The Ghost Of You (One-Shot based off the Video) + Gerard Way +

It was well past midday, near evening. Frank tuned his guitar below the stage as Michael chatted with him quietly. It was a breathtaking day; everyone knew exactly what was happening and what could become of it, yet nobody brought it up. That was for later. When it were to really sink in.

Gerard was busy with his usual glass of wine before the performance. He claimed he used it to make sure his voice was set, but he knew in the back of his head it was to calm his nerves. He sat with Bob and Ray in the back room, the loud chatter from the party sounding like muffled sounds instead of intent voices. The only real sound was Michael's quiet pep talk to Frank, who got just as nervous as anyone before they went on stage. It had been quite a while.

Something always sent each one of them over the edge with excitement before they took stage. For Gerard, it was the knowledge he had that the notes he sang were filling the ears of Rebecca Jane, the one girl he'd ever desired to give his heart to. Unfortunately, that wasn't much of an option, seeing as perhaps minutes later, she'd be in the arms of her fiance, and Gerard would only be alone with the microphone. For the other four young men, performing was a passion, one which they felt the need to fulfill. With the desire soon came a hobby and then a career. But their music job was simply a sidenote to the terror they faced in days such as the next.

The others had girls as well, and they were all ashamed to not to be able to have one dance with them before their departure, due to their presence on the stage instead. "You feeling okay?" Ray asked Gerard, who sat with the delicate blue-tinted glass in his hand and a slight pout on his lips.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just can't stop thinking about her..."

Ray watched his friend for a few moments, noticing the deep sadness in his voice and wondered if his vocals would be the same tonight. "Why don't you tell her how you feel before...tomorrow?" Bob asked him, avoiding the word "leave". It was a much more sensitive word when times like these came.

"I can't-" he started but then someone entered the room, informing them that they needed to get out on stage.

Setting up on the glossy wood floor in front of the long red, white, and blue drapes, Gerard tried to catch his breath after his eyes fell on Rebecca. He looked away, knowing she wasn't looking at him anyway. His hand ran through his thick dishevelled hair before grasping the microphone.

Frank struck chords on his guitar, and with every sound, every vibration, he remembered his family. He wished he could say goodbye to them, tell them how much he loved them, just in case. But he was going to be careful, just like he'd promised he would. Bob thought about Ann and how she had to stay home. He didn't have pennies to spare to telephone her either. He knew he could ask a friend, but he and everyone else knew that their money was sacred, paying for a phone call that could possibly mean the world to someone. He couldn't risk taking that away. Ray's mind was racked by the things that should be racking his mind. It was just another day of work, lives at stake. His own and his four friends' lives. He wanted to come home and continue his life. Something like this wasn't going to stop that. And Michael worried too. Michael worried about his brother. Oh how he adored and looked up to him. If he was to be lost, Michael would be lost as well.

Zero of the five seemed to notice the soldiers and the girls were dancing closely to Gerard's slightly cold voice. All their minds were focused on the next day, but they managed to keep the music sounding perfect, even with their minds in a mess. Gerard watched Rebecca Jane hold herself in her fiance's embrace, looking up at him adoringly. If he was lost to war...then maybe Gerard could...

You bastard. Gerard thought to himself as the guitar solos played and he stood silent. You can't think ill of any of your brothers...you selfish imbecile. He gulped and sang again, forgetting Rebecca was in the room, avoiding her pretty face at all costs. And when the song ended, he was the first one off the stage. Everyone followed except for Frank, who looked around the hall, searching for his girlfriend, Carol. He looked around in desperate search for her long brown hair and dazzling blue eyes, and it took him several minutes to finally find her. She was wearing a long pale pink dress and the earrings she knew he loved on her. She smiled before going over to him and wrapping her arms around his neck and whispering "I love you"s in his ear.

"I'm sorry I couldn't dance with you," he said, holding her tightly.

"Don't worry about it. I'm just glad I got to see you."

"I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye."

