I'm Just A Man, I'm Not A Hero

A combination of sunlight seeping through curtains and the feeling of a pair of lips pressed to his neck awoke Frank from his slumber that morning. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to fall back into a peaceful dreamland, but it was a vain attempt. The sensation on his neck was still there, insistent, followed by the tell tale sound of lips smacking against skin, and he knew just who’s lips they were.

Frank let out a blissful sigh, shuffling so that his back was more firmly pressed against the chest of his long-term boyfriend, encouraging him to carry on with his lethargic attack on Frank’s neck. Frank had met Gerard when he was in his second year of college, through a friend of a friend who’d finally managed to drag Gerard out of his basement/lair. Long enough for the two to realise how compatible they were and in later inspection, how perfect they were for each other.

But not even the most perfect couple in the world is immune to arguments, and Frank and Gerard were no exception. They could bicker like siblings for days on end if they really wanted to, but Frank would always be the one to break and apologise first; that was just the way it worked. If only they both weren’t so stubborn and short-tempered, especially in the mornings. This particular morning was no different, it was just a matter of time before something sparked between them.

Distracted by Gerard’s morning greeting, Frank almost forgot to check their alarm clock to see how much time he had left before he had to get up. Almost. His eyes widened at the sight of the time flashing on their alarm clock.

“Shit, Gee, I’m late! Fuck!” Frank all but shrieked, shoving Gerard’s arm off his waist and scrambling away from him altogether. He began to hurriedly search through his closet, shoving on a white button up shirt and a pair of black slacks whilst his boyfriend looked on in confusion.

“Babe, it’s Saturday; you don’t work Saturday’s.” Gerard informed him, a crease forming between his brows.

“I told you yesterday, I took Shaun’s shift today. Fuck, I told you to set the alarm!” Frank huffed, trying to tame his messy bed-head but giving up, toeing on his shoes and walking out into the hall, a now peeved Gerard on his heels.

“Oh and what, you’re not capable of setting the alarm yourself?”

“No but you always do it, it’s the only useful thing you do around here! I’m the one who has to work five days a week to feed us whilst you’re messing around with your paint set.”

“Hey! My art sells!” Gerard defended himself.

“Your art is stupid!”

“Your job is stupid!”

“Erg, I can’t deal with this right now, I’m fucking late as it is!”

“Well no one’s stopping you, so why don’t you just fuck off to your fancy little bank?!”

“Fuck you!” Frank snapped before grabbing his jacket and storming out of the house, letting the door slam obnoxiously loudly behind him.

As soon as he was outside, Frank immediately regretted what he’d said, guilt starting to eat him up inside. It was the same for Gerard on the other side of the door, now wallowing in remorse. They both said stupid things during their argument but were both too proud to apologise.

Letting out a loud sigh, Frank pulled out his keys and unlocked his 1979 Pontiac Trans Am, sliding into the black muscle car and revving the engine. Gerard and Frank both share the car since they both paid half for it, well worth the money in Frank’s mind. It wasn’t just the fact that it was the first car Frank had brought himself but that he’d brought it with Gerard that made it so special to him.

He sped off into the city, towards the bank where he worked; he didn’t exactly enjoy his job but it paid the bills and that’s what mattered. Once He’d managed to find a parking space, he then had to walk the two blocks back to the bank. Frank pushed open the front door, his eyes met with the sight of several clerks setting up for the day ahead. As inconspicuously as he could, Frank shuffled in the direction of his office but in his haste Frank had failed to notice one of the clerks, Jamia, walking in his path, carrying an armful of pamphlets.

“Shit! Mia, I’m so sorry!” Frank apologised, bending down to help her gather up the pile of pamphlets that had ended up on the floor.

“Y’know, this wouldn’t have happened if you were here on time,” She commented. Frank was about to start babbling out excuses when Jamia stopped him with a laugh “Frank, chill, it was a joke.”

Frank stood to his feet when they’d managed to pick up all the pamphlets “Again Jamia, I really am sorry.” He repeated profusely.

“Hey, no big deal,” She said, brushing it off as nothing “Oh yeah, you look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Frank grumbled, pushing open the door to his office, having every intention of hiding in there for the rest of the day.

“You don’t have to hide; the boss is running late as well,” Jamia reassured him, having followed him into his office shortly after sorting the pamphlets, placing a cup of coffee on his desk “But you might want to zip up your fly.” She added, trying to suppress another laugh.

Frank’s cheeks flushed crimson as he turned around to fix his slacks, mumbling a small “Thanks.” before collapsing at his desk, letting his face fall into the palms of his hands.

