A Love Song For The Things I Didn't Do

"A band," Gerard said, sipping his coffee and flinching when it burnt his lips. "We should think about starting one."

"A band," Aly repeated slowly. She sat back in her chair and let it digest. She'd spent the past four years of her life watching crappy bands play and even sometimes, she was jealous of the crappiest for having the passion that she sorely lacked. Passion was what she wanted and purpose and she was starting to see Gerard's point.

She found herself nodding, before she could even construct an audible sentence and blurting, "Yes."

"Yes?" He echoed hopefully.

"Yes," she confirmed.

It was September 12th and they were still at his parents' house, alone at the breakfast table. This day was monumental, Gerard decided. Waking up next to Aly had never been so refreshing, seeing her alive, unharmed, and smiling.

He leaned forward in his seat and took in the sight of her. Even clad in one of his oversized shirts with her hair thrown back sloppily, she was beautiful. There was hope in her tired eyes and it settled him.

"I'm glad you took those drum lessons," he said, going back to the band.

She was instantly sinking in her seat. "Who am I kidding, Gerard? I'm not good enough to be in a band. I hardly thought this through..."

"What? You're already second guessing it?" he asked, shocked that roughly thirty seconds in, Aly was doubting herself.

"I've never played in front of a crowd...and it's been so long since I've been near a drum set."

"Stop that," he interjected firmly.

"What?"

"Stop cutting yourself short. I've watched you do that ever since we were kids. Stop being so hard on yourself for once, would you?"

She stared at her hands, folded on the table and she thought about it. She knew that with Gerard's creative energy and with both of their determination, they could make this work. With the right people and the right perspective, this could be...easy even.

Finally, she looked up at him and held his gaze. "I'll do it. We can do this."

"You can't back out," he warned. "Promise me now that you won't."

"I promise you with all of my heart that I will not back out. Scout's honor."

"Alright," he said, seemingly satisfied with her answer. "I thought of some people last night that we should call. Toro, for sure. You remember him."

Of course, she remembered him. It'd been so long since she'd caught a whiff of Ray, though. Last she heard, he was attending some tech trade school in southern New Jersey.

"He was a killer guitar player," Gerard explained. "I've stayed in pretty good touch with him."

"Frankie," Aly remembered suddenly. "He wrote me some long, sad e-mail about how his band split. He's absolutely desperate to get his hands on some new project."

Gerard had never liked Frank and didn't have any problem admitting it. For that, he frowned hesitantly. "I don't think so, Al..."

"You always hated him for all the wrong reasons," Aly said in a small voice. "It was because I dated him that made you never give him a chance. He's not bad though, Gerard. And he can sing."

"I hate his voice."

"You do not. You're just saying that because you have jealousy issues."

He scowled. "His voice is whiny, you can't deny that."

"Fine then. You sing, if you think you're so much better," she challenged, only half-seriously.

"Fine," he accepted, shrugging as if it was nothing. "I'll sing twice as good as your precious Fwankie."

It was Aly's turn to scowl and she did so dramatically.

"I was thinking I should call Mikey, too. He plays bass," Gerard prattled on, ignoring Aly's sour frown.

"So Frank's not going to be in it. You're not going to give him a chance," she summed up bitterly.

"We don't need him, Aly. We've got you on drums, me on vocals, Mikey on bass, and Ray on guitar. He'd just get in the way."

"You never listen to me," she muttered.

"I'm listening. I just don't understand you interest in Frank..."

"No, you never listen," she hissed. "Last week even, you brought that stupid chair into our apartment after I told you no. You don't listen, because you're stubborn."

It was true that just a week ago, they'd found a crudely embellished recliner next to their apartment building.

"It's perfect!" Gerard had tried to reason, but Aly wasn't having it. She kept on her way to the door, but Gerard grabbed onto her wrist. "It'd look great by the futon, Al! Come on, it's just sitting here, begging us to take it..."

"We are not bringing that into our home. Look at it, Gerard. It doesn't look...healthy."

"It's perfect," he continued to insist.

"No. Absolutely not."

But because he was Gerard, he waited until Aly went to pick up a few groceries and he dragged the beaten-down recliner all the way up to their apartment. He did a poor job of masking the smell with some spray and because he was stubborn, it was now a permanent piece of furniture in their apartment.

Aly was tired of never having a say, and now Frank was the dirty chair - the rotting piece of furniture that wasn't meant to be in their apartment. The short, sweet boy who belonged in their band.

"If you respect me at all, you'll let me at least talk to him about it," she said.

"Now you're just trying to prove something," he realized with a short sigh.

"Whatever I'm trying to do, just go with it for once? For me?"

And though he was stubborn and he absolutely detested the thought of having anything to do with Frank Iero, he agreed - because, well, he loved Aly and he couldn't resist her when she looked at him like that.

She batted her eyelashes for dramatic effect and he just rolled his eyes.

"Alright. We'll talk to him. Just for you."

As it turned out, everyone was more than willing to give the band a go. And (much to Gerard's dismay) Frank eagerly accepted, claiming he'd been playing the guitar since he was eleven and every band could use another guitar player.

They gathered and met for the first rehearsal at the trusty cafe after close. (Aly was eternally grateful that she had connections with the owners).

After the initial greetings and hugs, Frank and Ray began to tune their guitars and that's when it hit Gerard that this was happening.

He stepped back off the stage and took in the sight of them. They were awkward and unsure as of now, but give it time and they'd be beautiful. He could feel it in his bones.

The first rehearsal was spent covering their favorite songs and discovering their sound as a whole. They all agreed that they'd stick with it - whatever this was, that they'd just stumbled on.

So Gerard went home that night and wrote Skylines And Turnstiles and their beautiful, unnamed, awkward, and angst-ridden band was born.