybe they're working with Eyes Only."

Frank laughed. Hard. It made his stomach hurt a little.

"It wouldn't be the first time!" Ray yelled over Frank.

Frank sat up and wiped at his eyes. "Thanks. I needed that."

"Eyes Only was behind the drug bust. He said so himself."

"He says that shit to take all the credit," Frank said. His chow mein was cold. Fuck. "He probably just has access to a good police feed."

"If he can access the police feeds, he could access more. Besides, when was the last time the cops made a bust like that?"

Frank snorted. "How's that stopped clock phrase go? They have to pull something now and then, or the governor would declare martial law."

Ray kept going for a second, but Frank tuned him out. Ray was lucky he'd listened as long as he had, honestly. Whenever people brought up Eyes Only, it was like Frank's ears stopped working.

"Are you even fucking listening to me?"

Frank blinked. "Yeah, Toro. Calm down."

Ray pushed up from the table and paced. "Don't you think we should worry about this?"

"I think we have bigger things to worry about," Frank said. "Like how we're going to talk to Brendon and Spencer now that we lost our Manticore contact."

"And whose fault is that?"

Frank felt a surge of anger, hot in his chest. "Not mine."

"I've been doing this for months. I never even spotted another person, much less the cops."

Frank kicked over his chair and got in Ray's face. "It. Wasn't. My fault."

They stared each other down for a minute. Frank knew he could take Ray; he had inches of height on him, sure, but Frank had been fighting more recently, had fought a lot more even when they were in Manticore. Fucker just didn't have the balls for it.

"Uh, Frank?"

Frank looked down. He had Ray's shirt in his fist. He blinked and let go. "Uh. Sorry."

They both backed off. Ray looked as confused as Frank felt.

"What just happened?" Ray asked slowly.

Frank forced a laugh. "We're finally cracking under the stress?"

"That must be it." Ray scratched at his hair. "I'm going to take a nap. You should, too."

"Sure, Mom."

Ray's hands clenched into fists, but he turned and walked out of the room stiffly.

Huh.

-

"You're pulling a late one."

The circles under Pete's eyes were big and dark. "You should see Patrick. But he got something."

Mikey sat up straighter in his car seat. "Gerard'll be pissed."

"I don't know about that." Pete handed over a folder. "This mean anything to you?"

Mikey slipped out a picture. It was the picture of the bike straight up and down, with the two figures on it.

"Remember that?" Pete pointed to the shadow on the front man's neck.

"Yeah."

"Look at the picture under it."

Mikey flipped the pictures. The quality was even shittier, but it looked like... "Shit. Gerard's gonna flip."

"That was Patrick's reaction." Pete grinned widely and bounced in his seat. "A fucking bar code."

"You know how many people have bar code tattoos?"

"A lot. But how many of them have secret meetings at the docks?"

Pete had a point.

-

Something jangled in Frank's ear. He groaned and stuffed his pillow over his ears. It didn't stop.

"Shut up," he yelled.

The noise cut off. But before he could go back to sleep, his door crashed open.

"Fucking hell," Frank said.

"We have work."

"I almost died a couple days ago," Frank said, sticking out his lower lip. He scratched at his arm. "Five extra minutes?"

But Ray already stormed off. Pots crashed in the kitchen as Frank scratched at his skin some more. Fuck, they probably had mosquitoes again. Pointy-nosed bastards.

"Sleep okay?" Frank asked as he stepped out of his room.

Ray glowered over a bowl of cereal. He spilled some milk on the counter.

"Guess not," Frank said.

"Can't you shut up for five seconds?"

"Really, really can't." God, who pissed in his Wheaties? That was one reason among many that Frank stuck to Pop Tarts. He pulled a package of strawberry out of the cabinet. The foil didn't seem to want to open, so he stuck out his tongue and pulled hard.

"Just...damn it!"

Ray snatched the foil out of his hands and ripped it hard. His Pop Tarts went flying and crashed on the floor.

Frank gaped for about five seconds. Then he took a swing. His knuckles hit cheek, and Ray staggered backward. Then he ran forward with a cry.

So Frank hadn't fought since the cage match where he met Mikey. Ray might've been an X5, but he hated fighting. There was no reason Ray should've been able to land a blow, but he raised his fist and connected with Frank's nose. He heard it crack.

"Motherfucker," Frank said, spitting blood on the floor.

"God." Ray's eyes were wide. "I'm sorry, I didn't..."

He touched Frank's arm, and Frank yelled and drew back. It felt like Ray burned him, what the hell. And now his skin itched more than ever.

"You got Pedicone's number?" Frank said.

Ray was staring at Frank oddly. Frank snapped his fingers in front of his face. "Number? Hello?"

"Yeah, yeah." He dug his phone out of his pocket and hit the number in his contacts.

Frank took the phone and buried his fingernails into his palm. "Pick up, pick up, pick up..."

"Yello?"

"What the fuck is in those pills?"

"Frank?"

"No, it's the fucking president."

"Something wrong?"

"Not in the mood," Frank said through grit teeth.

"Tell me what's going on, dude. I'm not psy-ops."

Not that Pedicone would be able to pull any psychic mojo over the phone even if he was. "Ray just broke my nose. And my skin fucking hurts, about fifty times worse than any tattoo ever."

"He broke your nose? Toro?"

"It's what I said, isn't it?"

"Huh." It sounded like he was rifling through papers. After muttering to himself for the longest five minutes in the world he said, "So. Um. You might be in heat?"

"What?" Frank barked a laugh, and Ray's expression changed from a super guilty one to extremely confused. "That's just a fairy tale."

"Really isn't. Cat DNA, remember?"

"I thought that was only girl cats."

Pedicone snorted. "Guess not. It's one of those things that's supposed to be dormant, but with the combination of drugs...have noises been louder? Things more sensitive in general?"

Frank drew his fingertips over the counter. His legs wobbled a little. "Guess you could say that."

"Yeah. You set Toro off. Get him out of the house, and you'll stop pissing over each other's territory."

Or they'd hump everything in sight. Well, at least Ray had a boyfriend. "I can't take something different?"

"Not for a few months, at least," Pedicone said. "I'd need at least that long to come up with something new. This should pass in a couple days. Maybe sooner, if you can get laid. If."

"Fuck you very much."

"No problem." Pedicone's voice grew serious. "And, uh, dude? Tell Toro not to visit me until he's settled down. The last thing we need is for all of us to have the itch, if you get me."

Frank made a disgusted noise and hung up the phone.

"So?" Ray said, wringing his hands and shifting from foot to foot.

Frank pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to ignore how good the calluses on his fingers felt on his skin.

-

Gerard was bouncing around the apartment for the third time.

"Proof! Actual fucking proof!" He hugged the pictures carefully to his chest, but he was bouncing up and down. "I just wish Grandma could've seen it!"

"She had her fish man, don't worry," Mikey said. "Huh. Did he have a bar code?"

"He did. But this isn't a fish man!" Gerard held the pictures forward, like Mikey hadn't seen them already. "This looks like a person. They're covert!"

"Or it's an asshole with a bar code who bought drugs at the wrong time."

But Gerard was back to bouncing up and down. He was beyond the point of ignoring Mikey; he literally couldn't hear any criticism at this point.

The doorbell rang.