She pulled away slightly and looked in his eyes. Frank kissed her while he had the chance, their lips soft against eachothers, Frank's hands secured on the sides of her face. He could taste her lipstick and knew his lips would be a somewhat different shade afterwards, but it didn't matter. They broke apart and she placed her arms gently around him again, and Frank buried his face near the curve of her neck, inhaling the scent of her hair. He trailed kisses on her skin, knowing how he would miss her. Finally he had to pull away. He simply looked in her eyes before turning around.

"Come back to me," she said before he got too far.

He turned back around slowly and nodded. "I'd never leave you alone. I love you."

"I love you too," she replied, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. Frank didn't want to see her cry so he then left. He departed the hall and made his way to the bar where everyone else had headed to.

It was smoky and dark in the bar, but everyone was laughing and having one last good time before morning came. Of course the bartender was instructed to strictly limit the amount of drinks the boys consumed considering they needed to be in their absolute best shape. But this was the tradition - to let them all loosen up. Frank joined his four friends, still not able to erase the look of grief that covered Carol's face in his mind. "Finally you're back," Gerard said. "What took so long?"

Frank sat down on a barstool next to Michael. "Just didn't wanna let her go..." he replied, a sad smile on his lips.

"Well right now's not the time to be depressed," Ray said, sliding a glass of whiskey down to him.

"That's right," Bob said. "Tonight we don't worry about anything."

There were quiet nods of agreement but as assumed, Ray was the one to break the silence and begin telling the story of his first guitar performance, which of course led to disaster. "One of the strings popped off," he said laughing. "Everyone had to keep playing without their guitarist." Everybody laughed and soon everyone was telling stories although no one was near drunk. They weren't the kind of people that needed a drink to be able to laugh. Plus the endless talk kept the inevitable off their minds.

Frank eventually got a little carried away in his story though and his elbow slipped on the counter, knocking down a glass of alcohol, causing it to spill everywhere. The five only laughed though, knowing how clumsy Frank could be. The other men in the bar watched and laughed as well. "What about you, Mikey?" Gerard said, looking at his little brother who had been quiet, like usual. "You've got to have some kind of stories."

"You know them all, you lived with me," he replied with a weak smile.

"Well, I certainly don't know all about you and Christine," Gerard smirked.

Michael touched the soft hair on his forehead and avoided all pairs of eyes. "I don't wanna talk about her..." His expression was pained as he stared at the countertop. Their small corner of the bar was awkwardly silent.

"Hey," Gerard said, touching his brother on the shoulder, getting his attention. "You okay?"

Michael looked back and blinked. "...We had a fight. I never got to say sorry."

"She wasn't here tonight?"

He shook his head. "She couldn't come."

Gerard was slightly open-mouthed, his hand still on Michael's shoulder. With his free hand though, he reached in his pocket and placed a few coins in front of his brother. "Call her." Michael looked at him and took the coins with his fingertips off the table, knowing he didn't have to say anything for Gerard to know how much it meant to him. He walked off toward the telephone booth and Frank glanced at Gerard.

"I thought you were gonna use those to call Rebecca later."

Gerard shrugged. "Rebecca isn't the love of my life. Mikey loves Christine."

"Don't you want her to know how you feel?"

Another shrug. "Some war's not gonna stop me. What's the rush? I got a lifetime." They all smiled at Gerard's optimism. The noise died down and Michael finally returned. "Is everything okay now?" Gerard asked.

"Yeah," he replied, seeming much less tense. "I apologized for the fight and told her I loved her..."

"And that you're coming home?"

He nodded, his lips forming a small smile. "Yeah."

There was yet another moment of silence, different thoughts flowing through their brains. It wasn't awkward, it was just a bit sad. Frank cleared his throat and raised his glass. "To America!" His voice was a bit off key and the bartender looked at him suspiciously, wondering if he'd had a bit too many drinks. Frank turned red and said more formally, avoiding the bartender's gaze, "To serving our country." Everyone's glasses were raised, all half-filled with different alcohol, and clinked together as if they were church bells. After they were lowered, they all drank in the varying tastes, all knowing in the back of their minds that this could very well be one of their last drinks, but they didn't dare speak it nor think any more of it.

