Written for Leah on the stairs for the 2009 xmas_rocks exchange
| This story is a work of fiction and therefore completely untrue. No harm or libel is meant or implied about any of the individuals named within this work and it was written without their involvement or permission. No profit is being made. |
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And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends." ~ Richard Bach There's a man and a woman saying goodbye, clutching each other just outside security like their lives depended on it, kissing each other's lips and cheeks and hands until their skin was pink. Maybe the man would cheat on the woman while he was gone, or he'd come home to find the woman in bed with her best friend. Maybe they'd call each other every night and whisper how much they loved one another. Maybe they'd have phone sex. Maybe he was going away to shoot bullets in the chests of other men who'd left other women behind. Maybe he'd never come home. A little girl drops her stuffed dog just before going through the metal detector after someone who could be her big brother, could be her father. She doesn't notice it, and neither does he. Maybe it's new, maybe she won't even notice it's missing. Maybe her father, maybe brother will come running back five minutes from now to retrieve it for her. Maybe an employee will find it and take it home for their own child. Maybe it will end up in lost and found for the next ten years. "Hey." There's a gentle hand on Bob's shoulder, and he knows it's Ray's even before he sees the thick wrapping of gauze and tape around the thumb. Knows just from the voice, though it's almost lost to the din of the crowded airport. Bob lets out a soft breath and shrugs his hand off. "You're gonna bleed all over me, Toro." Soft laughter. Maybe Ray's stoned, maybe he just got back from the bathroom with Frank. Gotta smoke the last of it before they go through security, don't want a member of a band like My Chemical Romance getting busted for possession. Or maybe he's just tired, none of them slept much during their little week in LA. Except maybe Gerard, who had a bed and a wife to curl up with. Not that Ray didn't also have a wife with him, but the whole sleeping not in your own bed thing could be a bitch when you'd gotten used to life off the road. "Frank's plane is leaving. You want to come say goodbye, or are you just going to sit here people watching for the next hour?" Bob stretches and groans, getting to his feet with a little sigh. "Still dunno why you guys didn't book the same flight." Frank has his arms thrown around Mikey by the time he and Ray join the others, squeezing him until he has to appeal to his brother for aid. Gerard, after getting his fill of laughing at his brother's misfortune, finally gives Frank a swift jab to the side, drawing a shriek from him and making him drop his hold on the younger Way. Bob tries not to think about the look Frank gives Gerard, or how, just a year or so ago, Frank would have turned his choke hold on him too, instead of the brotherly back pat of a hug he gifts him with today. Ray's hug lingers until Frank has to flail his way out of his arms, and everyone laughs as they boot Frank through security and off to his gate. There's an hour before Bob's plane boards, and another fifteen minutes on top of that until Ray and Krista's. Gerard demands Starbucks, and Ray insists on paying, slapping at Bob's hand when he reaches for his own wallet. Ray gets his wrist instead, and there are a few painfully long moments where Bob swears no one even takes a breath, until he lifts his hand and wiggles his fingers, rolling his eyes at all of them. "Paranoid fucks, I'm fine." At a table that's too small for the five of them Mikey quickly launches into a story about something Piglet did while he was packing. It's a story they've all heard before, but that doesn't stop Gerard from giving him his full attention, and Ray's wife from laughing prettily at all the amusing parts. Bob's eyes are on a man in a suit three tables down, his laptop open before him, casting a strange blue glow over his exhausted features. Maybe he's bound for Japan on a business trip, or he's on his way home from something similar. Maybe he's emailing his wife or his mom or his boyfriend, saying I love you and I miss you and all the things you say when you're far from home. Maybe he's unleashing a virus set to compromise air traffic control so that everyone coming or leaving dies in a fiery crash. Something warm presses against Bob's leg beneath the table, drawing his thoughts away from the maybe businessman, maybe cyber terrorist. It's Ray's knee, he knows this even before he turns his head, before his eyes meet Ray's and they share a quiet smile. All in the eyes for Bob, reflected as a wide grin in Ray's own features. Bob tilts his head slightly, and Ray nods, turning to whisper something to Krista before standing. Bob pats Gerard's shoulder on his way by, and Gerard doesn't even have to ask before holding up his lighter for him. Bob already has two cigarettes between his lips when they reach the empty smoking room, and he brings Gerard's lighter up, fighting with the finicky Zippo a bit before he finally gets a flame going. He lights both and hands one off to Ray, knowing he'll want one even without asking. "Fuck me, man, I needed this." Ray's words are thick, and Bob doesn't have to look to know he's exhaling as he speaks. He lets out a soft grunt of agreement, closing his eyes as he breathes his own cloud out. He moves over to the window, pocketing Gerard's lighter as he smokes quietly. Ray moves up beside him and their shoulders brush. Bob is reminded of long ago tours that he was invited along for, of six dudes all squashed together in the back of a van, of Ray drooling on his thigh while Bob kept quiet vigil over the infant band. He remembers crawling onto a bus when he was so tired he didn't even remember his name, forget what bunk was his, and nine times out of ten he'd end up in Toro's, using his hair for a pillow. "Your wrist okay?" Bob sighs, his thoughts of past tours completely derailed in favor of the present. Ray's fingers are brushing against his wrist, and it's making the hair on his arm stand up. "Yeah." Drag. Exhale. "It's fucking fine, I already told you that." "You've lied to us about it before." Ray's laugh is soft and Bob can't help linking their fingers, enjoying the slide of fresh calluses against his knuckles. "Yeah." They're still alone in the room when Bob shifts a little closer. And no one's watching them when Ray tucks his head down and brushes his cheek against Bob's beard. No one hears the gentle note to Bob's laugh, or the way Ray breathes a tiny sigh through his nose when their lips brush. It's brief and Bob drops Ray's hand when they part, clearing his throat before killing his cigarette. He crushes the filter in the ashtray and checks his watch, breathing a curse before grabbing Ray's hand and yanking him back toward the Starbucks. "Toro, if I miss my flight, next time I see you on Halo I'm gonna beat your ass so hard." Ray's laughter rings in Bob's chest, and he ignores the brush of a bandaged thumb against his palm. "In your fucking dreams, Bryar."
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