"Thank you," Mikey muttered. But he checked his phone. Seven in the morning was late for visitors, even for them. Or early, maybe. He didn't know when that switched over.

It made a little more sense when he saw Ray standing on the other side of the door. Except he looked...sweaty. And he was shaking a little.

"Shit," Mikey said. "Are you...is Frank..."

But Ray looked like he didn't hear a word Mikey said. "Is Gee home?"

Mikey nodded. Before he could step aside from the door, Ray brushed past him and went straight for the living room.

"Hello to you too," Mikey muttered. He closed the door and followed.

Ray was whispering in Gerard's ear by the time he made it back. He ran a hand up and down Gerard's arm. Gerard's eyes grew progressively wider, and he swallowed.

"What's up?" Mikey asked.

Gerard nodded at Ray. Ray actually picked Gerard up and slung him over his shoulder.

"The fuck?" Mikey asked.

They went to Gerard's bedroom and slammed the door. Mikey heard a couple thumps and groaned.

"Gross!" he yelled, but no one answered.

He grabbed his coat and keys. Hopefully, they got this out of their system in a couple hours. Mikey did need to sleep at some point.

He pulled out his phone when he got in the elevator. A couple texts from Eyeball, but nothing that couldn't wait. And a voice mail. He called his inbox.

"Hey, Mikey." Mikey froze. "I won't be able to come in, uh, later today. It's nothing to worry about, I just...the pills are weird, and they're doing shit, and...everything's okay. It is. I'll call you tomorrow."

Well. At least he had something to do.

-

There was a knock on the door.

"Go the fuck away," Frank muttered. He didn't want to think about what would happen if he opened the door. Or did anything except sit very quietly on his bed.

The knocking continued.

"Fuck off!" Frank yelled.

The knocking stopped. "Frank?"

Son of a... "Mikey?"

"Yeah. What's wrong?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Of course Mikey would come over. His message hadn't exactly been smooth. At least he'd cleaned the blood off his nose and set it back in place. "Nothing. Just...uh, migraine. Light and noise sensitive."

"Can I come in?"

Like that was happening.

"Sure," Frank said. Wait, what?

Mikey pushed the door open. "Dude. You should turn the light off if you have a migraine."

Frank gaped at Mikey. Or rather, how Mikey looked, with his slim hips and his tight jeans and those lips...

No. No fucking the boss.

"Oh," Frank said. "Yeah."

Mikey clicked the light off and closed the door behind him. He leaned against it, and fuck if he didn't look lanky. Frank always liked lanky.

"So what's up?" Mikey asked.

"You know. The usual."

"You get sick a lot?"

Get out, get out, get out. "Enough."

"Ray too?"

Frank blinked. "Huh?"

"He...uh. He looked weird. When I saw him earlier."

"You saw him?"

Mikey nodded. "He and Gerard...well. The soundproofing sucks in our place, let's put it that way."

That meant Ray went straight for Gerard's. Lucky asshole. And he was probably...oh no, he was so not thinking about what they were doing. Frank dug his palms into his eyes. It helped a little; he wasn't lying about the sensitivity.

He climbed off the couch. "Thanks for stopping by. I'll be fine once the meds even out."

"Oh." God, he could be fucking bleeding from the eyes, and Mikey would sound exactly the same.

Frank went in the bathroom and turned on the sink. Splashing water on his face hurt, just like everything else, but at least it was cool on his skin. It was just enough to keep from screaming.

He heard a quiet noise. Like a gasp, or a gulp.

Mikey was standing in the door, staring.

"What the fuck's your problem?" Frank snarled.

"I..." Wow. He actually had something resembling an expression. "Nothing."

Frank got in his face. "Are you leaving or not?"

Mikey's eyes met his without flinching. The motherfucker had balls, he'd give him that. "Why don't you tell me what's really wrong?"

"I did," Frank said, voice low.

Mikey raised a hand. Frank grabbed his wrist.

"I was just fixing my glasses," Mikey said. He did it with his other hand.

But Frank was staring at his hand holding Mikey's wrist. He could feel the contours of his skin. And hell, it was the first thing in hours that didn't feel like steel wool. It felt almost...

...good.

Frank was rubbing his hand up and down Mikey's arm without realizing it. He stopped. "Shit."

Mikey was looking at Frank's hand too. He didn't seem inclined to pull away. His breath was a little shallow, even. Almost like he liked it.

"Get out," Frank said.

"You're still holding me."

Frank tossed his hand away and kicked the bathroom door closed.

"You can talk to me," Mikey said. Frank leaned his forehead against the door. "You know that, right?"

Frank swallowed. If he didn't get Mikey out now...no. He wouldn't do anything. It would fucking suck, but he wouldn't do a goddamned thing.

"Yeah," Frank croaked. He slid to the ground and sat on his hands.

Mikey didn't say anything else for a second. But Frank knew he was still there. He could fucking smell him, which wasn't too unusual - Mikey wasn't much better about hygiene than Gerard - but it was pretty much the best smell ever, which Frank couldn't ever remember thinking.

Finally, Mikey said, "I'm leaving. But you'll call if you need anything?"

"Sure thing, boss."

He only waited long enough for the front door to close before diving for the lube. Maybe it was a faux-pas to jerk off on the bathroom floor, but whatever, Ray was actually getting laid. He couldn't say a fucking word.

-

Mikey drove in a daze.

"It doesn't mean anything," he told himself. "Complete coincidence."

Except the logical, Eyes Only part of his brain was listing the facts, and he couldn't really ignore it.

The guy at the docks rode a motorcycle. It had to be black, since he hadn't been able to see it from the car at a distance, and that's what Frank owned. The body type was right. And then, right after the meeting, Frank had gotten sick. Twice.

And he never would've noticed if he hadn't seen the bar code on the back of Frank's neck.

It was only when he had his sector pass out for the third time that he realized he was driving around aimlessly. He didn't want to go to the office. He definitely didn't want to go back to the penthouse. But it was approaching midday and he was exhausted, so his options were limited.

The penthouse was quiet when he let himself in. But the living room was pretty trashed. Ew. He'd have to have everything sterilized.

There was a noise from the kitchen.

"Tell me whoever's there has clothes on." Mikey squeezed his eyes shut, just in case.

"Mikey?"

He opened his eyes. Ray stood in pajama pants too short for him and nothing else. Well. At least he'd put on the pants.

"Hey," Mikey said. "Coast clear?"

Ray blushed so hard it looked painful. "Yeah, uh. Sorry about that, I was..."

Mikey held up a hand. "It's okay. I'd rather not know."

Ray laughed. It was awkward. "Sure. I'll just...go."

He left, scratching the hair behind his head. Mikey watched him go back to Gerard's room, watched as he lifted the hair from his neck...

Whoa.

"Is that a tattoo?" he blurted.

Ray froze. "Huh?"

Great. He'd dug himself in it now. "I didn't know you had any ink."

Ray pulled his hand away hastily. "Yeah. I don't really like it."

Mikey knew this was the place where he should make a joke, ease off Ray, do something.

Instead, he ran for the door again.

"Mikey?" Ray called. But he didn't stop.

-

Jerking off didn't, in fact, help.

Frank hadn't been anywhere near hard before - everything hurt too much - but touching his dick had gotten himself directly into attention mode. It changed the pain into Turned The Fuck On, which wasn't an improvement. Brushing the counter in the bathroom made him whimper. The feel of the floor on his bare feet sent shivers down his spine. It fucking sucked.