Gerard let the strawberry wine linger on his lips, the remaining taste of tobacco blending with it to create a strong, violent feeling. He thought about how much nicer Rebecca's lips would taste against his instead. But he rid of those thoughts before they got worse.

It was only about 11:00, but the boys decided to head back to their tent. It was a large tent and obtained about twenty cots. There were several guys they barely knew that they shared a tent with, but it didn't particularly matter. The group of five had eachother...the only thing there to hold on to.

The dim lamps that shined the tent really were the only sources of light, so it was a bit hard to see through the darkness. Everyone was quiet anyway, either looking at pictures of their home life or just simply trying to sleep. Bob and Mikey were surely already fast asleep, Ray and Frank were tossing and turning desperately for sleep, and Gerard was just sort of listening to the movement around him, wondering what his dreams would consist of if he were to slip into one. His ears were filled with the sound of a couple guys talking at the other side of the tent, light random snoring, and a different sound coming from the cot next to him, which caught his attention. It was Frank, and Gerard was shocked to hear small sobs escaping him for the fact his face was buried in his pillow. Gerard flicked on the lamp that stood on the floor between his and Frank's cot and saw him curled up in a ball under his covers, like a helpless child.

Being so young, this was Frank's first time at war, and Gerard understood how difficult it was for him. So he climbed out of bed and kneeled down next to Frank's bed. "You alright?" he whispered, but knowing that a couple of the other guys were more than likely observing the scene anyway.

Frank didn't reply, he just dug his face into his pillow even deeper. "Happens all the time..." said a guy that Gerard didn't know. "They keep letting more and more whimps into the army...not doing us any good."

Gerard's head spun around and he pointed a finger at the heartless soldier. "Hey, that's not nice."

Ray and Michael were stirring in their beds, waking due to the noise. "I'm fine, Gerard," Frank finally said. "Go to sleep." He watched him for a couple seconds, not believing that he was okay, but after an increasing moment of silence other than Frank's stuffy nose, Gerard decided to let his friend sleep or cry as he wished. He touched Frank's arm assuringly before getting up and proceeding back to his bed. He turned off the lamp again and pulled the heavy covers over his shoulder. The atmosphere was cold and captious. The room was quieter now and the soldiers slowly began to silently fall asleep, one by one.

+ + +

Everyone was tired at the circular table for breakfast that morning. They were tired and unprepared. Ray and Gerard, who were oldest and had been in the army longest, knew the routine. And this stage of the routine was a particularly interesting one.

Breakfast was never fancy. They all had leftover soup and water. It wasn't much but it gave them energy. Everyone looked up from their soup to eachother every once in a while, observing eachother's pale faces and gloomy expressions. "You're not eating, Mikey," Gerard noted.

"I'm not really hungry..." he said, stirring the soup with his spoon.

"Me either," he confessed and dropped his spoon in the bowl.

"Eat, people!" Frank ordered. "You need your strength." He scooped a large amount of tomato soup out of his own bowl and held it in front of Michael's face. Michael laughed and opened his mouth, allowing Frank to feed him. The others laughed as well, and the mood was slightly lightened.

A colonel then walked over and dropped enveloped in the center of their table. "Letters," he stated and walked off to the next table. The five looked at eachother for half a second before springing at the envelopes with their full names printed on them. There was tearing of paper and a couple swear words issued from Ray who got a paper cut from the hurry. And then there was silence, as everybody read letters from either their parents, girls, siblings, etcetera. They all fought back tears, and they gradually began to look up from the tri-folded letters. Michael was last to finish. Actually he never did look up; his eyes were stationed on the text, transfixed by it.

"What's wrong, Michael?" Ray asked.

He slowly looked up and everyone noticed his eyes were shining behind his glasses. "Christine's pregnant..." he said quietly and awaited their reactions, not even quite sure what to make of his own.

"I'm gonna be an uncle?!" Gerard grinned.

"Mikey's gonna be a father!" Bob exclaimed.

He was still a little shocked, but he managed to mutter "Wow," under his breath. His lips formed a crooked smile, numb to the feeling of claps on his back by anyone who had heard. He took a sip of water to drown out the pivoting feeling inside of him. Michael had every single emotion running through him...he was on a natural high.

