Work Text:
One.
The bottom drawer of his dresser is filled with BL/ind issued black slacks, seven pairs, one for each day of the week. The matching white shirts hang in Gerard's tiny closet on seven identical white metal hangers.
Taped to the underside of the drawer is an envelope, and inside the envelope is a series of old photographs. They're faded and scratched, a little crumpled and worn. A few of them have a jagged rips across the middle, and a thin seam of yellowed glue holds them together. Some are water damaged, or have strange stains on them.
Sometimes, when the despair steadily creeps over him like ghost, he pulls the drawer free and shuffles through the photographs. Great-aunt Madge. Uncle John. Grandma Elena. Cousin Sal. His parents, smiling and happy, long before the pig bombs fell and BL/ind took over.
He traces their features with a finger, seeing the similarities that he shares; he has his grandmother's eyes, and his father's mouth. He can see Mikey in the shape of their faces, the blade of a nose.
Gerard puts them away, careful to keep from bending the corners.
Rarely, he shares them with Mikey, the two of them huddled on the floor by the dresser, fearful of hidden eyes and ears.
When Gerard's frantically gathering things the night they make their escape, he yanks out the drawer and pulls the envelope free. Aside from Mikey and the band, the photos are the only family he has, and he's not leaving them behind.
Two.
One of the advantages of being the band splashed all over BLTV and shilling everything under the sun for BL/ind is that they get access.
BL/ind propaganda talked about the old world being destroyed to make room for a new future, but BL/ind never gets rid of anything that might prove to be useful later. All the books, the art, the videos, the music; it's all preserved in the recesses of BL Communications Complex, stored and backed up on an endless succession of massive computers.
Gerard can't come up with a good reason to get to the books, or the art, but the music, that's easy.
Gerard's no stranger to playing dumb, and he's good at it, the BL/ind producers believe him when he explains how using catchy riffs from the banned stuff will help boost sales and promote happiness among the citizenry of Bat City. Frank usually provides a distraction when Gerard needs it, knocking over Matt's drums, or tripping over amp cords.
Over time, they manage to copy exabytes of songs onto data chips that Gerard manages to smuggle out of the studio and into his room.
He uses a chip to bribe the Drac who catches Mikey where Mikey has no business being, and another goes to pay for fake ident cards, which turns out to be a waste when Poison agrees to help them get out of the city.
Two are damaged, cracked and broken, on the way out of the city, maybe when the van takes corners too sharply and Gerard gets thrown against the door.
The last chip buys them some time, out in the Zones.
Three.
As soon as Gerard realizes that they need to get out, he starts saving his c's. It's hard; sometimes he needs a little something to bring him up or pull him down, and pills never come cheap. He tries.
He gets creative, pocketing alk and food during the innumerable upper management parties they're expected to attend. No one notices, and Gerard sells the stuff when he heads out into the warehouse district on the weekends. He gets more daring, riffling through unattended purses and jackets for c's, pills, anything that he can turn a profit on.
It's terrifying; he doesn't know what'll happen if he gets caught. Gerard sweats and shakes and his heart pounds fast and loud in his chest. He doesn't understand how no one notices.
When he's in meetings with producers, or directors, sitting in their fancy offices, he keeps his eyes open for anything he can swipe and sell.
By the time they leave the city, he hopes it's enough to pay Poison back, but he suspects that debt will never be paid.
Four.
Gerard wants to leave his pills behind. He does. He pulls all the pill bottles out of the cabinet and lines them up on the counter, thinking about how easy it would be just to dump everything into the toilet and flush. It's the smart thing to do.
He's never been smart, though. The idea of trying to survive out in the Zones without his pills makes his stomach churn anxiously and he dry-swallows a couple of blues to calm himself down.
The last time he made promises to Mikey, he'd lasted three days before the maddening itch flared to life under his skin and had driven him out into the streets for more pills. Blues to calm him down, reds to wake him up, greens to smooth the jagged edges off. Yellows when he wants to fuck.
He dumps the pills into a plastic bag, sealing it carefully. He tells himself he can sell the pills once they're out in the Zones.
Gerard almost believes it.
Five.
They run into a patrol at the edge of the warehouse district, and it takes them longer than Gerard planned to get to the empty building where they're supposed to meet up with Poison's gang. A white BL/ind van is driving slowly past, the door sliding open as they approach.
"Get in," says a dark haired man in yellow and green, and Gerard shoves Mikey and Frank forward. He waits until Ray and Matt are safe inside the van before he climbs in, shutting the door behind him and stumbling in the dark.
Gerard watches out the back window as they leave the lights of Bat City behind, and there's a funny feeling in his chest, fragile and fluttery, that feels a lot like hope. Mikey's hand steals into his and Gerard holds tight.
-fin-