What sucked even more was the fact that covering his hand in lube and fucking it did absolutely nothing. It not only didn't make him come, he didn't feel like he was anywhere close. Something was missing, some smell or sound or—

Seconds before a knock on the door, Frank smelled Mikey.

No fucking way, he thought. He took his hand off his dick and bit down on his hand. But his hips rocked like he was still touching himself. Fuck, he smelled amazing.

"I know you're in there," Mikey said through the door. "And if it's unlocked, I'm coming in to make sure you aren't dead."

Frank pulled his jeans up. His eyelids fluttered shut as the denim brushed over his boner, but he forced himself to button them closed. Maybe he could lock the door before Mikey could walk in. "I'm not dead! Go away!"

But Mikey was already inside when Frank stumbled into the living room.

"This really isn't a good time," Frank said tightly.

"I figured," Mikey said, "but we need to talk."

Frank stared at Mikey's face. And then his hair. And then his stomach. He'd never seen Mikey any less than fully dressed, but he could imagine his skin, smooth and pale...

"Frank?"

He shook his head. "If you're firing me, can it wait until tomorrow?"

"I'm not firing you. I just wanted to ask you about something."

"I can't talk right now," Frank said. It wasn't a lie. His brain felt foggy, and he needed to put a door between him and Mikey right the fuck now, or he was going to cry and beg and generally look like an asshole. More of an asshole than he already seemed, anyway.

But he didn't move. Mikey moved forward instead. Frank's knees buckled.

"Whoa," Mikey said. He caught Frank's arm.

Frank closed his eyes. Shit, he'd never felt anything so good in his life. He pressed against Mikey a little, and yep, it felt just as good on the rest of his body. Better.

"Frank?"

"Sorry," Frank said hoarsely, but he wasn't. Not really.

Still. He didn't get out of Manticore just to let their fucked up biology experiments run his life. He pulled back.

And maybe he would've made it all the way, but Mikey wasn't letting go of him. Frank didn't try particularly hard to get loose, especially when Mikey leaned in close.

"Frank," he said quietly. "Do you want to do this?"

"No," Frank said automatically.

It didn't sound anything like a no - his voice was low and breathy, and he leaned into Mikey while he said it - but Mikey let go right away and took a few steps back. Frank blinked.

"What?"

"You said no," Mikey said. "And you're...yeah, you couldn't...never mind. I'll go."

"No!" In the blink of an eye, Frank was against the front door, blocking it. "Please. I need to."

"But do you want to?" Mikey's eyes were on him, strong and serious. It sounded like he almost had an idea about what Frank was feeling. But there was no way.

Maybe, if he'd been feeling normal, he would've asked about it. But he wasn't. So he kissed Mikey.

It was hot and sloppy, Mikey's kiss. He grabbed Frank and pulled his hips forward and...

"Really?" Frank said against Mikey's mouth, as Mikey ground his erection against Frank's leg.

"Shut up," Mikey muttered. He undid the fly on Frank's pants and reached in, wrapping his hand around Frank's cock.

Frank was no virgin; he'd run all over Seattle getting laid when he'd first gotten out of Manticore. He knew how to give a handjob while getting one, for sure. But he couldn't seem to move, not when Mikey was sliding up and down his length, rubbing his thumb around the head of his cock and the tip and—

"I'm gonna—"

And he did. All over his pants. He couldn't give less of a fuck, the way Mikey kept moving through it, working the come all over Frank's dick. When he finally stopped, he only went half-hard.

But Frank could think easily again. And he saw Mikey's dick, hard through his jeans, and that wasn't any good.

He dropped to his knees and turned so Mikey's back was against the wall. Mikey grabbed his hair, and yep, there went Frank's dick again. Mikey was making small noises in the back of his throat and closing his eyes as Frank pulled his cock out, and just that was almost better than the way Mikey jerked him off.

Frank licked all around Mikey's cock, then took it into his mouth. He worked for a minute, lost in the motion, and then he looked up at Mikey.

Damn. He actually looked into it. Like, eyes closed, open mouth, full expression.

Mikey tried to pull Frank off when he got close, but Frank went as deep as he could and let Mikey come in his mouth. He'd never thought it tasted good before, but fuck, it really did this time.

"Fuck me," Mikey said, pushing his hand through his sweaty hair.

"If you insist." Frank stood and grabbed Mikey's hand. He squeaked, but he led Frank drag him into the bedroom.

-

It had been a long time since Mikey woke up cuddling with anyone.

In fact, the last person had been Alicia before she'd left for Los Angeles. He had a shitty track record with assistants. But they'd had very clear boundaries: they worked when they worked, and they were fuck buddies on their off-time, and that was it. Maybe Mikey had wanted more, once upon a time, but he and Gerard had a closed office they didn't let anyone into, and more meant telling her about Eyes Only. He couldn't do that to Gerard. Not unless he was sure.

Mikey watched Frank curl against his shoulder.

He definitely wasn't Alicia. For one, Frank was in deep with Manticore. Or something. Maybe he was even one of their...no, Mikey couldn't even think it. It made Frank sound like a thing, when he was very much a Frank.

And that was the second difference. If Mikey had been with Alicia, it would've been the sort of thing that grew over time. But watching Frank smile in his sleep made his stomach turn over and his heart tap dance and all that shit. He hadn't felt like this since he'd slept with Pete the first time.

Mikey brushed his fingers over Frank's neck, tracing the lines of the scorpion and working his way back to the bar code. It was all smooth. He didn't have any tattoos, but he loved seeing them on other people.

Frank sighed quietly and leaned closer. Mikey slung his arm around him.

The Eyes Only crap had killed what he'd had with Pete. It had sucked at the time, but Pete was a cop, and stumbling across the same crime scenes together had been fucking stupid. The breakup hadn't been pretty. But at least their working relationship was good now. And Frank wasn't Pete.

No. Frank made Pete look downright stable and safe.

Frank's phone went off. Mikey shook his shoulder.

"Hey," he said. "You want me to get that?"

Frank's eyes opened. He yawned. "Nah, I've got it."

Mikey got up for the bathroom, scratching his stomach. He needed a shower pretty bad. It didn't sound like Ray was around, so he could probably get away with jumping in. After he took a leak, of course.

But as he flushed the toilet, he heard Frank stumbling out of bed.

"Where are you?" Frank was outside of the room, pulling on his pants. "Okay. Yeah. Five minutes."

Mikey stuck his head out. "Something up?"

"Yeah, I just...I have to meet someone."

Before Mikey could ask if everything was okay, Frank was out the door. He didn't even close it behind him.

-

Frank didn't take out his bike: it was evening, and the streets were almost completely deserted. If what Dallon had said was true, he didn't have to go far.

He was only a block away from his place when he saw the blood on the ground. When he followed it, he found Dallon huddled next to a chain link fence.

"Fuck," Frank said. He reached out, but Dallon brushed his hands away.

"I had to warn you," he said.

"We should get you somewhere."

Dallon shook his head. "No time. They're culling. Moving."

Frank sucked in a breath.

"I tried to get Brendon and Spencer out," Dallon said. He drew his hand away from his stomach. His hand was covered in red. "They found me."

"How long?"

Dallon swallowed. "Two days. If they don't move it up."

"Are they..."

"Alive?" Dallon nodded. "They're hiding in the basement. That should buy them time; they work their way down."

Yeah. Because the Nomalies were down there. But Brendon and Spencer knew better than to go poking their heads in cages with snake men...or Spencer did, anyway.

"Thanks, man." Frank meant it. "Good luck."

"You too."

Frank pulled out his phone as he ran back to his place. They didn't have much time.

-

Mikey felt weird about sitting around Frank's place. He decided to risk going home.

Gerard was sitting in the living room with a cup of coffee and a goofy look on his face. He looked up at Mikey walking in, and it got even goofier.

"Someone got laid," Gerard said.

Mikey rubbed his hair. It always got ridiculous when he hooked up. "Look who's talking."

Gerard laughed. "Yeah."

"Is he asleep?" Mikey climbed on the couch next to Gerard.

Gerard slung his arm over Mikey. "Nah, he just ran out the door five minutes ago. Said he got called into work."

"Huh." Of course. If Frank was being weird, it stood to reason that Ray would be, too. "Listen, do you think—"

But his question was forestalled when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, and Gerard nudged him.

"It's Frank," he said.

Mikey gave him the finger and answered the phone. "Hey."

"Hey." A car horn went off, and there was a whooshing sound, like wind. "Um, I have to blow out of town for a couple days."

"Oh. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just..." There was a clatter. "Sorry, I've got my phone in my helmet."

"What? Was it the phone call?"

"I can't really talk about it."

Mikey climbed off the couch and jogged into the hallway by his bedroom. This was not the time for the conversation. He knew it.

But he asked anyway. "Does it have to do with Manticore?"

There was a screech, and something that sounded vaguely like Ray shouting.

"What the fuck do you know about Manticore?" Frank asked, low and deadly.

"More than you probably think," Mikey said. Maybe it was a little bit of a bluff, but whatever. "I can help you."

But the phone cut off.

"Everything okay?" Gerard called out from the living room.

Mikey dialed Frank again. He didn't pick up.

Gerard came walking down the hall. "Mikey?"

"How much do you know about Ray?" Mikey asked.

Gerard shrugged. "Enough."

"So you know he's in with Manticore?"

"I...what?"

Mikey sighed. He was going to need a lot of coffee.

-

The five hours to Manticore were long.

There wasn't anything to see on the way: most of the towns around Seattle had been abandoned post-Pulse, and crumbling buildings all looked the same. And it didn't help that Frank was still, technically, in heat. He could function normally, but his skin still itched uncomfortably, and Ray sitting behind him with his arms around his waist didn't help.

They only stopped once on the way to fuel. Neither of them wanted to - Ray bounced nearly as much as Frank - but it wasn't like they could walk to Manticore. Frank didn't know the name of the town, but no one was up in the middle of the night, and the pumps ran off old-fashioned debit cards, just like the nice stations in Seattle.

He popped a couple of the pills as soon as the bike was off. The last thing he needed was to relapse in the middle of the rescue.

"Did you talk to Mikey?" Ray asked once he had his head out of the helmet.

Frank nodded.

"How is he?"

How's Gerard, more like. "Don't know. It doesn't matter."

"Huh?"

Frank tightened his bike gloves. "He knows something about Manticore."

Ray paled. "But that means..."

"Yeah." If Mikey knew, Gerard knew. And that meant they couldn't see either of them ever again. It was too dangerous. "So what do you think? LA? Tijuana?"

Normally, Ray would joke about Alaska or something. But he slumped against the gas pump, and Frank felt a pang. Fuck. He couldn't remember the last time Ray had let himself get really into someone.

"We could ask," Ray said quietly. "If they wanted to come."

"They?"

Ray fixed Frank with a level look.

"Okay, something happened," Frank said. "But it didn't mean anything. He's my boss."

"Because that's stopped you in the past?"

"Whatever. Bryar's a stand-up dude."

"So's Mikey."

"He's hiding something," Frank said. He pulled the pump out of his bike.

"So are you."

"I have a good fucking reason, in case you forgot."

"Maybe he does, too."

Frank rolled his eyes and climbed back on the bike. "Next thing you'll say he's Eyes Only."

He tried not to think too much about it when they got back on the road. After all, Ray just wanted an excuse to stay in contact with Gerard. And Frank couldn't blame him; he deserved a little happiness. But things never worked out that way.

Even if Frank really wanted them to.

On the plus side, thinking about the way Mikey smelled made the last part of the trip a lot faster. It felt like the blink of an eye before Frank started spotting the trespassing signs that marked the edges of Manticore's boundaries.

Sneaking in was easier than sneaking out. Manticore installed chips in all their X series soldiers, and Frank had dug his out with a knife and his fingers. He and Ray had bled the entire way out. Five years hadn't changed the paths, either. The forest was a little more overgrown, but they didn't have too many problems making their way through. The searchlights on the guard towers passed them by like they weren't even there.

The basement even smelled the same: a combination of rotting fish and metal and general mustiness. Maybe his and Ray's footsteps sounded a lot fucking louder than before, but then, he was on edge.

"Where do you think they are?" Ray muttered.

"No idea," Frank said. "Guess we'll have to look."

They slipped down the row of cells.

The first had an amphibious creature: it sat crouched in a kiddie pool of water, and hissed when Frank went on his tiptoes to see into the window in the cell's door. The second cell was too dark to see into, but judging by the growls that came from inside, they weren't there. The third...

"Frank!"

Spencer jumped to his feet and ran to the door. He was taller than Frank remembered; he didn't have any problems getting to the window. He was also lean. Like he hadn't eaten in a while.

"Fuck," Frank said. "Are you two okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Let me get Brendon."

He slipped away, and Frank heard muttering. From what sounded like two different voices.

"They found a pet," Frank whispered to Ray. "Fucking knew it."

"Let's just hope it isn't poisonous," Ray said. He sounded a little nervous.

The door swung open with a creak, and Brendon bounced out and wrapped his arms around Frank. "You're not dead!"

"Really not," Frank said. "We need to go."

Brendon pulled back and grabbed a hand. "Ian, come on. It's okay."

He drew out a guy. Well, he looked almost entirely like a guy, anyway, except his curly hair poofed in a weird way, and his face was a little...

"You're bringing a dog home?" Frank asked. It was so Brendon.

The dog man huffed and wiped at his nose. It wasn't black, but it was shaped in a rather canine way. "My name's Ian, thank you very much."

Brendon scratched him behind his ear, and Ian leaned into the touch, tongue out.

"Whatever you say," Ray said. "Let's go."

Frank wasn't surprised that Brendon and Spencer were stealthy on their way out. He was a little surprised that Ian was just as quiet. Just before the window they'd used to get in earlier, Ian paused. "We can't leave them."

"Leave who?"

Ian waved at the cells. "They'll die."

Brendon's eyes got comically big. "He's right."

Frank sighed. "I don't suppose asking if you'll just get out will do any good?"

Spencer crossed his arms. "I'm with them on this one. All the transgens get what's going on, but these guys?"

If Spencer wasn't budging, Frank didn't have a chance. "Whatever. You guys go. I'll go find a switch."

He helped Ray boost them out the window.

"I should go with you," Ray said.

"No," Frank said. "They'll have a better chance with you."

"Frank—"

"That's an order," Frank said, like it wouldn't piss Ray off. He sprinted away, just pausing long enough to make sure Ray pulled himself out the window.

Of course, there's wasn't any kind of release on the basement floor. Frank had snuck in enough to know that much. He just hoped the place he suspected on the ground floor was the right spot.

He ran up the stairs one level, and an alarm blared. Frank froze with his hand on the door to subbasement one.

"Come on," he whispered. "Me. Let it be me."

Footsteps stomped his way. He backed away from the door and balled his fists.

But they kept running.

"Shit," Frank said. If they'd tripped the alarms, it was a good thing Frank was doing this. They'd need a distraction.

He ran out into the hall and across to the other set of stairs. The alarms flashed, and the emergency lights were on, so the hallways were bathed in red. Looked fucking spooky, but it preserved his night vision, so Frank wasn't complaining. He'd be able to see perfectly when he got outside again.

The ground floor was different than Frank remembered. They'd closed off a lot of the open areas, which had been used for cubicles and offices, and replaced them with what looked like more cells. Which didn't make much sense. They wouldn't expand just to have to burn the whole thing to the ground.

He ran around in circles for longer than he meant. He heard someone running for him, and he ducked into a slightly open door.

"Frank?" someone whispered. "That you?"

"Toro?"

Ray appeared. "You're hard to find."

"What the fuck!" Frank pulled him close by his shirt. "What about the others?"

"I showed them where the bike was. And I told them if we weren't back in a half-hour, to drive for Seattle."

"Who the fuck are they gonna know in Seattle?"

But a fresh round of alarms broke their conversation.

"Let's go," Ray said, "before we get caught."

Frank sighed, but he ran out, and Ray ran close on his heels.

They found the switches in the middle of the hall. Frank missed it before because the door was shadowy. Of course it was guarded, but if there was one thing Frank was good at, it was punching Manticore guards. He saw two uniforms and took them out quickly.

As he dragged one of the guards with off the console, he told Ray, "Hit the switches."

"Not so fast."

The click of guns was hard to ignore. And maybe, if Frank had been by himself, he would've hit the switches anyway. But Ray stood next to him, and he wouldn't get him killed. Even if he kind of asked for it by coming back.

With a sigh, Frank raised his hands and turned.

A man with a short military haircut and black clothes waved hello. The dozen guards behind him, with guns pointed forward, didn't.

"Welcome back," the man said.

-

When Mikey told Gerard all the facts he had, he expected Gerard to go straight to the computer and research his ass off.

He was mostly right. Gerard only stopped for coffee.

Mikey wasn't much for pouring over files; it was why he did all the meetings. But he got on the phone with Pete after a full night without progress and asked vaguely, "Say I had names of people connected to Manticore. What would I need to find out more about them?"

"You do?"

"Maybe."

Pete huffed. "Patrick's gonna kill me if I don't grill you."

"Why?" Mikey asked. "You did your part."

"Because he wants to be in on it. And I do too."

"I'll tell you what I can. I don't have anything right now."

"I'll take your word for it." Pete sighed. "I'll message you with our latest batch. Don't tell Patrick until you've got something."

"Scout's honor."

Gerard lit up when his computer blinked with the files. "Whoa. These are the old Social Security records. I didn't know these still existed."

He was still bouncing in his chair when the doorbell rang. Mikey and Gerard froze.

"He didn't call you, did he?" Mikey asked.

Gerard checked his phone. "No. You?"

"No." Mikey got up. "Stay here. And get the gun."

"Mikey—"

"Seriously. Be ready."

Gerard sighed and reached in a pile of what looked like molding paper plates. It was the one pile of trash in the office that was a complete plant. He drew out a pistol and a magazine.

"You should take this," Gerard said, popping the magazine in.

Mikey decided not to tell him that it would do little good if he was ambushed outside the office and just left.

The doorbell rang again, hard. Then three more times, in a weird rhythm. As Mikey approached, he heard voices outside. He took a breath and opened the door.

Three guys stood outside. One of them had his face turned away and a hood up. One was glaring at the guy in the middle, who was saying, "It's fun. And I'm not on a covert mission, so—"

"Uh," Mikey said. "Hi."

The guy in the middle turned and beamed. "Hi! Are you Mikey or Gerard?"

"Mikey. Who are you?"

"Brendon. But you don't know me."

Mikey nodded. "Figured that much."

"Ray told me to say I'm from Manticore." Brendon poked his head inside. "Do you have a bathroom? Ian kept trying to mark trees on the way."

The hooded guy turned, and Mikey saw what looked like...well, he wasn't sure what he looked like. A human with a dog face, maybe.

"Liar," he said. "You just have to pee, and you're pinning it on me."

Mikey blinked.

-

Short Hair Man - who went by the ultra-original Smith - started Frank off with a visit to the medical ward. Frank struggled, of course, but in Manticore, there were always assholes stronger than you. And when there weren't, they had drugs. Frank hadn't even seen a needle, but judging by the way his eyes went blurry and his tongue felt thick, they'd dosed him.

"How are you not dead right now?" Smith asked. "Did Dr. Weekes find a cure?"

Frank couldn't talk. He sneered instead. He was pretty good at sneering.

"Interesting. Well, take it out of him."

Luckily, he passed out when they pulled out the tray of needles. It was something he didn't want to be awake for.

Being thrown into a cell woke him up again. Not fast enough to keep from face planting into the concrete, but the jar of pain through his still-broken nose was nice. Bracing.

"Ow," he said loudly as they closed the door.

"Who's there?"

Frank blinked. "Uh. Frank?"

"You have a name?"

Frank dropped down to a vent on the floor. He didn't remember the cells having vents, but then, things had changed.

He never would've been grouped next to a woman before.

"Picked it out myself," Frank said. "Who are you?"

"X5-829." She was fucking cute, too: black hair, slightly goofy smile. "But I was thinking Jamia'd be a fun name."

"I like it."

"It's no Frank."

Frank snorted. "I found it in a phone book. Fun names aren't for people on the lam."

"Oh." Her eyes went wide. "You're one of the ones that got out."

"That's me." He looked around the room. There was a grate on the other side, and he ducked to peek through. But there wasn't anyone on the other side. "What are these for, anyway?"

"People who fucked up." Jamia grinned. "I refused to go on a mission. They didn't like it."

"Nice."

"Thanks."

"I don't suppose there's anyone on your other side?" It'd be nice if Ray was nearby.

Jamia shook her head. "I've been surrounded by empty cells for weeks. I know they've been filling up more, though. X5-999 and X5-998 have been making all kinds of problems."

Frank grinned. When Brendon and Spencer had said they wanted to stay, he hadn't thought it was a good idea. But apparently, they'd stirred more shit than he'd thought.

"So if I said I wanted to break everyone out," he said, "would you have any ideas there?"

Jamia laughed. "Way ahead of you."

-

Mikey didn't know Brendon, Spencer, or Ian, but he figured out one thing fast: having Brendon in the same room with Gerard was going to be painful. He let the two of them babble at each other and led Spencer into his bedroom. Ian followed.

"I don't have much to add," Ian said. "They were just giving me a headache."

He curled up on the bed while Spencer paced and filled Mikey in. Spencer wasn't as wordy as Brendon, but he got the basics across: Manticore was a government organization, and they specialized in super-soldiers made from a bunch of different types of DNA.

"We've got a lot of cat," Spencer said. "I don't know the specifics, but they wanted us to look human. Ian's an early model."

