Frank Iero: P.A.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you to the emergency room?” I ask Gerard for the hundredth time since finding him on the bathroom floor.

“Frank,” He’s laying in bed, propped up against the headboard, his freshly bandaged wrist resting on a cushion beside him, “after seeing your attempt at driving my car yesterday, I don’t want you driving me anywhere.”

I fix him with a deadpan look – my driving wasn’t that bad. “What does it matter? If I crash your car we’re going to end up where we were going anyway.”

He manages a small smile. “Touché.”

Seeing him smile again is nice, but I know it’s just masking the turmoil inside. I come around to the side of the bed and sit down next to him, looking into his red-rimmed hazel eyes.

“Are you going to be alright, Gerard?”

He takes his eyes from me and focuses them on his bandaged wrist. “I don’t know,” he replies earnestly.

I sigh. “Look, Gerard, I understand how you’re feeling – your little brother’s dying way too young and there’s nothing you or your money can do to fix it, which makes you feel helpless because all you’ve ever tried to do is protect him and this is the one thing you can’t protect him from. But you’ve got to be stronger than this, not for yourself, but for Mikey – he needs you.” I pause to give Gerard a moment to process my words. He meets my eyes again. “He’s dying, Gerard, but he’s making the best of the time he’s got left – be a part of that... don’t make things harder for him by making the selfish decision to kill yourself.”

“That’s harsh, Frank,” he says, although he doesn’t sound as hurt as his words would suggest, “but if there’s one thing I value you for, it’s your blatant honesty.” He shifts in bed until he’s sitting up straight. “What would you suggest I do then... to make things easier?”

“Figure out what he’s always wanted to do and make it happen,” I say with a shrug; it doesn’t seem like rocket science to me. “Now,” I say, getting up, “get some sleep.”

I make to leave the room, but am called back just as I round the corner into the alcove.

“Thanks, Frank,” Gerard says when I’m back in his line of sight, “for everything.”



Nightmares of Gerard self harming kept me awake all night; after waking up for the fifth time just before six o’clock I decided to give up on sleep and go downstairs to be productive. I’m surprised to see Gerard when I shuffle into the kitchen in search of coffee. Although, my surprise quickly turns to feelings of self consciousness as I realise that, in assuming Gerard would either spend the morning asleep or being anti-social, I came downstairs dressed in only my green Kermit the Frog pyjama bottoms.

“W-what are you doing up?” I ask nervously, folding my arms across the chest in the pathetic hope that it’ll cover me up.

He has brought his laptop downstairs and doesn’t look away from the screen when he says, “I couldn’t sleep – I figured I’d get some coffee and try to work out how to better what time Mikey has left.”

I walk further into the kitchen and head for the fridge in search of something to have for breakfast. “And how’s it going?” I ask, from inside the fridge.

“Alright,” he replies, “but it’d be going a lot faster if places would open before eight a.m.”

I snort out a laugh as grab the carton of eggs off the second shelf of the fridge and the milk from the door. I take them over to the bench and begin making scrambled eggs. As I close the carton, I consider Gerard; he probably hasn’t, nor will make the effort to, had anything to eat. I sigh to myself and take another two eggs from the carton.

“What are you planning anyway?” I ask him.

“For now, that’ll remain a secret.”

“A secret?” I say incredulously. “Gerard, I’m your personal assistant – how am I meant to personally assist you if you won’t tell me what you’re planning?”

“If you want to personally assist me you can either shut up and let me work or get on your knees and blow me.”

What?!

The egg I’m holding fumbles in my hand and falls out of my grasp, landing in the frying pan and smashing open. I look down at the bits of shell floating on egg whites as I try to process Gerard’s comment. I having trouble deciphering if his tone was sincere or sarcastic – with Gerard Way the two are one and the same. Please tell me it was the latter...

Of course the egg I dropped had to have been the last I intended to use; there’s too much shell to take out for me to be able to salvage breakfast. That’s okay, I think I’ve lost my appetite anyway.

