“No. Just no.”

I look at him harshly. My eyes glaring, my vision filled with grief, hopelessness blinding me. This is a horrific joke to play on someone. It’s just sick.

“You’re wrong. You have to be wrong! Those tests have to be wrong! They must belong to somebody else.”

I stand from my chair, screaming in his face. He sits there and takes it. He does this job on a regular basis. This is normality for him. A simple doctor with the devastating news that can change and destroy a persons life with three words.

“I’m sorry Mr Iero, but these are the correct test results.”

He looks at me sadly. He must give this look to at least one other poor, unsuspecting victim a day. Probably more.

“Frank…”

I turn look to the man sat in the chair beside mine. His face is just as blank. No emotion. It’s like staring into nothingness.

“It’s alright.”

How can he even say that? This can never be right. I throw my hands in the air. Anger, frustration, agony radiates through my body, an unfamiliar sensation tingling from my fingers to my toes.

“No, Gee, it’s not alright!”

I drop my arms back down, rubbing my sweaty palms in the side of my jeans. Wriggling my fingers, I try to shake the abnormal burning itch.

“I can’t lose you. I can’t let that happen!”

He grabs hold of my hand. An aching need to be comforted. He grips on even tighter when I don’t sit down. I let out a long sigh, my breathing beginning to even out. Not calm — still nowhere near calm. Just not as irregular as before.

“Frank, please.”

Looking at him again, his begging expression, I realise how selfish I’m being. I shouldn’t be the one ranting and raving about how unfair life is. The doctor isn’t talking about me after all. I’m not the one who has just received a death sentence.

Deep in his eyes I see a pain that is even stronger than what is visible on my features. I can see how scared he is. Scared beyond anything I could be feeling. Whispering a quietI’m sorry, I push away everything and focus only on him. Kneeling in front of him, I wrap my arms around him, pulling him tightly to my chest.

He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t even make a sound. His body is numb. Frozen. He just holds onto me, his fists balling in my shirt, clinging to me for dear life. The only thing I can’t give him. I can comfort him, I can hold him, but I can’t give him what he needs. A cure. A chance to prolong his dramatically shortened life.

We stay like this for as long as Gerard needs. His forehead is resting against my neck, his breath ghosting the bare skin around the collar of my t-shirt. He lets go of the material and his fingers begin to curl in my hair. His chin moves to rest on my shoulder.

I’m fully aware of the doctor sat behind the desk in front of us, but I don’t care. He can wait, and luckily for us he seems to understand. The only audible sound is the ticking clock and Gerard’s long, shallow breathing. I rub my thumb up and down his spine, relaxing him in a way I know he likes.

As more time passes, his vice grip on me loosens, his mind finally letting go. His fingers leave my hair, and rest at the base of my neck. He looks deep into my eyes, pleading for something. But I don’t know what I can do. I can’t make any of this go away, all I can do is support him through this.

I press my lips to his dry, chapped ones, soft and sweet. As I go to pull away, he latches onto me again like this would be our last kiss. I kiss back just as forcefully as him. Silently telling him I will always be there for him.

“Please, don’t leave me.”

His voice is small and weak, barely above a whisper, panic and fear seeping through his words. I won’t give up on him. Not now, not ever. A stray tear falls from his eye, which I quickly wipe away with my thumb.

“I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

He smiles gently, but still tinged with sadness. His eyes dart to the desk behind me. I look behind me to see the doctor sat with tears in his own eyes. Maybe he is human after all. I place one more kiss to his forehead, before capturing his hand in mine and retaking my seat beside him. It’s time to face the music.

The doctor clears his throat, furiously blinking away the tears that formed as he witnessed our display of love and devotion. He leans forward supporting himself with his forearms. Flitting between the two of us, he looks deeply into both our eyes.

“Mr Way, I really am so sorry. For both of you.”

I believe what he says. I’ve never seen a doctor so remorseful before. This has become more than dealing out the bad news and then fixing what’s possible.

He begins a blur about treatment, radiotherapy, chemotherapy, size, location, chances of survival, other medical jargon that I don’t completely understand. But I listen. I listen as intently as I can. I need to pay attention, to keep up with what is being said. I need to listen because I know Gerard isn’t.