Ian scratched at his ear in his sleep.

"So that's why you have the bar code tattoo?"

Spencer touched the back of his neck. "It's an identification thing. And if we try to get rid of it, it'll just come back when our skin heals."

He showed Mikey. There was long-faded scar tissue on his neck, but the bar code was there, perfectly whole.

"Whoa," Mikey said.

Spencer nodded. "Ray said we could trust you. That true?"

Ray said. And Brendon had said mentioned Ray when they'd first shown up. "It's true. What happened at Manticore?"

"They went to get us out," Spencer said. "Because we heard they were culling the place."

Mikey frowned. "As in..."

"Burning it all down? Yeah."

"How far's Manticore from here?"

Spencer looked up briefly, like he was doing mental math. Then he said, "Five point six two hours, with the level of traffic we encountered."

"Something like that should've come up on the news alerts," Mikey said. "Any chance they moved first?"

Spencer shrugged. Mikey sighed.

The door opened, and Brendon and Gerard walked in.

"It's okay!" Brendon told Spencer. "We won't have to beat them up. Gerard's in love with Ray."

"And Mikey's in love with Frank," Gerard added. Mikey smacked his arm.

Spencer groaned. "This is why we never got sent on missions. You don't know how to keep your mouth shut."

"Like you wanted to play evil spy." Brendon waggled his eyebrows.

Spencer gave Mikey an apologetic look. "I was only going to fight you if you tried to turn us in."

"No worries," Mikey said. "I've been beat up for less."

"So!" Gerard rubbed his hands together. "Who feels like going for a drive?"

Mikey gaped at him. "You...want to leave the house."

Gerard rolled his eyes. "Call Pete and Patrick. We'll need all the firepower we can get."

Brendon clapped his hands once.

Mikey needed more coffee.

-

It turned out Jamia already had a plan: come up with something distracting to draw the guards away, bust the doors, run for the switches on the second floor - since they'd be expecting Frank to hit the first floor circuit again - and get out.

"Sounds too easy," Frank said.

"It isn't," Jamia said. "We don't have a distraction."

Which was, of course, the minute sirens flashed and the building switched to emergency lighting.

Frank laughed as boots stomped in the hallway. "You were saying?"

She darted away from the vent, and Frank jumped to his feet. His cell had nothing in it, and the door was too thick to kick down. He tried a couple times anyway, but he barely dented the inside. It sounded like Jamia was having more luck on her side, at least; he heard metal thumps, followed by gunfire and the sound of flesh slapping flesh. Then nothing.

"Jamia?"

His door clanked open. Jamia dropped the passkey she was holding and waggled her fingers. She was just as cute when he could see her entirely, even in the godawful Manticore uniform. Formless jump suits in camo didn't work for anyone.

"You're good," Frank said, climbing over a couple unconscious guards in the hall. "How'd you get out of your cell?"

"They gave me a bed a couple days ago. Good behavior." She snorted. "Let's get going."

Frank held up a finger. Then he shouted, "Toro!"

No one answered.

"What's Toro?" Jamia said, frowning.

"We came up with last names, too," Frank said. "Mine's Iero. Toro's my friend."

Her eyes grew wide. "Ooh. I never thought of a last name."

"You've got time. Come on."

They ran around the nearest corner; the quickest way to the second floor was to cross the courtyard and go up the stairs there. But Frank flattened against the wall as a stream of guards thundered out the doors he had in mind, and Jamia pointed the opposite direction. He nodded, and they ran.

The only way up to the second floor on this side was by fire escape. Frank didn't mind - it was the way he used to get around the place, when he was a kid - but Jamia eyed them dubiously.

"Are you kidding?" she whispered.

Frank jumped up and grabbed the ladder. It clanked down noisily, but at the same time as an automatic weapon fired in the courtyard.

"Nope!" he said, as she climbed up.

Frank had to walk down a line of windows until he found one unlocked. Jamia followed, going on tiptoes to try to see in the courtyard.

"What's going on out there?" she asked. "It doesn't sound like an escape."

"I don't know," Frank said. "But this'll make things more interesting."

They climbed inside.

A couple of guards had broken windows on the other side, sticking their guns out. Jamia ignored them, but Frank ran up and put one in a choke hold. The other turned to fire, but Frank moved out of the way easily and knocked him out with a couple of blows to the head.

"Yeah," Jamia said when Frank caught up. "Because that helps."

Frank shrugged. "I'd rather not have guards behind us if I can help it."

The control room was empty this time. Frank took a quick look at the security cameras; guards were moving out of the courtyard and to a field behind the complex. He couldn't see what drew their fire.

Jamia inspected all the buttons. "Let's see...floodlights, let's hit that one."

The outdoor cameras fell dark and switched to night vision. It wasn't very good; the technology was a decade old, at least. But Frank figured he didn't need to see outside right now.

"Locks? Okay."

Frank heard a lot of hisses and clunking, most of it downstairs, followed by a lot of chatter.

"And microphone!" Jamia picked up a discarded headset. "Good evening, Manticore! If you'd like to exit the premises at this time, now's your chance. There's armed guards all over the place. Have fun!"

She clicked it off and dropped the headset with a flourish. "I have to break out more often!"

"Let's hope not," Frank said, but he snickered. "Now I need to find my friend."

"You want help?"

"Seriously?"

Jamia shrugged. "The next item on my to-do list is 'get the fuck out of here'. I can help you on the way."

"It's probably better if I sneak around," Frank said, "but thanks."

She kissed him on the cheek. "Look me up when you get back to Seattle?"

"But you don't have a last name."

"Maybe I'll use Iero," she said.

Frank grinned, and they ran out in separate directions.

He went for the fire escape right away; he figured the halls would be choked, and if he got a high view of things, maybe he could spot Ray from a distance. It was a totally solid plan.

Except, when he hit the roof, he found it already occupied.

"X5-776," Smith said, raising a pistol. "Good to see you again."

Frank crouched on the balls of his feet. He was about ready to spring into action when other guns clicked, and a dozen guards came out from around the vents and the roof access door.

"You too," he said, and he ran for the edge of the roof.

He felt bullets explode around his feet as he jumped straight off the roof. He twisted in midair and grabbed the fire escape, gritting his teeth as the metal cut open his palms. It was better than falling six stories and breaking something, but not by a lot.

His movement stopped when he hit the fourth floor. He hissed as he let go of the fire escape and jumped through a window. The bullets they were firing off the room were bouncing off the metal, and glass in his skin was better than bullets in his head.

Fuck. He was having a day.

Frank rolled on the inside of the room and got up into a run again. Medical was on the fourth floor, but there wasn't anyone around; there were tools scattered everywhere, so it looked like there had been a struggle. Maybe the staff had cut and run, too.

He ran past a refrigerator with a clear door in the front. At the front sat vials with his designation on it: X5-776. Filled with his blood.

"Fucking vampires," he muttered. Take the cure out of him. They couldn't have gotten much yet, but he yanked open the door and dumped every drop into the sink. He blasted the water in the sink and ran to the other side of the building.

He made it to the stairs this time. The courtyard was mostly empty again, except for a couple of dead guards. Oh, and what looked like a part-bat person running across, with wings and everything. Man-Bat. Mikey would've flipped.

Mikey. Fuck.

