fic: saving the world
Dec. 6th, 2008 03:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mwestbelleSaving the World, an Epilogue to Thrilling Heroics
Mikey/Frank, PG, ~1400 words An extremely extremely late thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sunktheglow
It has not been Mikey’s best day ever. It wasn’t bad enough that he had to stay almost two hours late at work because his boss decided to skip out early and left him with a stack of files the size of a toddler to get squared away. But since his schedule was thrown off, he ended up getting in the path of a six foot long radioactive ant on the way home from the office and then got rescued by half of the Fall Out Boys--the one most physically affected, Hemingway the Boy-Dog Wonder and the one most warped mentally by the eponymous fall out, in Mikey's estimation (and he would know because he dated him, of course), Captain Clandestine.
Conversations with exes (especially super-exes. Mikey’s not quite sure why he keeps falling for heroes when he knows that they’ll always either choose the mission or their damsel/nemesis/sidekick over him) are always awkward, though what makes this one really bad is that Captain Clandestine (Mikey makes it a rule not to refer to any super-exes by their civilian names--it just heightens the danger that he’ll let it slip in conversation elsewhere, and you never know where wicked henchmen may be) doesn’t seem to notice it’s supposed to be awkward. It’s a perfectly pleasant conversation; well, it would be if Hemingway the Boy-Dog Wonder wasn’t growling under his breath, glaring out from under his helmet, hanging buckle straps not quite concealing cream-and-brown colored floppy ears with some red hair poking out from behind. Mikey’s kind of afraid that if he keeps talking to Captain Clandestine (and if Clandestine doesn’t unhook his fingers from Mikey’s belt loops), Hemingway the Boy-Dog Wonder is going to make a lunge for his throat. Thankfully, he manages to squirm away with just a sloppy kiss on the cheek from Captain Clandestine and just barely bared-teeth from Hemingway.
He’s so busy making sure they’re gone and he’s not going to get bitten by some mutant kid who comes up to his shoulders that he trips over a piece of rubble and skins his elbow trying to catch himself before he falls into the gaping chasm in the pavement.
It is not the best day ever, far from it. And he still has to figure what he’s making for dinner, find the bills (Gerard picks up the mail on his way home from heroing, but he tends to carry it around while he talks and then leave it on top of the toilet, and behind the TV remotes, between the headboard of his bed and the wall, and other exciting places) and pray none of them are late. On top of all that, he was supposed to have a date with Frank tonight, and it was all he was looking forward to, and he’s going to have to cancel because of stupid work and stupid radioactive ants and stupid life. He’s exhausted.
When he makes it up to the apartment, he can hear noise inside, and he winces, strike one, because if Gerard left the television on all day again the electric bill is going to eat his toes. The door is unlocked, strike two, and if he’s going to have to have the “crime fighters can be the victim of crime” talk with Gerard again, he’s going to go out of his mind.
He walks into the apartment, and the noise turns out to be nasal and he can smell something and he turns the corner to find--
Frank. In his kitchen. Singing.
“Frank.” He blinks at him, wondering if it’s a strange audiovisual hallucination. But Frank turns away from the stove and he’s wearing one of Gerard’s painting shirts tied around his waist like an apron.
“Hi Mikey!”
“You’re in my kitchen,” Mikey says stupidly, but Frank doesn’t make fun of him, he just nods.
“Mhmm. I figured I would come over early to ask if you wanted to go somewhere with like, ties, because I don’t think I own a tie that isn’t from third grade, and Gee was here and he told me you got stuck at work, so I thought you’d probably be tired. Gee had to go and like, rescue a schoolbus full of orphan kittens or something, but he said I could chill here and I said to myself ‘Frank, you lazy fucker, why don’t you make dinner’ and so I did.” Mikey needs to take a deep breath after all that, but Frank just keeps going, turning back to the stove and stirring the pot. “You had like, eighty cans of Campbell’s, man, I grabbed the Cream of Mushroom, is that cool?”
Mikey blinks and pulls his glasses off to wipe on the hem of his shirt and says “Oh.” Because. Oh.
Frank looks over his shoulder at Mikey and sticks out his tongue. “Sit down, loser, it’ll be ready in a minute.”
Mikey sits, and immediately realizes how much his feet ache and how sore he is. He also realizes that he’s watching Frank’s back like he’s an angel, which is silly--it’s not really so different than what he would have done coming home himself, opened a can of soup, winced about his feet, had a night in. But Frank did it all for him, as if Frank somehow could sense what Mikey would do for himself and just took care of it and…it’s nice. It’s more than nice, but Frank is ladling soup into a Batman bowl (it barely holds anything, but Gerard insists grown-up dishes are boring) paired with a Hulk spoon from some cereal box years ago, and putting it in front of him, wiping his hands on his shirt-apron even though they aren’t dirty.