His face is hidden behind my shoulder, blocking out the voice, pretending not to listen. Trying to ignore what is happening to him. I can’t say I blame him. I want more than anything to be at home curled up on the sofa, sprawled out watching movies, lying in Gerard’s arms. I don’t want to be here listening to how my boyfriend, the love of my life, is dying.

“I don’t want to die, Frank.”

It’s now I begin to hear his tears, his crying whimpers. My breath catches in my throat, my heart slowly breaking even more as I know I can do absolutely nothing to fix this. Never in my life have I felt so useless. I am powerless. I run my fingers through the hair that is still visible and not hidden behind me.

“I know, babe, I know. I don’t want you too either.”

Pathetic. That’s what I am. Fucking pathetic. I have no idea what to do or what to say. I look to the doctor for help. This time my eyes are pleading with him. I need to know there’s a chance he will live. That’s what Gerard needs to hear. Reassurance. He needs to hear from the expert that he’ll live.

He’s silent. No words, no sounds to be heard from the man in a white coat. We’re both holding our breath’s waiting for him to speak. He looks at me because Gerard is still hiding. He pushes the glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. He shuffles through the papers in front of him, scans and test results. Double-checking his prognosis before delivering the next piece of news.

“Mr Way, it seems that we have caught this relatively early.”

I eye him dangerously. Relatively early? That doesn’t sound good. Gerard whimpers again, gripping tighter to my arm, clearly thinking the same thing as me.

“But this is a good thing.”

Gerard sits up quickly, looking at him just as confused as me. How can this be a good thing? I’m not an idiot, I know that if it’s not caught early enough it can metastasise and spread to other parts of the body. Then what hope is there?

“The tumour hasn’t spread, and it is in a very operable position. With an operation to remove the tumour and a course of chemotherapy, we should be able to fight this. The chances are good.”

Now both of us are crying, the tears pouring harder and faster from Gerard’s eyes. I throw my arms around Gee, holding him tighter than I ever have before. The word,cancer, it brings the worst fear to mind. Death. But now the doctor says they can fix this. He hasn’t been handed a death sentence. There is hope!

“I want to set up the operation as soon as possible.”

We both nod our heads, unable to speak through the tears of hope. The sooner, the better. They need to get that thing out of him as soon as possible.

“The day after tomorrow.”

Gerard freezes up again in my arms. The day after tomorrow… That’s sooner than I anticipated. I thought next week, not two days. This time Frank, say something productive. Reassure him. Do at least one worthwhile thing today.

“It will be okay, Gee. They know what they’re doing. The sooner they operate, the sooner we can move on with our lives and get back to normal. Maybe we can take that trip to Italy we’ve always talked about.”

He gives a small smile, nodding his head again. We’ve always talked about going to Italy. Gee has always wanted to visit; to see the landmarks, experience the culture. But we never seemed to get round to it. We’ve always been busy with other things. Something has always got in the way. This time, it happens to be cancer.

“I-I’m scared.”

We laugh lightly, both knowing how much it took for him to admit that. One thing I have learnt over the years of knowing Gerard as a friend, then as a boyfriend, he doesn’t like to show weakness. What man does? I mean any type of problem, getting him to talk about it was like getting blood from a stone. Impossible. He’d rather pretend nothing is wrong and hide his head in the sand. That has been the fuel for so many arguments.

“I know, babe, but we can get through this. The two of us. Okay?”

He nods his head, agreeing eagerly. After a pause, his voice becomes low, just a whisper.

“Frank?”

His eyes glance down to our interlocked fingers resting in between our bodies. I place my hand on his face, cupping his cheek, lifting his gaze back to me.

“Thank you.”

It’ s a simple statement that says so much. I don’t want to be thanked. I will be here for him until the world stops turning. He is my life, and without him in it, or even the thought of being without him, makes for a very dim future. A place I don’t want to be. I should be saying thank you to him.

Notes

This, of course, is also on Mibba. I don't have any more MCR specific stories, but over on Mibba, there is a multi-pairing/band story, involving Frank and Gerard!
Let me know your thoughts on this story; is there anything that could be improved with my writing?
This will be my only story on this site, since I have moved on from MCR fanfiction.

Hope you enjoyed!