"Think," Frank muttered as he jogged down the stairwell. "Where would Ray be?"

Looking for Frank, most likely. If it wouldn't end in target practice, he'd go stand somewhere highly visible for a few minutes. But he couldn't really stay still, and Ray wasn't in the cells he'd been stuck in, so...

"Bad idea," Frank said, but he went to ground level and pushed out in the courtyard.

Unfortunately, in the few seconds it had taken him to come to a decision, Smith had made his way down. With all the guards. They circled him.

"I'd rather not kill you," Smith said. "Your adjusted healing'll be very useful to our X7 series."

"You're making more?" Leave it to the military to keep up hopeless causes.

"That's the nature of evolution. Can't stop." Smith gave a smile that Frank figured was supposed to pleasant, but it just looked fucking creepy. "Come quietly?"

"Fuck that," Frank said.

Smith sighed and raised his gun. "I figured as much."

He fired.

Frank was a lot of things, but faster than a speeding bullet? Not one of them. He managed to avoid taking the slug to the chest, but it caught him in the shoulder, and he went down.

Smith stood over him. If he just stepped a little closer, Frank could get him in the ankle or something. Really make it hurt.

"Take him," Smith said. Oh yeah. He was definitely going to bleed.

"Drop it!"

Frank looked up.

The roofs were filled with people. People with guns. Most of them wore the shitty Manticore uniform, but there was a clump in the middle that Frank recognized: Jamia and Ray, both with AK-47s, Brendon and Spencer with shotguns, and Mikey and Gerard, both with two pistols.

"I found your friend!" Jamia called with a wave.

-

Frank was bleeding on the ground.

"Don't shoot," Ray said quickly, once he saw Mikey's face.

"Mikey!" Frank waved his good hand, which was covered with blood. "Ditching work again?"

The Manticore soldiers didn't drop their guns. It didn't surprise Mikey at all. But it still sucked.

"Here's what I figure!" the leader called. "I can kill X5-776 seconds before you kill us."

"You'll still be dead," Ray said back. At the corner of his eye, Mikey could see a goofy smile spread on Gerard's face.

"Hazard of the job," the man said.

"Shoot the motherfucker!" Frank yelled with a conversational tone. He shifted and grimaced. Mikey aimed his pistol right between the leader's eyes.

"He's right," Ray said, quietly enough so they wouldn't hear it lower, but loud enough so it'd reach Mikey and Gerard. "They're probably waiting for air support or backup. Stalling's just giving them the advantage."

Mikey jerked his head. "Get the others out. I won't leave Frank."

"There's a truck depot on the north side." This came from Jamia, who'd kindly supplied everyone with the guns. "Maybe you guys can catch up?"

"Good idea," Ray said.

Jamia waved her hand to the others, and they withdrew. Mikey turned to his other side, where Pete and Patrick had their guns trained.

"Go with her," Mikey said.

"But you'll be outnumbered," Patrick said, his hat covering his eyes.

"We can manage. None of them have been to Seattle before."

Pete walked backward. "I've always wanted to play babysitter for super soldiers."

They went out the door to the stairs, and only Mikey, Gerard, Ray, Brendon, and Spencer were left behind.

"Dude, Hat Guy was totally right," Brendon said. The shotgun looked ridiculously too big for him, but his arms were perfectly solid. "We're totally outnumbered now."

"I've got this." Ray cleared his throat. "We're sending down some friends. If you leave before they get there, we won't follow you."

"Nice," Mikey said quietly.

"Thanks," Ray said.

The guards all pointed their guns up. The only person who still had a gun trained on Frank was the leader.

"I think I'll take my chances," he said.

But apparently, it's all Frank needed. He moved too fast for Mikey to see, and his breath caught. Gerard gasped beside him, too.

"It's so cool," he said.

"Yeah," Mikey agreed.

Ray snorted. "You guys are such nerds."

The guards opened fire, and Mikey ducked behind the edge of the roof. So did everyone else, but Ray eased up to see over the edge seconds later and pointed his gun. He fired for a couple seconds, then took his finger off the trigger and hid again.

The gunfire got quieter and quieter, until there was yelling, the sounds of punching, a snap, and a gunshot. Ray jumped up quickly, then smiled.

"Took you long enough!" he yelled.

Mikey looked up. Frank was ringed by bodies, and Mikey couldn't tell if most of them were dead or not. The leader was definitely dead; he had a wound on his neck, probably from a wrestled gun, and a pool of blood under him. Although the pool could've come from Frank. He was pale and shaking a little.

"I'm getting slow in my old age," Frank called up. "Can we get out of here?"

-

Ray pulled the bullet out of Frank's shoulder with a knife the second the military transport was on the road. It was shaky, and Ray slipped a couple times, but Frank managed by biting on the fleshy part of his hand.

"We did something a lot like this the first time we left," he said cheerfully when Ray tied up his shoulder with Brendon's shirt. Mikey stared, pale as a ghost. Gerard had his hands over his face. "Didn't have anything to wrap my arm with, though."

"Hold on," Brendon said, staring at a too-big watch on his wrist.

Frank grabbed his seat as an explosion rocked behind them. The night flared with fire.

"Fucking awesome!" he said.

Brendon beamed. "I stocked up."

"We've got company!" Jamia called from the front.

"Ooh," Brendon said. He grabbed his shotgun and climbed over the other X5s for the back of the transport. "Time for cover fire!"

Spencer groaned and grabbed his gun. "You're going to get us killed, jerk!"

Frank leaned on Mikey. "Ever heard a shotgun in close quarters?"

"No."

"Plug your ears."

Mikey did. So did Gerard and everyone else, just in time for Brendon to fire a shot and cackle.

"Kid's a menace," Frank said, lowering his good hand. "So. You guys have any lucky finding the Nomalies?"

Ray shook his head. "They were long gone, I guess."

"Nomalies?" Gerard asked.

"Anomalies, I guess," Frank said, rolling his neck. "Plug your ears again."

This time, both Brendon and Spencer fired. Frank's ears rung a little. At least they'd heal once he got a few minutes of quiet.

"They're...well, you met Ian," Ray said. He wiped his hands free of blood with pieces of Brendon's shirt. "That's why you're here, right?"

Gerard wrapped his fingers in Ray's. "That's how we knew where you were, yeah."

Frank glanced at Mikey. They needed to have words about that. But really, he was too glad to see him to screw it up right now.

"Don't worry." Pete, Mikey's cop friend, leaned over. "I radioed descriptions to the police department before we left Seattle. There are people who know not to gun them down."

"How many?" Frank asked.

"Not many," Patrick admitted. "But if we get your fellows trained up, they can help out."

Frank had heard worse ideas. After all, smart, agile, and young super soldiers had to have something to occupy their time.

"Shit," he said, looking at all the X5s. Some of them watched Brendon and Spencer with eager expressions; others were dozing on each other. "Where are they gonna go?"

"The building we're squatting in's mostly empty," Ray said.

Frank groaned. "You really want them as neighbors?"

"And it's illegal," Gerard said, eyes wide.

"It should buy you a couple days to get fake identity documents through." This came from Patrick, Mikey's other cop friend. "That's what you guys have, right?"

"Something like that," Ray said with a nod.

"Fuck," Frank said. "We have to move, don't we?"

Brendon fired again. Everyone winced, but Brendon let out a whoop.

"They're pulling back!" he said.