“Nobody’s this sad for being late for work, what’s the matter?”

Frank rubbed a hand over his face before sighing “I had another dumb fight with Gerard. I said his art was stupid, what kind of asshole am I?” He picked up the cup of coffee in front of him, sipping at it cautiously.

“Hey, it’ll all work out in the end,” She said, putting a comforting hand on Frank’s tense shoulder “Or you could just blow him on your lunch break.” Frank choked on his coffee at her words, Jamia simply smiled.

“That- That could work.” Frank nodded, putting the cup of coffee back onto his desk.

Jamia opened her mouth to speak when suddenly there were sounds of commotion outside, screams could be heard even through the door to Frank’s office. Frank jumped to his feet, Jamia in tow as they left his office, rounding the corner to reveal a horrific scene.

Five men, faces concealed by balaclavas stood in the middle of the bank, hands wielding glock 40’s.

“This is a hold up, everybody on the floor!” One of them yelled, aiming his gun at a group of employees.

Frank had a hand at Jamia’s shoulder immediately, trying to move her back down the hallway “Hide, now.” He whispered, backing away. But before they could get too far, they were spotted.

“Hey! Get your fucking hands up!” Frank and Jamia raised their hands without delay, neither used to having a gun pointed in their face. “C’mon, on the floor!” Very slowly, they both got to their knees and then lay flat out on the floor with the rest of the employees and a sparse few customers. Everyone was an open book right then, everyone’s face showed that they were scared, shit scared, of what their fate would be.

Frank was resting on his forearms, keeping an eye on the masked men as they rounded up everyone else onto the floor. They didn’t seem at all nervous in anyway, suggesting to Frank that they’d done this before; maybe not on this scale before but definitely something similar. The men then conversed quietly between themselves before two of the five left the group, heading into the back where Frank knew the main vault was located.

“Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention please!” One of the men announced, the one that seemed the most cocky, the one Frank believed to be the leader of the group “Now as many of you have probably already guessed, we’re not just your usual petty thieves; we’re after the big money. And we know that there’s some major cash in that vault back there. Only one problem though: we don’t have the fucking code! Now which one of you mother fuckers is gonna help us with that?!” He emphasized his point by firing his gun in the air a few times, making some of the women scream out in terror.

“So who is it?! Who’s the bitch that knows the fucking code?!” Another joined in, pointing his gun at a few of the employees, Frank’s work colleagues, his friends.

“The boss isn’t here! Nobody else knows the code!” An employee yelled out, Frank immediately recognising the voice as Craig.

“I’m sure that someone else has got to know something. Is it you, tough guy?” The leader asked, easy to recognise from being the tallest thief. He tugged Craig to a kneeling position and aimed his gun at Craig’s head, pressing it into his temple as Frank’s eyes widened. “Well?!”

“I don’t know anything, I swear!” Craig exclaimed, flinching away from the man’s harsh voice.

“Then why don’t I believe you?” The same thief asked in a sickly sweet tone of voice, bending down so that his face was level with Craig’s.

“Please! I swear I don’t know!”

“Then can you point me in the direction of someone who does?” Craig’s clenched shut eyes soon opened, glancing over to where Frank was laying. Frank was deputy manager of this branch, he was the only one here who was entrusted to know the code, and everyone here knew it. It was only a matter of time before someone gave him up. Frank watched on with fearful eyes as Craig broke their gaze and shook his head; he was trying to be a good friend by not giving up Frank but Frank knew what the consequences would be.

“Then you are of no use to use.” The man said before he pulled the trigger, shooting Craig in the head. His body fell back to the floor, laying lifeless as blood seeped from his head, eyes still open and vacant. Frank bit back a gasp whilst everyone else screamed once more, he couldn’t believe what had just happened. Craig had taken a bullet to the head in order to protect Frank, ever since he started working at the bank, Frank never really considered Craig a friend. But now he owes him his life.

“Unless one of you comes forward, we’re gonna have to do this the hard way. We’ll go through every last one of you until we get the answer we want, comprende?”

Meanwhile Gerard sat moping in front of the TV, his latest painting lay abandoned and unfinished on the easel on the other side of the room. He’d given up due to lack of inspiration, still feeling guilty about his argument with Frank that morning. He’s already tried calling him twice but gave up once he realised that Frank had left it at home in his rush.

Flipping through the channels filled with pointless daytime TV, Gerard eventually settled on the local news station. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

“Here in downtown Belleville, this Bank of America is under attack. All employees have been taken hostage by the group and we have reason to believe that a few civilians are with them as well. We’re currently unaware of exactly how many terrorists are in there but we’ll keep you updated. Back to you, Chuck.”

