Little Mini Bert

Bert felt an overwhelming sense of unease wash up and over his body, eyes skimming the entire venue for any sign of a small, four-legged creature. “Oh fuck. No. No. No. Where’d she go?”

Jeph stumbled over and put a hand on his shoulder, expressing his concern for the horse, but Bert shrugged it off in a gentle manner and quietly asked for their help and eyesight. Eight eyes were better than two, he told them.

No more than five minutes passed before the lights were becoming too bright and the hall was getting bigger and bigger. The butterflies in his stomach weren’t just settling in the pit of his belly; they were seeping their way up to his throat. All of the negative emotions and thoughts made Bert too flustered to continue searching within the actual building.

He told Quinn he was going outside to check the area, because there was always that chance. He didn’t tell him it was sort of an excuse to get out of the confines of that cramped, sweaty place for a desperate cigarette too. Quinn put a hand on his shoulder before he had chance to disappear, telling him it’d be fine and that they were going to find her before scurrying off amongst the crowd to look for the tiny creature.

Taking the short set of steps towards the doors, Bert repeatedly said ‘horsie’ in a hushed tone only he could hear. It was only when the doors had finally clicked securely shut that he looked both ways and whispered the word once again.

“Horsie?”

Bert was greeted with nothing but the sharp whip of winter wind. He tried to ignore it as it nipped at his bare skin and started rummaging through available pockets for a packet of cigarettes, hoping he hadn’t left them backstage. He was safe, however, and quickly lit up with shaky hands. He wouldn’t lie to himself; he was worried. Worried and jittery out of his skin as he walked over to the curb and sat upon the cold concrete edge. He smoked in silence as his eyes traveled up and down the streets for any sign of life, a thousand thoughts floated through his head in a muddled mess. Where was his horse? Was she okay? What if something happened? Why the fuck did he come outside without a jacket? Why was the road so deserted?

Mostly it was those same questions running in a circle, and with each cycle he only grew more pessimistic with each scenario in which his little horse could be.
-
Gerard swirled the sugarcoated candy in his mouth, lemon scent sticking to his nostrils. He had managed to slip out of the local record store only moments before, where Mikey was searching for backtracked Placebo albums. Or some other band he loved just as much. It was fun for Gerard while it lasted, at least. He flicked through some of his old favorites and new potential artists, deciding to pick up something special for Ray as an afterthought. The part that wasn’t fun was when a bunch of teenage girls, buzzed and sweaty, bounded into the shop. All of them head to toe in The Used merch.

Gerard wasn’t a laid back sort of guy, let it be known. He may have given the vibe, especially at concerts, but he was far from it. It was no surprise when a bout of anxiety forced itself into his stomach and messed with his senses. He’d had trouble with Used fans before, ever since the bust-up between him and Bert, and sometimes he wished people would just, you know, get over it. The last time he checked, that matter was between them and no one else.

He had ambled over to where Mikey was mooching around, informed him that he was going outside for a smoke, and swiped a flimsy plastic bag of assorted lollipops of Mikey’s messenger bag. He suspected nothing as Gerard swiftly made his way out the door as inconspicuously as possible. He was pretty sure he heard a couple of the girls giggling as one of them muttered in a coy voice, ‘Mikey Way? From My Chemical Romance? Could I have your autograph, please?’ before the glass door shut completely.

Yeah, okay, maybe he did feel a little bit guilty now for doubting some of his band’s fans just because of what they were wearing. He wouldn’t have done it purposefully, but he let paranoia take over for a moment and was in no mood to take it on. He considered tossing the candy in favor of the cigarette he had said he was walking outside for.

Mikey would cover anyway.

So there he was, a lemon lollipop hanging loosely from his lips as he tried to warm up a small horse that would not stop nudging into his side, making his rib sore.

“Hey, hey, stop that,” he’d keep repeating through a smile, his hand ghosting the tip of the horse’s nose. He had smelt the faint stench of hard liquor and musk when he had approached the small thing, watching it ram its forehead into trashcans in a cut off alley. Gerard had a pretty good idea of how that could have come about. He later realized The Used were playing in town (which would definitely explain the girls), and he found it a little disheartening – disappointing, even – that Bert would let an animal be pieced together with alcohol.

If Gerard hadn’t been so wrapped up with his own private thoughts, he may have heard the soft, cautious thudding of footsteps that head his way.

“…Way? What the fuck are you doing?”