"I don't want to move." Frank would've crossed his arms if his left one wasn't out of commission.

Ray rolled his eyes. "Out of a place without four walls and crappy plumbing? How will we ever live."

-

It was just before dawn when they made it back to Seattle, so besides Pete and Patrick having to flash their police credentials at the sector gates, they weren't stopped at all.

"Brendon and Spencer can stay with us, right?" Gerard asked Mikey as most of the X5s unloaded at Frank's building. The X5s who'd driven Mikey's car back also piled out, and he exhaled with relief. It didn't look any worse for wear. "We left Ian at our place. He'd probably like the company."

Mikey groaned. "Don't tell me we're getting a pet."

"He's not a pet! He's a person!"

"Well," Frank said loudly. "Thanks for the rescue. I'll just go and sleep for a year now. Come on, Ray."

Ray shifted uncomfortably. "I'm...actually going back with Gerard."

"Oh."

Mikey rolled his eyes. "You should come back, too."

Frank grinned. "Yeah?"

"I know you're dying to ask me how I knew about all this."

"And where you learned to hold a gun," Frank said. "It's fucking sexy."

Mikey blushed, and Gerard laughed behind him.

"Give me a sec," Frank said. He turned to Jamia. "Mind staying in my place? I think I'll be moving out in a couple days, but..."

"You don't want the others stealing your shit?" she asked.

Frank snorted. "Something like that."

"They're grabby bastards. I always had to hide my hair brushes in Manticore." Jamia paused. "As long as you don't care about me stealing your clothes."

"Fine with me."

"Cool."

Brendon jumped over to Mikey's SUV. "Can I drive?"

"No," Mikey said.

"You can ride shotgun in the truck with me," Frank said.

Brendon beamed. "Awesome."

Mikey would be lying if he didn't say he wasn't on-edge when they made their way back to Sector 1. A bunch of weird cars in Sector 6 was one thing. His bullet-riddled SUV and a stolen military truck in the richest part of town was something else entirely. But the crossing guard didn't even blink. Probably because Patrick slipped him a roll of bills.

"I knew I'd find a use for your money," he told Mikey.

Mikey gaped. "Besides...what, food?"

Patrick shrugged. "Eating's overrated."

Pete and Patrick took the truck off Frank's hands once they parked outside Mikey's building.

"Nice meeting you," Frank said, shaking their hands with his good arm. He was moving his left arm like it barely hurt, though.

"Nice having us save your ass," Pete said.

"That too."

Patrick tipped the brim of his hat. "Night."

Brendon bounced from foot to foot as they rode the elevator to the penthouse. "We didn't let Ian out before we left. What if he peed everywhere?"

"God," Spencer said. "He knows how to use a toilet."

Ian was curled on the front rug when they got in. He yawned and got to his feet. "Hey. You're all alive."

"You don't have to sleep on the rug," Mikey said. "We have a guest room. And couches."

"What? The floor's nice."

"Wait here," Gerard told Frank and Ray. "I'll point them to the guest room."

"Tell me there are two beds," Spencer said wearily. "Brendon kicks."

"I do not!"

"Then why do I have bruises all over my legs?"

They squabbled all the way down the hall, and Ian brought up the back.

"You get to keep them," Frank said. "Fun."

"I've always wanted a guard dog," Mikey said, deadpan.

Gerard came back in a few seconds. "So can we show them?"

"I told you yes before we left."

Gerard ran for the office. Ray followed him closely, but Frank paused until Mikey waved a hand. "After you."

"Check," Gerard was saying as they walked in. He cleared a stack of coffee cups off Mikey's chair, and Frank sat down.

"I knew your place was too clean," he said. "What am I supposed to see, exactly?"

Gerard picked up a keyboard and mouse and moved around for a couple seconds. Then he said, "I put this together a little while ago. But we won't use it without your go-ahead."

"What?" Ray asked.

Gerard clicked the mouse, and the monitor lit up with an Eyes Only message.

"This is a streaming freedom video bulletin," Gerard's voice said.

"They're your eyes," Frank blurted to Mikey. The shocked look on his face was fantastic.

Ray punched Frank's good arm. "I fucking told you!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Frank said, but his voice was a little breathy. "You guys were Eyes Only this whole time?"

Gerard bobbed his head eagerly. "Manticore's been a project of ours for years!"

"So it was you guys!" Frank said, looking back and forth between them. "You tipped off the cops!"

"No, actually," Mikey said. He rubbed his back. It was still a little tender. "We think they followed Pete. But I was there."

Frank scowled at him. "You nearly got me killed."

"I..." Well. It was true, wasn't it?

Ray shoved Frank. "Stop being an asshole."

Frank cracked up. "Sorry! He was just so serious about it!"

Mikey's face went back into its usual expressionless state. But he smiled almost right away. And stepped on Frank's toes.

"Well," Frank said, "you did save my life tonight. So I guess it's not a big deal."

"But you did nearly die," Gerard said, eyes wide. "Brendon told me about your pills."

Frank shrugged. "I'm better now."

"But you were in heat! That was totally our fault!"

Mikey did a double-take. Frank winced. "How the fuck..."

Ray pointedly avoided everyone's gaze.

"Traitor," Frank said. "Mikey, I need to not be in a room with him right now. Tell me where your bedroom is."

"Um." Mikey blushed, but he led Frank out of the office and into his bedroom. It looked like the rest of the place with all the dark wood and minimal furniture, but with a rumpled bed instead of couches or chairs. Mikey promptly sat on it, and Frank sat next to him.

"Why do you live here?" Frank asked. "I mean, what's the appeal? It has a full ceiling."

Mikey shrugged. "It was my grandmother's."

"Huh." Frank turned to him. "Listen. About that heat thing—"

"It's no big deal," Mikey said quickly. "Um. Unless you feel like I took advantage of you, in which case it's a really big deal, and I'm really sorry, and—"

"Whoa, slow down." He'd never heard Mikey speak that fast in his life. "Take advantage of me. Seriously?"

"Oh. So you...wanted to?"

Frank rolled his eyes. "And here I thought Eyes Only was supposed to be smart. Yes. I really, really wanted to."

Mikey smiled. "Me too."

"Good." He put a hand on Mikey's knee. "So this is okay?"

"Very okay." Mikey slipped a hand into Frank's hair. "It sucked seeing you get shot."

"I'll live."

"I just...like you, you know?"

Frank snickered. "I didn't go to school. Is this the moment where you pass me a note, and I circle if I like you or not?"

"Please. It's texts these days."

"Right." Frank pulled out his phone. Seconds later, Mikey's phone buzzed. All the message read was 'y'.

"Would it be too forward if I asked you to move in with me?" Mikey asked. "I mean, Ray and Brendon and Spencer'll be here already."

Frank slid his hand to Mikey's hip. Mikey leaned into the touch. "And the fact that you're head over heels for me has nothing to do with it."

"Not at all." Mikey paused. "I might have to fire you from Eyeball, though."

"I'm sure being Eyes Only's pet X5 pays well."

Frank nibbled on his neck. Mikey groaned.

"The soundproofing in here sucks," Mikey said. "Fair warning."

Something crashed, and Ian barked. Seriously barked.

"You'll just have to be quiet, then," Frank said. He pulled Mikey down on the bed. "And watch out for my bullet wound."

Mikey grinned. "Deal."

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