Gerard’s mouth was open in shock, the remote slipping from his fingers and onto the floor as he stared at the TV screen. Oh fuck he thought, Fuck, Frank’s in there with those maniacs! What if he gets hurt? What if- oh fuck.

“Fuck,” He whispered, his hands moving to his head, gripping onto his hair and tugging at it with lack of anything else to do, feeling completely and utterly useless “Fuck.” He repeated, quickly getting to his feet in search of his jacket and phone and shoes (he probably shouldn’t repeat going into town in his slippers) before rushing out of the front door of their house and to the nearest bus stop.

Back at the bank, the group of thieves were getting tired of receiving no answers and were only now showing that they were at least a bit smarter than they looked. One of them disappeared for a minute, returning with a grin on his disguised face and his eyes locked on Frank. This can’t be good Frank thought to himself.

The man whispered to the leader for a moment, both their eyes moving to Frank “Well well well,” The leader started, walking toward Frank “Looks like someone’s been keeping secrets from us,” Frank kept his eyes on the floor, refusing to look at him.

“Get the fuck up, shrimpy,” Frank complied with his orders, getting to his feet on shaky legs. But Frank wasn’t expecting the punch to the face along with the flare of pain it caused. He cursed under his breath, his hand coming up to his burning cheek as he tried to steady himself.

“You should’ve just told us in the first place, deputy manager.” Another blow to Frank’s face, this time making contact with his nose, the sickening sound echoing around the room. Frank lost his balance, falling to the floor without much grace. He groaned out in pain, feeling blood start to trickle out of his nose and down to his lip.

Frank dared a look up at his attacker, surprised to see that he had now removed his mask, revealing a buzz cut of brown hair and a pair of gaged ears. This could only mean one of two things, either these guys were as dumb as they looked and didn’t care about being caught or that they were going to kill him.

“What’s the code?” Buzz Cut asked him, gun still grasped in his left while his right had a tight grip on the scruff of Frank’s shirt. Frank didn’t respond, receiving a sharp slap to the face from the side of the glock 40, now able to taste blood in his mouth from his bitten cheek “I said, what’s the code?!”

“I don’t know.” Frank snapped at him, his face aching but not enough to stop him from being the stubborn asshole that he is.

“I don’t believe you,” Buzz Cut said, his foot coming forward to kick Frank in the stomach, knocking the air out of him, making him wheeze and curl up into the foetal position “But we’ll come back to you, shorty. Don’t think we’ll forget.” He added before walking back to the other two thieves, both having removed their masks also. One was considerably shorter than the other, the taller sporting a head of spiked black hair whilst the other had short purple and black locks hanging in his eyes.

Jamia still lay next to Frank, her eyes wide as she watched him cough, gasping for breath. She reached out a hand to her friend, rubbing his back, using another to losen his tie for him in hopes of soothing him; it seemed to work. Jamia couldn’t say that she didn’t think that Frank was being an idiot by trying to protect everyone, knowing that when these guys got what they wanted, the rest of them were done for. But she couldn’t help feeling a lot more respect for him now.

“Frank, you gonna be okay?” She whispered, keeping an eye on the 3 men in case they spotted her.

“I’m fine,” He responded, wiping some blood from his lips. He tried to block out the pain as he thought about today’s event, wishing that he’d never gotten out of bed that morning, wanting nothing more than to be curled up in Gerard’s arms right now “Mia?”

“Yeah?”

“If something happens to me,” He started, licking the bottom of his lip nervously “Tell Gerard that I’m sorry.”

Jamia smiled sadly at her friend “Tell him yourself.” Frank looked up at her, returning the smile.

“Can you shut the fucking kid up?” Purple head exclaimed angrily. Frank’s attention turned to the woman across the room, probably in her early thirties, who was trying to calm down a sobbing girl, no older than four years old. The child continued to cry loudly and Frank knew that it was testing purple head’s patience.

“For fucks sake!” Buzz Cut cursed, aiming his gun at the child. Now he’d gone too far.

“Wait!” Frank shouted, making Buzz Cut turn to look at him “I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you the code. Just don’t hurt them. Let everyone go and I’ll give you the code.”

Buzz Cut smirked “Glad we finally got somewhere with you, runt,” He commented, nodding to the other two guys “Do what he said, get all the hostages out of here,” the two guys looked at him, confused “Now!” Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum sparked into action, rounding up everyone in the room to their feet. Frank whispered a quick goodbye to Jamia before she was led out of the bank with the others.