+ + +

On board the boat to the battle grounds was more surreal than anything any of them had ever done. It was cloudy and gray; they blended in perfectly. There was less than a dozen of them on the boat. It was silent as they sat and waited to dock, swaying with the motion of the boat. Several of them were getting sick, puking into the water. Whether it was from the identical feeling in every one of their stomachs or simple sea sickness, none of them knew. Nobody looked at eachother...the air was violent and thick. The enivornment was less than likeable. Michael sat and thought about his wife and unborn child. He remembered the night they created what was now inside of her. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the softness of her skin and the way it melted into his. He felt as if he might smile, but his face remained expressionless.

Gerard stared ahead, finding it difficult to breathe in the fog. His dark eyes were blank. Just like everybody else.

Finally they reached land, and it was a strange moment, retreating from the boat as the end was released. All the men rushed out of the sickly boat, determination and nationalism running through their veins. It was still dark and gloomy...but it would take a lot more than that to take down what they came here to do.

Gerard's hair fell unnaturally in his face and he blew it away. The next half-hour or so was surreal. Unreal. A complete experience. But it was their job...it was what they chose to do. The dirty sand full of seaweed blew up at random moments. Perfectly healthy bodies constantly fell down. The sky got darker every second, proving its immortality to them. Gerard tried to stay close to someone he knew, even though he wasn't supposed to. They were taught to be independent in battle, not to trail behind someone just to save your own skin. But for Gerard, it was the opposite. He needed to protect them.

Michael slowed down suddenly and fell behind a barrier, breathing heavily. Gerard looked around and spotted him on the ground. "You okay?" he asked hastily. Michael didn't reply. "I'll be right back," Gerard told him, feeling uneasy staying in one place for too long. "Stay right there!" He headed off, in search of a single familiar face. As he did so, Michael seemed to reclaim a normal breathing rate and found the strength in his legs again. He stood up and rounded the barrier...but only to fall back down seconds later, a pain coursing through him stronger than anything he'd ever known.

Gerard seemed to sense something was wrong; he could sense it by the way his blood turned cold. He spun around, his eyes darting in every direction, to find his brother laying in the sand, his chest rising and falling heavily. "MIKEY!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. But he was being swept away.

Frank pulled at Gerard. "Come on, we gotta move on!" he said strongly.

"NO!" he protested, feeling tears rise into his eyes. "Not Mikey..."

More bullets were heard from behind Frank and Gerard's argument. Frank, about to duck down, pulled Gerard down with him, who struggled. He layed in the opposite direction on the ground from the other soldiers. He stared among the sea of bodies at his little brother, dying in front of his eyes. He watched Michael's sufferage decrease...until he was motionless. Tears splashed from Gerard's eyes and he continued to scream for him, knowing that was the only thing that could possibly save him. He watched his face grow pale and the blood seep from his stomach, feeling an equal amount of pain himself. His baby would have to grow up without a father...and Gerard knew he was going to have to be the one to tell Christine that her husband was never coming home. It was as if with every drop of blood that escaped Michael and every tear that escaped Gerard, a thousand memories were erased.

He blanked out Frank's agitated shouts at him; he just watched Michael, his little brother. His one reliance. But Frank couldn't just leave Gerard alone as the rest of the pack moved on. He tugged at the back of his collar, and Gerard had no choice but to pick himself up and pretend to feel strong for the rest of the battle. But he looked back at Michael, his eyes big and dark. Gerard felt like breaking down right there, but he tightened the grip on his rifle and moved on, thinking that in this moment, war seemed useless. All that really mattered was the last twenty-four years, tracing back to when Gerard was three years old, waiting in the hospital room.

Rain began to fall and it drenched his thoughts, unglueing his eyes from his little brother. The lachrymosity deepened. Gerard watched fire fly and guns shoot at eachother. None of it really seemed to matter to him anymore. He was specked with blood in a number of places, but it didn't matter. Because it happened here.

At the end of the world.
click to see one of my favorite pics of Geerard! -->

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