the science of sleep // frerard

7/9

Once Show Pony is satisfied that all traces of Better Living Industries have been firmly eradicated from Frank's appearance, he finally gives Frank something to do; a cleaning task. Frank stares at the massive box of vinyl disks Show Pony points to in disbelief.

"Do the best you can, OK?" Show Pony says, turning to leave.

"You're leaving me?!"

Pony looks amused. "I'm needed elsewhere and I don't think you need supervision for this."

"But – but I'm from Scarecrow! I could use the radio equipment to call BLI for help, or I could just sabotage the whole thing –"

"Are you going to?"

"Well no, but I could –"

"Frank, Frank, Frank," Show Pony says, calmly cutting through Frank's babble. "You still don't get it, do you? Everybody in the Zones has a past. We're all running from something. No one cares out here what you were - it's what you're doing now that's important." He's still smiling as he speaks but he sounds sad.

Frank wonders what Show Pony's story is.

"Jet Star will be back soon enough. Like I said, just do the best you can, OK?" he says, cheerful again, and then with a clatter of plastic wheels spinning, he's gone.

Frank glances at the radio desk by the wall. Even if he was planning on calling in Scarecrow, he wouldn't know how to work the fucking thing anyway. With a shrug, he sits down on the floor crossed-legged and pulls the box of disks towards him. After a while, he's got the disks sorted into four piles – Good, Fucked, Possibly Salvageable and What The Fuck REALLY?? The last one consists of only one disk; The Greatest Hits of Barry White.

He's so deeply involved in his task that he doesn't hear the rumbling of the car outside until it's far too close. Immediately, he's on his feet, his hand automatically flying to the gun on his side even though he probably wouldn't be any good with the thing if he tried but... what if it's Korse?! What if they've tracked him down?!

He runs to the window but the graffiti completely obscures everything. He presses himself against the wall, back to the door, straining his ears to hear something.

And then outside he hears Show Pony's laughter. Then Ray's voice. And then –

"Where is he??"

Gerard. It's Gerard's voice.

Frank's heart leaps in his chest – Gerard's here! He's safe! – and then it abruptly plummets as he realises what it really means if Gerard's outside.

"No, I want to speak to him alone," he hears Gerard say firmly. There's footsteps, the door sliding back, more footsteps, closer now and then –

"Frank?"

He's terrified to turn around.

Please be Gerard... Please don't be Gerard...

"Frankie?"

He turns around.

It's Party Poison standing in the room, his hair a vivid red tangle and his face alarmed. For the first time Frank's known him, he's unmasked; there's a flash of yellow dangling carelessly in his hand.

It's Party Poison.

It's Gerard.

Of course it fucking is.

"Oh my God, what happened to your face?!" he asks. He's moving towards Frank so quickly and his hand is lightly touching the fresh wounds on Frank's cheek – it stings dully but he doesn't feel himself react.