Buzz Cut dragged Frank to his feet, pushing him in the direction of the vault “C’mon, shrimpy, tell me what I need to know and I won’t hurt you. Much,” Yeah, right. A gun was pressed into his back as Frank walked, eventually ending up in front of the steel vault which stretched right up to the ceiling. “Fucking do it already!” He was shoved closer, stumbling but able to quickly regain his composure.

Frank begrudgingly set to work, flipping open the key pad for the vault. He typed in the bank’s generic entrance code first, once that was accepted he entered the eight digit security code that he’d had to memorise almost two years ago. Green letters flashed on the screen, granting him access. The door to the vault slid open, reminding Frank of the doors from the enterprise on Star Trek.

“Now this is what I’m fucking talking about!” Buzz Cut announced, pushing Frank to the side as he stepped forward, exploring the vast room filled to the brim with cash and cheques. The other two men had returned not long ago, completing the quintet. They all joined Buzz Cut in his exploration of the vault, fingering over the thousands of dollars, seeming to forget about Frank.

His mind thought frantically for some kind of plan. As discreetly as he could, his hand moved back to the keypad, working quickly to reverse everything he just did. Within seconds, the door drew close, locking the five men inside. Frank stood in shock, vaguely able to hear the men’s angered voice behind eight inches of steel, not able to believe he’s just done that.

Idiots.

After recovering from his disbelief, Frank backed away from the vault, walking quickly through the bank and pushing his way through the front doors. He was immediately overcome by flashing lights and voices shouting, his eyes wide as he stared at the cameras and rows of police situated on the streets.

“Get your hands up!” A police officer yelled, several of them pointing their guns at him. Frank shakily raised his hands, confused and still petrified.

“Wait, wait! Stop! He’s the good guy, he’s an employee!” A woman cried from the sidelines and Frank knew it was Jamia. A couple of officers approached him cautiously, checking him over for weapons and once they were satisfied, they led him through the crowd to one of the awaiting ambulances.

“Can you tell us where the thieves are?” One asked him as he was sat down, a medic checking him over for serious injuries. Frank explained how the men were locked in the vault, giving them instructions of how to get inside. They soon left him in the capable hands of the medic and was later joined by a flustered Jamia.

“God, Frank, I thought you were a goner!” She gushed, hugging him quickly.

“So did I for a minute there, but those guys were pretty thick.” They conversed for a minute before Jamia had to leave to answer police questions. The medic with Frank wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and began to dab at his face with a wet swab, trying to clean him up a bit.

“Frank!” Frank’s head snapped up at the sound of the voice, his voice. He watched Gerard push his way through the crowds until he was stood right in front of him, throwing his arms around Frank.

“Gee,” Frank sobbed, tears beginning to stream down his face as he clung onto his boyfriend tightly, making sure that he was actually there and not just a figment of his malevolent imagination “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. You’re art isn’t stupid.”

Gerard managed to laugh at this “I’ll forgive you if you forgive me. I was so fucking worried about you; don’t ever scare me like this again.” He hugged Frank tighter before pulling away to look down at his boyfriend, battered and bruised but still the same man.

Gerard moved a hand to Frank’s cheek, bringing him forward so their foreheads were touching before he nudged his nose against Frank’s cheek, leaning down to place a light kiss to Frank’s upper lip and then pressed their lips fully together. Frank kissed him back enthusiastically as Gerard’s head spun with thoughts of how he’d almost lost the best thing that’d ever happened to him. Thoughts of settling down with him, finally popping the question and maybe starting a family accompanied this, but they could wait until later.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Gerard muttered once they pulled away, pecking Frank lips and tracing over the dried blood from his nose and the quickly forming bruises on his cheek “Is he okay to leave?” Gerard asked the medic, who nodded shortly after. Frank shrugged out of the blanket and let Gerard lead him back through the crowd to where Frank’s car was parked.

They were stopped on their way by a woman clutching onto her child with a look of admiration in her eyes. Frank remembered her from the bank, the woman with the crying child “I just wanted to say thank you, for what you did back there. You’re a real hero.” She said, a few of the people near by agreeing with her.

Frank didn’t feel very heroic; because of him, Craig was dead. He was only alive because of sheer dumb luck “I’m not a hero.” Frank told her, shaking his head and walking past her with Gerard in tow. He let Gerard drive them back home, still feeling shaken up by today’s events. But the warmth from Gerard’s hand on his knee made everything seem less awful, at least, in Frank’s mind it did.