“Let's go, don't wait, this night's almost over,
Honest, let's make, this night last forever,” -First Date, Blink-182

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"They haven't come back yet?" I repeat.

"Nope," Gerard says, shaking his head. I sit up, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands, and Gerard adds: "Dr. D thinks they might still be at the D.P but he's not sure."

"How's he doing?" I ask, snapping awake immediately.

"C'mon," Gerard says and stands up with a grunt, helping me up, despite my protests that I don't need help. "I helped Love move him into the DIE a few hours ago, and he's regaining some of the feeling. I don't think he'll be able to walk again, though."

I follow Gerard silently through the building, until we get to the front room once more. There, Dr. Death is lying in a booth, his bandana pulled over his eyes. It seems that he can sense my presence, because, as soon as I approach him, he says: "Hey, Hals."

"Hi," I say back. "How're the legs?"

"I can feel them, but I can't move them," he tells me, pulling the fabric from off of his eyes. "Just waiting for the three guys to get back from the D.P."

"We can go get them," Gerard offers. "Love can stay with you, and we can drag their asses back."

"I dunno," Dr. Death says but, before he can answer, Love bursts into the room.

"Code red!" She yells. "Dracs've been spotted in One! Shit, shit, shit!"

"Oh, fuck me!" I cry. "We have to go the sons of bitches from the D.P 'fore they get ghosted, don't we?"

"Yes," Gerard growls and crosses the room quickly, grabbing his gun and yellow-painted mask. He pulls his mask over his head, resting it on his forehead, as he breezes out the door.

"We'll be back soon, with the guys and the stuff from the D.P," I tell Dr. Death.

"Thanks, darlin'," Dr. Death says. "Love, you're staying here with me, Truant, and Missile. Hals and PP'll go get the Kid and Ghoul and Jet."

"Okay," Love says and hugs me tightly. Then, she hands me her gun, painted pink, just like her jacket. "You never know when the batteries are gonna run out," she says, gesturing to The gun in the holster on my leg, painted the same color as my hair.

"Thank you, Love," I say and stick her gun in the waistband of my jeans. I pull my vest on as I walk out the door, and over to Lil' Shit, where Gerard is already waiting for me.

The ride to the Dead Pegasus is thick with tension, unaware of what we'll meet when we get there. Hopefully, nothing too bad.

Thanfully, the D.P seems fine when we get there, Killjoys milling around and chatting happily. Gerard gives me a strange look and stops the truck. "So, umm... Remember that you're my..." He starts and struggles with the next word. "Wife."

"I practically already am," I answer, and he smiles. Then, he looks around, outside the windows, and pulls me closer to him, kissing my softly.

"Just... In case," he says when I pull away.

"'In case' of what?" I ask. "Poison, I'm not gonna die."

"Please, for my sake, drop the Halsey shit for a second," he pleads. "Ashely, I'm afraid that we may not live through this. I'm so fucking scared, it's unbearable. I..." He sighs and says: "I can't lose you."

I sigh sadly, looking at the scarlet-haired man next to me. His body language exuded confidence, but his eyes face away his true emotion: fear.

Silently, I pull myself out of the seat and slink to the empty back of the van, slowly pulling off my vest. "Poison?" I ask, turning to face him and pulling off the gun holder around my leg. "I can't lose you either," I tell him. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Gerard says quietly, pulling himself out do the seat and coming next to me, his hands going to grip my waist. He kisses me once more, this time a bit more urgent.

When he he finally pulled away, I stood, blinking for a moment, before saying: "We can finish at the DIE. For now, though, let's go get our group members.

Notes

Sorry for the short chapter. Part Two is going to be up sometime in the next week— part one was just the setup.

So, Imn really fucking tired and I went to my first therapist today and he basically confirmed everything I already knew. I had self-diagnosed Borderline Personality Disorder for the past few months, along with depression— which runs in my family— and the worst social anxiety of anyone ever.

I was honestly terrified of going to a therapist becaus I was afraid of sealing my fate: I could always doubt my own diagnosis (as it turns out, doubting your mental illness is part of BPD). If I went to a therapist and he professionalt confirmed it, it would be like locking something and throwing the key down the gutter.

In the end, I'm glad I went. Special thanks to a special someone who listened to me whine about this and, because I'm dealing with some personal shit that I honestly would rather not discuss, I am going to go the fuck to sleep.

Current mood: