Glass Angel.

Stick Me Together With Candle Wax.

Mikey crashed into his hotel room, slamming the door shut and kicking the leg of the desk in front of him. His fist collided with the wall above his bed, but he barely flinched as the skin was ripped from his knuckles. The bassist clambered over the cream covers, exactly like those Gerard had lain on in his own room, to the sash window, the duplicate of which Ray had sat in hours before. He pressed both palms flat onto the glass, looking out onto the city. Darkness was here, with only the ghost of a sunset behind the skyline of Boston. The black skyscrapers and tower blocks silhouetted on the darkest hues of indigo bled into ink red and burnt orange.

On the streets, far below, lurid fluorescent signs began blinking, luring passing customers into tacky bars in dank basements, reeking of sweat and bodies and vomit. On the highway, car headlights screeched past in a blur. The street beneath the hotel wound, black, smooth tarmac, through the city; up and across the countryside. He looked at the stretching monotonous surface and for a split second in his head; flesh tore, bones splintered and smashed and blood ran in gory rivers to the gutter. His hand travelled to the window catch, tracing the embellished metal between his finger tips. He lifted his leg up to rest a chuck clad foot on the edge of the windowsill. Ceasing of consciousness.

“Mikey… Why do you always have to try and do everything Gerard does, huh? Grandma Rush lifted the small boy onto the table and examined his bleeding knee, “I know he’s your big brother, but that doesn’t mean you should copy everything he does. He doesn’t always do things that are very good for him… and they most certainly aren’t good for you, my darling.

He let go of the catch and stepped back. No. Nothing good could come of that. They already had one corpse to deal with. And then there was, “Alicia,” he breathed.

Mikey couldn’t face his parents right now, he couldn’t destroy them like that tonight. Leave it ‘til morning. ‘Let Gerard kill them as well, at the start of a new day instead,’ he thought, bitterly. Wasn’t all the hurt he’d caused already enough? No… he couldn’t do it, not right now. But, he needed to talk to somebody, or he’d explode. His glance caught the window again; he needed to talk to somebody or he’d do something really stupid.

He reached for his Sidekick and pressed the first speed dial key. He felt his heart slow as he flopped down onto his bed, the regularity of the ringing tone calming him. She picked up,

“Hello?”

“Alicia! Hey, it’s me…”

“Yeah, I know. I got us a new phone with caller ID.” He smiled in spite of himself. She sounded so pleased with herself, buying things for her first home, their home. “I just got it out the box and stuck all the numbers in it. You’re the first person to ring!”

“Yeah, that’s great, babe.” He tried to sound pleased, excited even, but his voice sounded more distant than ever.

“You okay?” Her voice sharpened.

“Oh…” He tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out of his mouth. He choked, tears suddenly stung his eyes. He tried to start his sentence again but his tongue wasn’t doing what he told it to.

“Mikes?” She sounded worried and Mikey knew he was scaring her. “What’s up?”

“It’s just…” he paused, breathing deeply, “Gerard.”

“Oh.” Alicia’s voice was quietly resigned, “Is he… okay?”

“No.”

“Mikey – what’s wrong with him?” She sounded deliberately calm and he heard the crush of the sofa as she sat down.

“He’s gone.”

What? Where?”

Fact: the morgue. Laid down on a cold, hard slab ready for the plane journey to Jersey the next day.

“He’s dead, Al.”

But… who knew where Gerard was, really? Not the flesh and blood, skin and bone of him, with it’s translucent skin and mess of black hair; not that, but Gerard. The addict, the survivor, the artist, the hero, the insomniac, the leader - where was all that stuff… burnt up? Extinguished like a snuffed out candle flame? One minutes burning bright and then, the next, consumed by itself or strangled through lack of air.

“He’s dead? Oh… God. Fuck.” She gulped tears down and he waited silently on the other end of the phone for her to calm down. After a few moments, she sniffed and swallowed loudly. “Oh, Mikes, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” he answered darkly; a bitter, unforgiving edge to his voice.

“Mikey, what happened?”

He could hear, even now, in her voice, there was a glimmer of realisation. He wanted, so badly, to tell her that no, he hadn’t, that it was just an accident and he’d been run-over, anything – except, he had.

“An over-dose. He took his depression tablets with a bottle of vodka.”

“Oh, Mikey…”

“I found him; on his bed in his room. He was so still… so cold.” He didn’t know why he was still talking, why he was telling her all this making her go through it with him, step by step… but with every word that came spilling out of his mouth, like a poison serpent sliding over his lips, he felt calmer. It was cathartic letting it all go. As if by telling her, he was somehow cleansed; so he kept on and on… Alicia listened, only speaking every so often when the words ran into each other and each breath was the next as well.

“Okay,” she’d breathe into his ear, “Okay.”

She’d say it and then she was the only person in the world that mattered; his Alicia, his wife. He slowed down, taking deep breathes, but even so, he couldn’t stop telling her what he’d seen, how he’d felt…

“I left him in the morgue, Al. I don’t even remember calling a cab, or getting in, but then I was at the hotel entrance and I saw, Brian, waiting. I just couldn’t speak to him, I walked straight past him. Then he grabbed my arm and I could see him talking, but I couldn’t hear a thing. All I could think about was what he said last time… how sorry he was! He fucking promised me he’d never do it again. I’m his brother! I was his brother… I should’ve known. When he started drinking again. Why didn’t I make him stop? I should’ve realised how bad it had got…”

“Okay,” she whispered, taking deep breaths, as doing it for him.

He followed her example, finding unwanted tears ran down his cheeks and down his neck, making the collar of his T-shirt damp. He leant his head back to headboard, imagining how good it would feel to have her arms round him again. He missed her; he needed her. More now. More because he’d heard her promise at the back of that stage, he’d heard her promise she’d never leave him.

To have and to hold,
for better, for worse,
'till death do us part.


He believed her. He believed her like he’d never believed Gerard. He had just… hoped. With Gerard everything was blind hope; like searching for a black flame in the darkness.

A/N: Sorry, this is kinda weird... it was huuuge chapter, that I wasn't sure how to cut down. In fact I'm still not sure how I'm going to start the next part. Bear with me and give me con-crit?
I'll love you forever I promise x].