“Eat up.” Mikey obeys, but he’s still watching Frank with worshipful eyes. “I brought some of my movies over, so we can check one out after you’re all rested. Maybe you should get changed, you have to be sweating like a motherfucker.”
It’s not a particularly romantic moment, but it’s the one in which Mikey realizes that he wants Frank’s movies to be here all the time. He wants to come home to someone--not to have a smile on and food ready, he’s not looking for some misogynistic housewife fantasy--but because the apartment seems brighter when it isn’t empty. Actually, he doesn’t want to come home to someone, he wants to come home to Frank. Every night.
He has this revelation mid-swallow, and he coughs desperately when his throat stops working in that moment of yeah, okay. Frank pounds rather mercilessly on his back, which mostly makes things worse, but it was nice to know the man he was in love with (he’s in love with Frank, shit, it’s kind of terrifying and awesome and nauseating) wouldn’t just stand by and watch him choke to death on Cream of Mushroom.
He wants to tell Frank during the movie, but Frank is comfy and he’s a coward. But afterwards, when Frank is still comfy, warm and just a little bit soft against his side, Mikey rests his head on top of Frank’s and murmurs, “You. Hey. You want to, like. Live here?”
Frank sticks his nose in Mikey’s armpit and sighs, which Mikey considers to be a resounding yes.
*
That isn’t to say things go smoothly and sweetly from then on. They have an epically passive-aggressive war about the toothpaste cap (Mikey is passive. Frank is aggressive). And Mikey takes Frank to the Superheroes Ball (family members, sidekicks, and damsels welcome) as their first Actual Serious Formal Event, so of course The Cobra and Captain Clandestine get into a good natured argument that turns sour when Captain Clandestine brings up how Mikey never actually called The Cobra back, because he’s a douche and doesn’t realize or doesn’t care that Mikey is here with his boyfriend. It seems like End Game and Real McCoy are going to jump in too, and Mikey gets Frank out before anything goes too badly, but Frank doesn’t wait until they’re in private to "ask" Mikey just how many superheroes he’s slept with. Gerard would have given a speech about antiquated sexual norms, but Mikey just stares while the boys hanging out in the coatroom snicker (he’s pretty sure they’re Captain Clandestine’s new kids).
It’s not perfect. But Frank’s Halloween DVDs stack on top of Mikey’s Romero set, and when Mikey goes to get groceries, he remembers to put the vegan brand Frank likes in the cart next to the cans of Campbell’s.
Mikey is never going to save the world. But he's happy. And he thinks that might be pretty close.
Mikey/Frank, PG, ~1400 words An extremely extremely late thank you to
sunktheglowIt has not been Mikey’s best day ever. It wasn’t bad enough that he had to stay almost two hours late at work because his boss decided to skip out early and left him with a stack of files the size of a toddler to get squared away. But since his schedule was thrown off, he ended up getting in the path of a six foot long radioactive ant on the way home from the office and then got rescued by half of the Fall Out Boys--the one most physically affected, Hemingway the Boy-Dog Wonder and the one most warped mentally by the eponymous fall out, in Mikey's estimation (and he would know because he dated him, of course), Captain Clandestine.
Conversations with exes (especially super-exes. Mikey’s not quite sure why he keeps falling for heroes when he knows that they’ll always either choose the mission or their damsel/nemesis/sidekick over him) are always awkward, though what makes this one really bad is that Captain Clandestine (Mikey makes it a rule not to refer to any super-exes by their civilian names--it just heightens the danger that he’ll let it slip in conversation elsewhere, and you never know where wicked henchmen may be) doesn’t seem to notice it’s supposed to be awkward. It’s a perfectly pleasant conversation; well, it would be if Hemingway the Boy-Dog Wonder wasn’t growling under his breath, glaring out from under his helmet, hanging buckle straps not quite concealing cream-and-brown colored floppy ears with some red hair poking out from behind. Mikey’s kind of afraid that if he keeps talking to Captain Clandestine (and if Clandestine doesn’t unhook his fingers from Mikey’s belt loops), Hemingway the Boy-Dog Wonder is going to make a lunge for his throat. Thankfully, he manages to squirm away with just a sloppy kiss on the cheek from Captain Clandestine and just barely bared-teeth from Hemingway.
He’s so busy making sure they’re gone and he’s not going to get bitten by some mutant kid who comes up to his shoulders that he trips over a piece of rubble and skins his elbow trying to catch himself before he falls into the gaping chasm in the pavement.
It is not the best day ever, far from it. And he still has to figure what he’s making for dinner, find the bills (Gerard picks up the mail on his way home from heroing, but he tends to carry it around while he talks and then leave it on top of the toilet, and behind the TV remotes, between the headboard of his bed and the wall, and other exciting places) and pray none of them are late. On top of all that, he was supposed to have a date with Frank tonight, and it was all he was looking forward to, and he’s going to have to cancel because of stupid work and stupid radioactive ants and stupid life. He’s exhausted.