Gerard jumped, the muddle of words in his hand forgotten in flash, but subtly composed himself as he turned to the voice. He hadn’t heard that gravelly accent in months. “Bert?”

Bert was standing at the entrance of the alley, freshly lit cigarette caught in between his teeth and arms stiffly draped by his sides. He looked exactly the same, Gerard noticed, exactly the same from when they had cursed, quarreled, and agreed to haul the whole thing down before it got out of hand. He was still wearing that same sneer at this very moment.

“Bert McCracken to you.” He reached to grab his cigarette, and a thick wisp of smoke tumbled from his mouth when he next spoke. “Now what are you doing here, and why are you keeping my sanity hostage?” He pointed the tip of cherry red smolders to the horse, which was now attempting – and failing – to jump over Gerard’s stretched out legs for entertainment.

“Small world.” Gerard brought his knees to chest. “And for your information, your horse found its way to me. Not the other way around.”

“Why would she do that? You’ve got nothing that would appeal to her.” Bert took a few steps into the alley. He was conscious of what was coming; both of them were. However, he made no effort to stop the words spewing from his throat. “Well, you do have that defined horse face. That could count for something.”

Gerard wrinkled his nose. “Oh, you’re a riot, Bert. Always were. Weren’t always too good on the comebacks when you really needed them though.”

“Shut up.” Bert’s eyes widened when he saw the white stick clasped between Gerard’s lips. “Why are you smoking around my horse? What kind of shit is that?”

“Have you been drinking booze around your horse?” Gerard spat, now standing. “Kinda irresponsible, don’t you think?”

“How can you even say that? How dare you insinuate that?!” Bert paused suddenly. “Maybe that’s more like something of your criteria, Gerard. You know.”

The horse’s presence had vanished in the midst of dazed frustration at this point. Unaccustomed to this level of fighting (or any fighting for that matter), all she could do was wearily eye the two men conflicting side by side.

“Fuck you, Bert.” Gerard was fuming, the points of his ears shaded pink with colored cheeks to match. Bert had hit a sore spot, and he knew it. “You’re using that shit against me, I can do that right back at you. You’re not so fucking picture perfect either.”

He salved his dry lips with spit, and continued, “At least I don’t share crack with the one thing I’m most responsible for.”

Bert pursed his lips, but still his eyes pierced through the tension with the foulest scorn he could muster. He made sure Gerard was in full eyesight, for him to see the blue-green shade of his eyes sharpen. He wanted him to know, wanted to show him, wanted to physically pull him by the hair and scream at him how much he hated his former friend’s flesh and guts right now. It only started getting nervous when the heat and intensity of the argument had died down, and both men were apprehensive of what was to be spoken first.

“I’m leaving before things get any worse.” Gerard used his teeth to crack the candy off of the stick and dropped it in the snow around his feet. He made to stumble past Bert without any pleasant or inappropriate send off, just to leave in peace and let this particular moment pass with time. And find Mikey, too, who was probably still in the store.

Bert had other ideas. Noticing that Gerard was intending to leave all of what had just happened unfinished, he reacted by leaning his hand against the brick wall, forming a barrier preventing Gerard access to the open street. “You’re going? Just like that? Nuh uh, man. You’re not getting out that easily.”

“Stop being a bitch, Bert. Look, would it help if I said I was sorry?” Bert stayed quiet, making Gerard sigh. “Okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned anything about drugs. Let me go now?”

“That wasn’t very heartfelt.” Bert made no effort to move his arm and idly began to smoke his own stump of burning ash (which, quite honestly, would be scorching his fingers right about now had he not remembered it was there).

“Bert, move.”

“No.”

“Move.”

“C’mon. Your smartass remark really hurt. The least you could do is say sorry properly.”

Gerard eyebrows tugged upwards. “I take it you’re being sarcastic. I mean, let’s face it, it takes a lot for you get to get really hurt.”

“Nice going, genius. Figure that out on your own?”

“Fucking move.” Gerard took the approach of prodding and tugging at Bert’s wrist to provoke him first. The man was shorter than him, yet he had the arm strength of a boulder. To a certain extent, it reminded him of Frank.

“Please?” Gerard almost begged. Bert turned his head. “I won’t insult you anymore. Personally, anyway.”

Gerard hadn’t meant it intentionally. He really didn’t. But when that lingering of resentment surged into impatience, he may have shoved just a little too hard on Bert’s upper arm, causing him to lose his footing – and his cigarette – in the process.

“Jesus!”

Gerard extended an arm to help, but Bert shrugged him off before he got the chance.

