AN: I just had to post my Frerard story, it was begging to be read by someone other than me. I hope its acceptable for my first shot at writing Frerard fiction. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, just the plot. Oh, and none of this actually happened.

I watched as he strutted across the stage like a proud peacock. His hair was still white- blond but it had grown out longer, to about ear length. He turned back toward me and I dropped my head to look down, concentration on my guitar, lest I make the horrible mistake of messing up. Plus his gaze made me nervous.

'And without you is how I disappear.'

He came over to me, wrapping his arms around my waist and holding the microphone between us, so both of us could sing into it, together. He removed his hand in a few moments, slowly, in a caressing way. I found myself watching him as he moved along the stage. It was strange that someone so confident and with such an air if importance on stage could actually be so timid and shy out of the limelight. Actually, he spent most of his time writing lyrics or drawing with his I-Pod on.

'Teenagers scare the living shit out of me.'

I turned my attention back to my present duty. Adrenalin levels were high, the kids in the crowd were jumping around and singing along. They followed his every move with their eyes. I smirked, thinking of how these kids saw him as a God and an Idol. He couldn't understand it. He thought that these kids shouldn't have a role model who is a recovering alcoholic and drug addict. But that just made him stronger in everyone's eyes, that he could over come it.

Teenagers was our last song of the set, as we had agreed to finish with a rush of adrenalin and a bang. The kids cheered as we exited and Mikey literally ran to get his cell phone from Kate, one of our crew whom Mikey had become close friends with. We headed toward our "chill out" room as Bob had dubbed it. I went over and opened the windows, even though it was so cold. But, we were hot from playing and I needed a smoke. Sitting down on the couch in front of the window, I pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. He sat down next to me and I offered him one but he declined, which he never does. Something was wrong.

"What's the matter Gerard?" He shook his head and looked away, "something doesn't feel right." And his feelings were almost never wrong. The door opened and Mikey walked through, pale as a ghost. Gerard got to his feet and moved toward him. Mikey stared at him for a second before saying, "Dad just called, Mum's dead."

If it was possible Gerard want even paler and swayed on his feet. I jumped up and took his arm, led him over to the couch and pushed him down on it. He dropped like a dead weight. Ray and Bob sat dumbfounded.

"Dead," He whispered. Mikey nodded, "The funerals in two days in Belleville."

Two days later he was a complete wreck. We were on the way to the funeral and I was sitting beside him, watching as he nervously tapped his foot. He put his hand up to his mouth and chewed on his nails, something I'd never seen him do before. We arrived just before two. We entered together, but respectfully stood back as the brothers approached the casket together. Mikey's hand went to his mouth, a few tears running down his cheeks. I couldn't see his face but from his stiff back and posture he was tying to hold back. They turned and came back toward us. Mikey squeezed Gerard's arm then he was out the door.

Mikey looked me in the eyes and I nodded, following him out the door. I found him behind the building, his forehead resting against the wall as his hands clenched at his hair. He didn't notice me approach. I lightly touched his shoulder and he spun on me, tears brimming in his beautiful golden brown eyes. I put my arms around his waist and then he collapsed, sobbing. I held him up as best I could as I rubbed his back and made soothing noises.

Eventually he pulled back and I held a crumpled tissue out to him. He took it and turned away. "We should go back in," I told him. He swung around with a frightened look in his eyes. "I'll be with you the whole time," I assured him and the eyes were a little less wild.

We returned back into the small stuffy room as the director began. We hung near the back, seating ourselves in the row before last. I looked over about half way through to see his hand clenching in the cloth covering his thigh. I reached over and rested my hand atop it; it stilled then flipped over and squeezed mine. I squeezed back and allowed him to keep a hold of it for the duration of the funeral.

The second the funeral was over we were out of that claustrophobic room and out side. I took out my pack of cigarettes, lit two and handed one to him. He took it gratefully and leaned back against the wall with his eyes closed.

AN: Can someone please tell me why I cannot keep my tab spacings when I copy this over? And a new chapter may take me awhile, so please bear with me!