When he makes it up to the apartment, he can hear noise inside, and he winces, strike one, because if Gerard left the television on all day again the electric bill is going to eat his toes. The door is unlocked, strike two, and if he’s going to have to have the “crime fighters can be the victim of crime” talk with Gerard again, he’s going to go out of his mind.
He walks into the apartment, and the noise turns out to be nasal and he can smell something and he turns the corner to find--
Frank. In his kitchen. Singing.
“Frank.” He blinks at him, wondering if it’s a strange audiovisual hallucination. But Frank turns away from the stove and he’s wearing one of Gerard’s painting shirts tied around his waist like an apron.
“Hi Mikey!”
“You’re in my kitchen,” Mikey says stupidly, but Frank doesn’t make fun of him, he just nods.
“Mhmm. I figured I would come over early to ask if you wanted to go somewhere with like, ties, because I don’t think I own a tie that isn’t from third grade, and Gee was here and he told me you got stuck at work, so I thought you’d probably be tired. Gee had to go and like, rescue a schoolbus full of orphan kittens or something, but he said I could chill here and I said to myself ‘Frank, you lazy fucker, why don’t you make dinner’ and so I did.” Mikey needs to take a deep breath after all that, but Frank just keeps going, turning back to the stove and stirring the pot. “You had like, eighty cans of Campbell’s, man, I grabbed the Cream of Mushroom, is that cool?”
Mikey blinks and pulls his glasses off to wipe on the hem of his shirt and says “Oh.” Because. Oh.
Frank looks over his shoulder at Mikey and sticks out his tongue. “Sit down, loser, it’ll be ready in a minute.”
Mikey sits, and immediately realizes how much his feet ache and how sore he is. He also realizes that he’s watching Frank’s back like he’s an angel, which is silly--it’s not really so different than what he would have done coming home himself, opened a can of soup, winced about his feet, had a night in. But Frank did it all for him, as if Frank somehow could sense what Mikey would do for himself and just took care of it and…it’s nice. It’s more than nice, but Frank is ladling soup into a Batman bowl (it barely holds anything, but Gerard insists grown-up dishes are boring) paired with a Hulk spoon from some cereal box years ago, and putting it in front of him, wiping his hands on his shirt-apron even though they aren’t dirty.
“Eat up.” Mikey obeys, but he’s still watching Frank with worshipful eyes. “I brought some of my movies over, so we can check one out after you’re all rested. Maybe you should get changed, you have to be sweating like a motherfucker.”
It’s not a particularly romantic moment, but it’s the one in which Mikey realizes that he wants Frank’s movies to be here all the time. He wants to come home to someone--not to have a smile on and food ready, he’s not looking for some misogynistic housewife fantasy--but because the apartment seems brighter when it isn’t empty. Actually, he doesn’t want to come home to someone, he wants to come home to Frank. Every night.
He has this revelation mid-swallow, and he coughs desperately when his throat stops working in that moment of yeah, okay. Frank pounds rather mercilessly on his back, which mostly makes things worse, but it was nice to know the man he was in love with (he’s in love with Frank, shit, it’s kind of terrifying and awesome and nauseating) wouldn’t just stand by and watch him choke to death on Cream of Mushroom.
He wants to tell Frank during the movie, but Frank is comfy and he’s a coward. But afterwards, when Frank is still comfy, warm and just a little bit soft against his side, Mikey rests his head on top of Frank’s and murmurs, “You. Hey. You want to, like. Live here?”
Frank sticks his nose in Mikey’s armpit and sighs, which Mikey considers to be a resounding yes.
*
That isn’t to say things go smoothly and sweetly from then on. They have an epically passive-aggressive war about the toothpaste cap (Mikey is passive. Frank is aggressive). And Mikey takes Frank to the Superheroes Ball (family members, sidekicks, and damsels welcome) as their first Actual Serious Formal Event, so of course The Cobra and Captain Clandestine get into a good natured argument that turns sour when Captain Clandestine brings up how Mikey never actually called The Cobra back, because he’s a douche and doesn’t realize or doesn’t care that Mikey is here with his boyfriend. It seems like End Game and Real McCoy are going to jump in too, and Mikey gets Frank out before anything goes too badly, but Frank doesn’t wait until they’re in private to "ask" Mikey just how many superheroes he’s slept with. Gerard would have given a speech about antiquated sexual norms, but Mikey just stares while the boys hanging out in the coatroom snicker (he’s pretty sure they’re Captain Clandestine’s new kids).
It’s not perfect. But Frank’s Halloween DVDs stack on top of Mikey’s Romero set, and when Mikey goes to get groceries, he remembers to put the vegan brand Frank likes in the cart next to the cans of Campbell’s.
Mikey is never going to save the world. But he's happy. And he thinks that might be pretty close.