Make A Wish

He was not good with children. That was one reason he thanked the gods above him that he was gay and not straight. No chance of having children, unless he married a psychopath that wanted to adopt. No bloody way that was going to happen. It wasn't like he could stay in a permanent relationship long enough for that. It was just too bloody hard.

"You should go after him," Bert murmured into his ear suggestively. "Stop thinking and just go after him. I'd enjoy seeing you have to grovel and beg a bit. All this bloody fan worshipping is making you a complete prick."

Gerard glared at him. "What makes you think I'll do that?"

Bert smirked. "You'll have to if you want him to even look at you seriously. He may be a huge fan of yours but he isn't like one of those drooling fangirls. If he has an ounce of pride, he'll make you crawl on your hands and knees. You deserve to. I may be malicious, but christ, Gerard-- he's terminally ill! Could you be more cruel to him? More of a heartless bastard?"

Terminally ill people hit close to home for Bert, Gerard knew. Mikaila, his wife had died from breast cancer ten years ago. While he hadn't been madly in love with her, he had loved her-- they'd been best friends. All three of them had been great friends. Bert had been devastated when she'd died.

There was nothing Gerard could say to deny what Bert had said. He had been a complete bastard to the boy, and he really hadn't meant to be. If he had known the child was there in the room, he wouldn't have said what he'd said. It wasn't like he wanted to hurt the boy's feelings; he just needed to get his frustration vented out at Bert. The aim had been to relieve his anger before he met up with his fan so he wouldn't lose his temper.

There was nothing to do but grumble. Which Gerard did as well as running his hand violently through his silky raven locks to give his hands something to do. "At least I'm not slimy and sly."

Clutching his heart dramatically, Bert faked a hurt expression with the ease of a well versed actor. "Your words wound me, Gee." Gerard narrowed his eyes, he hated when Bert shortened his name. A fact Bert was quite familiar with. "They really do. I've got scars from the sharpness of your tongue; imagine what you did to poor Frank who isn't accustomed to it?"

Words were Bert's favourite weapons and he was far too skilful at using them. Then again, Bert always did have a talented tongue. Just thinking about Bert's talents made him recall their past pleasurable liaisons. Maybe he'd take Bert up on his offer. It'd been a long while since he'd relieved himself sexually. That might explain his foul temper. It was starting to get to him.

"You need to go after him," Bert reminded him, his expression not bemused anymore but grave. An upset terminally ill kid was nothing to laugh about. "You won't get any peace of mind 'til you do."

~

It was a striking sight, seeing the crushed young man standing next to the expanse of glass that oversaw an excellent view of London overhead. Grave, solemn expression that didn't suit his boyish though classically sculpted cheekbones. A beautiful boy, his father would certainly eat him up. If his tastes ran in that direction, he might have been severely tempted.

Even if he wasn't so inclined, it was hard to deny the young man's beauty. But he was unfortunately straight. It didn't stop him from appreciating the graceful form however. McCraggens enjoyed the finer things in life.

"He didn't mean what he said," Matt murmured softly, not wanting to startle the young man. "He was just trying to rankle my father," he tried to explain, though it sounded like a lame excuse. "He really does care about his fans. It's just that he doesn't socialize well."

"I know that," Frank said with a small smile. It was as he turned to smile at the elegant blond that he noticed the magnificent grand piano situated in the far corner. It called to him like the music that hummed in his veins. Addictive compulsion. He had to move to the piano, had to touch it.

Matt watched in utter fascination as Frank ran his fingers lightly over the keys. The reverence paid was like that of a lover's gentle touch. It was aching similar to the way Gerard treated his instruments. Funny coincidence.

"Do you play?"

The voice broke the intensity of the pull, but it didn't dissolve it. It did however bring Frank out of his daze. He looked up from his absorbing study of the piano and met sapphire eyes with his own emerald ones. "I play."

"Why don't you play something for me?" Matt offered amicably.

Frank hesitated, thinking Gerard Way wouldn't like having a stranger playing on his piano. But what the hell? Who cared! He hurt, might as well play-- it'd temper his raging emotions. Only music had the ability to soothe him. He found himself nodding and saw Matt grinning out of the corner of his eye. Here goes nothing. Poising his fingers over the keys, he thought momentarily what he would play.

Classical? No, he needed something edgier. Snappier. It seemed only fitting to play one of Way's compositions on his precious piano. Sweet justice. Crashing his fingers with the precision of a master piano player, the piano sang the dark melody-- haunting and devious of the broody yet smashing successful single of "Living in Nightmares."

~

"This is for you," Bob said softly, not wanting to disturbed the harmonic scene that one of his very favourite patients made sitting on the window sill letting the wind blow through her long dark hair. Lily looked very good considering what she'd just come out of a few days before. "It's from Frank." He handed Lily the square white envelope. "I thought you might like to have it after your transplant surgery."

Lily had heard a lot about Frank, he was the boy that was giving her a chance to live. It was too good of him to give her a gift like this when his own life was slipping out of his fingers. She didn't know if she could be as selfless as him even if the probability of the transplant succeeding was as low as it was. It was still something, and by giving this up-- he had nothing.

It was a miracle when she had first heard word. Her parents had lost hope; she had lost faith. But out of the blue, Bob had called her to tell her that their was a bone marrow that matched hers. That another one of her patients was passing over the bone marrow for her since it matched her so well even though he was next in line. Even though, theoretically the bone marrow matched him well enough for him to be the first one to get it, considering how long he'd been on the list.

But he'd let her because it almost guaranteed she'd live. It was a close to perfect match, such things like this didn't happen often. Rarely was there an 85 chance of success. It was a miracle. She smiled at Bob sweetly. So far everything was going excellently. It looked like her body was accepting the donation as her own bone marrow. "I'd like that very much. Thank you." She took the envelope and carefully opened it. A note and a CD. She looked at the note first.

It read: Never give up. Never. I'm rooting for you. Believe that a miracle's arrived. – Frank Iero.

She glanced down at the CD, wondering what was on it. She then looked up at Bob with a questioning expression, thinking that he might be able to explain. "Frank plays music. I think he recorded something for you."

"Oh." Lily touched the CD lightly, immensely touched by the endearing gesture. Such a sweet boy, she hoped a miracle came for him. She popped the CD into her Sony Discman. She pushed the play button and the song burst out into her headphones. Soft and beautiful, harmonic. At first she thought it was merely instrumental when a throaty voice yet sweet sounding voice filled her eardrums. It must be Frank's voice. A good though not great voice. Not a true singer's voice but more than decent.

It wasn't his voice that made her want to listen to the song. No, it was the hypnotic music in the background and the beautiful lyrics. The message of the song was so uplifting; it was exactly what she needed after her surgery. It was the perfect song for the moment. So optimistic, when she did have hope rising in the horizon.

Wishes are for dreamers

Dreams are for believers

But what is left to believe in?

That a miracle is coming

Faith remains to those who are faithful

Mercy comes to those who are merciful

You get what you give

People say life isn't fair

I don't believe them

Life isn't always fair

But it isn't always rotten either

Wishes are for dreamers

Dreams are for believers

But what is left to believe in?

That a miracle is coming

It's coming for those who believe

What is left to believe in?

That a miracle is coming

And it's coming, coming soon

Voice Out: I wrote this song when I was still innocent.
It's hard to believe, but I want to think life's still decent.

As the song finished she felt one solitude tear make its way down her cheek.

‘Thankyou’ she thought. ‘thankyou’.