“What was that? Thanks a lot, Gerard, you’ve knocked my last cigarette on the ground. I only could have gotten a ton more puffs out of that. That’s just really stupid.”

Gerard stood in an awkward stance, unsure whether to stop and listen to what his friend had wanted to say or to disappear there and then. In the end, he leaned against the wall and folded his arms, now paying attention. “What do you want, Bert?”

What did Bert want?

Bert wanted Gerard to stop being a jerk. Hell, he wanted to stop being a jerk. His stern look wavered a bit as he recalled the way things used to be, before all their pointless fighting destroyed everything. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he wanted to go back to the way things were. Maybe not exactly how it was, but he at least wished they could be civil to each other. Maybe even friends.

His arm dropped away from the wall, shaving some ice off the bricks as he did so.

“That’s a good question.”

One corner of Gerard’s mouth tilted upwards in a smirk. “Would a cigarette help?” he asked, drawing the box out of one pocket and holding it open. Bert hesitated at first, but took one of the thin sticks and held it between his teeth as he fumbled for his lighter. Before he found it, he noticed a short flame flickering in front of his face, and just barely caught the bright-eyed smirk on Gerard’s face as he took the lighter from the black-haired man. He held it loosely between his fingers as he slowly inhaled and let the tainted smoke fill his lungs. It was the same lighter he had custom-ordered for Gerard all that time ago, complete with his friend’s name engraved into the silver plating just underneath the stylized picture of a lemon Bert always joked that he smelled of.

“Hey,” Gerard’s voice lowered somewhat, and Bert opened his eyes to look at the figure standing in front of him. “It just sort of came into my head right now, but do you remember that first week where you kept calling my phone in the dead of night and proclaimed yourself to be ‘the dirty sandman’ whenever I picked up?”

Bert continued to peer over at him before sniggering as everything appeared to come rushing back from those nights. “Haha, yeah,” he drawled. “I was the dirty sandman that’d crawl into your tour bus when you were sleeping and draw on your face with permanent marker.”

Bert gradually slid his back down the wall, the stray cotton of his shirt catching on the grooves of the brick. He let himself fall until he was up on the balls of his feet and propped against the wall. “You kind of ruined it for me when you got Bob on me, though.”

Gerard decided to follow suit and sat up next to Bert. Not too close, though. “I didn’t do that. Bob was getting pissed because you kept waking him up, so he told me to tell you to quit it or he’d sure as hell do it himself.”

“So you gave the phone to Bob. Wuss.” He hid a smirk behind his cigarette. “But, hey, who was the jackass that constantly kept sending me terrible texts all night and then calling the next day?”

Gerard looked down at the floor, smiling, and didn’t say a word at all.

“Yeah, thought so. Mature role models of year, we are.” Bert took another drag off the cigarette, thinking. “Why did we start fighting, anyway?”

“If I remember correctly, it was because I tried to get you off the drugs and you wouldn’t listen.”

Bert let out a short, stiff laugh. “Actually, Gerard, I think it was because you dumped $400 worth of crack down the drain and wouldn’t pay me back for it.”

“See what I mean?!” Gerard shouted suddenly, startling the little horse, who was now nibbling at the corner of his long jacket. “Why are you still on that shit, Bert? You don’t need it!”

“You think I’m proud of this?!” Bert yelled back. A still silence filled the air around them, mediated only by the horse’s quiet whuffling noises as it begged for attention. “You just don’t understand.”

“I understand just fine.” Gerard gave him what appeared to be a glare, but the tones of hurt and disappointment overpowered his face. “You know, it always did make you smell funny.”

“And you’re lemon-scented, but you don’t see me complaining.” Bert picked up the little horse and began walking away, leaving Gerard alone in the snow. He went back to the bar, taking the same entrance he had hours earlier and ending up backstage. Quinn, Jeph, and Dan were anxiously waiting for him.

“Oh, good, you found her,” Quinn said with relief, trying to pry the baby from Bert’s arms. Bert just hugged her closer, brushing a few snowflakes from her cold nose as he walked away.

Within minutes he was driving home, the horse seated very comfortably next to him and wrapped up in a blanket. Instead of blasting the radio as usual, Bert kept it toned down and on some classical station. He was hoping not to wake the baby up.

He shifted slightly to relieve a pain against one leg, finally realizing it was something in his pocket. He pried the object from his pocket and dropped it into the drinking holder, hearing a clink as it landed. It took him a full five seconds to realize he still had Gerard’s lighter.