“Butterfingers.”

I jump as Gerard materialises behind me and whispers the insult in my ear. The corners of his mouth twitch and I can see he’s trying to hold back a smile. He walks past me and places his coffee cup in the sink.

“A bit jumpy this morning, Frank?” he asks, maintaining an innocent expression.

“No,” I lie unconvincingly.

He folds his arms across his chest and observes me intently as I pick up the frying pan and tip its contents down the drain. The larger fragments of egg shell remain in the sink; I pluck them out with my fingers, cringing as gooey egg touches my skin. We all have things that gross us out, okay? It just so happens that for me it is the feel of anything slimy, i.e. raw egg.

“How do you feel about red roses?” Gerard asks me randomly as I dispose of the egg shells into the bin beneath the sink.

I consider this, then say, “I thought it was customary for you to cook me something fancy when you fucked up? I’m not sure giving me roses really fits with the Gerard Way persona.”

He glares at me. “One: I have not fucked up,” he argues defiantly, “and two: even if I had, you could not pay me enough to give you flowers.”

Well, that’s a little offensive.

“So why do you care about my opinion of red roses, then?” I question.

He pushes off the bench and returns to sit in front of his laptop. It seems I won’t be getting an answer then. How typical of Gerard – he studies me, asks me a question, insults me, then ignores me.

Instead of food, I opt for just coffee. The pot on the bench is still warm; I take my favourite mug from the bench (which is kept there because I’m too short to reach the overhead cabinets) and fill it with the brown liquid. As I sip from my Bugs Bunny mug I turn my attention to what Gerard is doing. He scowls at the screen as he taps on the touchpad repeatedly; his chin rests on his hand as his eyes dart back and forth across the screen.

“Red roses are symbolic, but they too mainstream,” Gerard says distractedly. “Maybe black ones – but they’re so difficult to come across, and would anyone even understand the reasoning behind it?”

I don’t even understand the reasoning behind his ramblings, let alone why he wants black roses over red.

“And then there’s the dress...” He taps on the touchpad a few times. “What the hell is an embellished waistline, anyway?”

Dress... flowers... what the hell?

“Are you a cross dresser or something?” I blurt out.

Gerard’s head snaps in my direction. His eyes narrow and shoots daggers at me before slowly lowering back to the screen.

A moment later he sighs. “I’m planning a second wedding for Alicia and Mikey,” he concedes.

A second wedding? Gerard actually took my advice and thought up something really incredible? I’m surprised. But I’m also kind of in awe at the lengths he’s willing to go to for his brother’s happiness.

“Will you help me?” he asks.

This isn’t a question I need to think about. “Of course,” I say, smiling.



Why do people get married? Seriously. This is the most stressful thing I’ve ever done, and it’s not even my wedding.

Gerard and I have been hidden away in our offices this morning looking up venues, caterers, florists, bridal boutiques, and a whole pile of other wedding-related crap. We’re going back and forth between the two offices to verify stuff with each other constantly. The worst thing is that because we don’t really know how much time Mikey has left, nor how quickly his condition will deteriorate, Gerard wants to have this wedding as soon as possible. Wedding venues end to get pretty annoyed when you ring up to book a few days before you want the wedding.

I was put in charge of finding a dress for Alicia – a difficult task when she is pregnant and her measurements are a mystery to me. Thankfully, each boutique I rang was helpful once I explained the situation (and how high my credit card limit was). I think I’ve finally found one, but I want Gerard’s opinion before I order it.

As I walk into his office, I hear him in the middle of a very heated discussion over the phone.

“Yes – for the millionth time, I’m aware just how much time goes into organising a wedding venue!” he yells down the phone. “Now, again, I don’t have time!” he pauses, an irritated expression across his features as he waits for the person on the other end. Suddenly, he slams his fist down on the desk loudly. “Don’t you dare belittle my brother’s illness! He doesn’t have a cold, he has cancer – he’s dying!”

I scan Gerard’s face as he continues to explain how severe Mikey’s cancer is. His eyes are starting to water, like he’s on the verge of tears, and his forehead crinkles as he gets more agitated. It’s obvious that he can’t take much more of this. There may just be something I can do to fix this, though.

Running back to my office, I pick up the phone and press the button for line three. The voice of the receptionist comes into my ear. I wait for them to finish their argument. The second they do I jump in before Gerard can retort.

“Excuse me, my name is Frank Iero and I work for an artist you may have heard of – Gerard Way?” I hear the receptionist gasp at his name. “Now, I’ve seen your hotel before – it’s quite bland. But a little art from an artist of his calibre could certainly add that touch of class it needs.”

“I – uh... I think–” the receptionist tries.

I cut her off.

“If I have Mr. Way produce a few original pieces for your hotel, could we perhaps come to some sort of arrangement in regards to booking your ballroom for this wedding?”

“Maybe I can move some things around and make room...” I hear her tap loudly on a keyboard. “Could I call you back?”

I leave her the number and hang up. Pleased with myself, I turn around to head back into Gerard’s office, but Gerard has already emerged into mine. His arms are folded across his chest, his face unreadable. Something tells me I’ve done the wrong thing...

“You are, without a doubt,” he begins, “the best friend I could have ever asked for.”

I shrug, although his comment makes my heart flutter. “It was nothing.”

He smirks. “If it were nothing, Frank, I wouldn’t have to break my no requests policy... again.”

“Well, it was nothing for me,” I reply.

We share a smile before Gerard leans around me and takes a print out of the dress I was going to order. He scans the sheet of paper and nods approvingly. Which reminds me, the poor woman from the bridal boutique is still on hold. I grab the phone, apologise for keeping her, and confirm the order.

“You know, Frank,” Gerard says softly once I hang up, “I was about to give up on this second wedding idea – it’s been so difficult to organise at such short notice – but you, without even realising it, have pushed me to keep going.” He pauses, dropping his eyes to the floor. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I say earnestly. I place my hand on his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go break the good news.”



Alicia opens the apartment door for us, a weary smile on her face. She has her hair held back from her forehead by a faded red bandana, her sleeves are rolled up, and her feet are encased in slippers; she explains that she was just mopping the bathroom floor after Mikey had an accident. Today is one of his bad days where he’s extremely tired and lethargic.

We cross the living room and take a seat on the sofa while Alicia heads back to the bathroom; Mikey was just getting out of the shower when she came to answer the door and she doesn’t want to leave him unattended for long. As we wait for the two of them, Gerard comments on how well Alicia’s handling Mikey’s illness combined with her pregnancy. I’ve noticed it as well.

“I just hope the stress doesn’t cause her to miscarriage,” he says sadly, wringing his fingers in his lap.

Mikey and Alicia emerge from the kitchen just as I’m about to respond; I quickly close my mouth, knowing that they certainly wouldn’t want to hear any talk of miscarriages. Gerard hops up to help Alicia lower Mikey onto the sofa. There’s no colour in his cheeks and he’s barely managing to keep his puffy eyes open. Despite his condition, he offers me a tired smile, which I happily return.

“So... what brings y-you around?” Mikey asks, settling into the pillows that are propping him up. “You’re not... not pregnant, are you, Gee?”

Gerard glares at his smirking younger brother, then at myself and Alicia because we’re laughing – not that it stops us.

“No.” Gerard says flatly. “I’ve got a surprise for you both.”

Mikey and Alicia look curiously at Gerard.

“This Saturday,” Gerard begins dramatically, “you are getting remarried.” He smiles as Alicia’s mouth gapes open. “You’re going to have the big wedding that you were forced to miss out on.”

“Are you serious?” Alicia asks, hardly managing to contain her excitement.

Gerard nods. “It’s kind of perfect, don’t you think?”

She nods repeatedly. “Unbelievably perfect! How long have you been planning this?”

“Not long,” Gerard shrugs. He then places his hand on my forearm. “Frank convinced me.”

My arm tingles beneath his touch. I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.