Chapter Nine

I'm Not Okay

"Frankie…"

Frank blinked, looking at the Killjoy wrapped tightly in his arms, watching his eyes flutter open. "I'm here," he said quietly.

His boyfriend moaned softly and shifted; neither of them were able to sit right without pain. It wasn't surprising, though; it'd only been an hour or so since…since what had happened with the BLI agent, and they were still very much tormented by both the memory and the discomfort.

The effects of the drug Gerard had been injected with had faded within ten minutes of them being left alone, and after managing to untie Frank with his only remaining strength, he'd collapsed, leaving Frank to pull both his own jeans and the red head's back up, disgusted as he did so, the entire scene replaying over and over again in his mind, vividly, nauseatingly. He'd fought back the urge to be sick several times, finally losing and only dry heaving anyway, then moving to the corner furthest away from the door with Gerard and leaning against the wall, bringing him into his arms.

He'd managed to stop shaking, but was still completely terrified. He had a right to be, of course, but it was more so than he had ever been before, for both himself and Gerard. He could see in Gerard's eyes as he at last awoke that he felt the exact same way, and it wasn't all because of what had just happened.

There was something else there, too, though—something that Frank never would've expected to see, especially in him.

Defeat; absolute defeat.

"Gee?" Frank began after a long moment.

"Mm…" Gerard mumbled, squinting at him through blurred vision and then resting his head back against the wall.

"It's still gone?"

The red head managed a small nod. "…I'm tired…"

"Then sleep," Frank quietly replied, and Gerard moaned again, far too uncomfortable to do so. He flinched as Frank kissed his cheek, moving his head so their lips met, and when his boyfriend pulled back, he let out a little cry. "I'm sorry…"

"It's not your fault, Gerard. None of this is."

Gerard whimpered but said nothing else of it, instead moving his own arms to hold the black-haired Killjoy, trying to find just a bit of reassurance from doing so and relieved when he got it.

Then he gave an apprehensive sigh. "I-I'm scared." His voice was quiet and timid.

Frank tightened his grip on him. "Me too."

"Wh-what if he comes back?" Gerard almost sounded like a child now, and it was painful to hear him as such.

Frank looked at the red head solemnly. "I won't let him touch you."

"No…but if he…" Gerard shook his head. "He can't to you either; not again…" He sobbed suddenly, and then pressed his head to Frank's shoulder, his voice a bit higher pitched as he continued. "Please…I love you…I can't watch him do that again…I just can't…"

Frank did not reply at first. He felt something run down his cheek, but had no urge to reach up and wipe the tear away, refusing to let go of the red head.

"I love you too," he finally said shakily. "I'd do anything for you."

"No…" Gerard moaned, starting to tremble again. "Not that…please, not that…"

Frank shuddered and kissed his cheek, shifting again and wincing. To be completely honest with himself, he would give anything not to have to go through what he just had again. But he would give even more to prevent his love from the same, and if Korse did come back, with the same terrible intentions he had had previously…that's exactly what he would do. They had just been through too much, and whatever he could avert from happening to his boyfriend, he'd take the chance, no matter how awfully affected he was by it.

He heard Gerard let out another fearful sob, and he kissed the top of his head. "Ssh," he soothed, "it's okay."

"It's not…" Gerard sniffed, and Frank tilted his head slightly to look at him, noticing he was having difficulty keeping his eyes open. "Please just rest…" he murmured.

"But…but what if…"

"Please," Frank said again, worried for him, and Gerard glanced at him briefly before he took a deep breath, allowing his eyes to close. His grip slackened a bit almost immediately, his cheeks still glistening with tears, and Frank gently kissed him again.

I'll kill that son of a bitch. He scowled. He was absolutely horrified at what the man had done to them, but Gerard seemed even more frightened than him. Even with the pain he had been going through along with the bastard abusing him, he was too beaten already for that to have been the only terrible thing he'd gone through. He hoped and prayed nothing like what the both of them had just endured had been forced on him before, almost too afraid to think of asking. He'd clearly been treated awfully, bruised and battered, while the three of them had only been ignored until now as if they had already been dead.

God, why couldn't Korse have just left him alone?

Frank would have taken his place, had he been given the chance; not very happily, of course, but indefinitely. At least to allow him to rest a while; it was obvious he hadn't in days. Whatever the man had done to him, he was hurt, far beyond the injuries that could be seen. The hope Frank had felt had slowly been diminished until it no longer existed, but whatever hope that had been in Gerard had been jerked out of his reach by the agent, or whoever else that had made him suffer.

And he'd make them suffer back. That was a promise. For what BLI had done to his love, him, his friends, and everyone else he ever cared about…he'd destroy them.

If I don't die first.

Frank acknowledged the thought but didn't even try to deny it, leaning back in an attempt to try and find a position that did not cause him pain but finding he was suddenly far too tired to care at the moment, falling asleep against Gerard in mere seconds.

Why am I such an idiot?

Missile Kid shook her head, annoyed with herself as she looked through the window of the warehouse. She knew very well she should've just stayed at camp with the others, but her curiosity about the place had gotten the best of her.

Curiosity for what? There's nothing here! she tried to tell herself. I could be sleeping right now, or…I don't know—sleeping?

But there was something urging her on, more than just a question of what was inside the place. She couldn't quite figure out what it was, but she almost felt like she needed to go into it.

And it had been strong enough that she'd gotten up and away from the others with the excuse she needed to use the bathroom, coming here instead.

She reached through the glass, wincing as a piece of it scraped her arm, and jerked on the handle, opening it and then squinting at her arm, relieved she found it wasn't bleeding. That would be just what she needed—getting an injury before they even started the fight.

Pushing the door out of her way, she stepped inside, reaching into her pocket to take out the small flashlight Dr. D had given her due to her fear of the dark, wondering how far she could push the time limit she was on. She obviously couldn't be gone for more than five minutes or so, maybe a little longer if she came back and said she wasn't feeling well.

But she hated lying, especially to the people who cared about her, even when she felt somehow it was necessary. And pretending she was sick would only cause them to worry for her.

I could be sick from worry, she thought as she clicked the light on; that was definitely how she felt now. I wouldn't even have to act.

She sighed and moved the flashlight around the warehouse, frowning as her eyes focused on the nearest box to her. She bent down, turning it onto its side and squinting at the label. "BLI…" she murmured aloud, her finger tracing over the black and white smiley face that showed up on all the shit they came out with, disgust edging at her.

"What would you guys need to store out here?" she asked the empty building, standing. Even more curiously, why the hell would they leave it out here, in the middle of a Zone, where Killjoys could very easily find whatever it was and get rid of it?

Suddenly, she heard a car door slam, and voices that were definitely not any of the others. She turned, peeked out the window, and then gasped.

Her father and two other Dracs were walking towards the warehouse.

Oh, shit…

Missile gasped silently, clicking the flashlight off as fast as she could and desperately looking around for somewhere to hide, quickly jumping behind one of the boxes near the door, crouching as low to the ground as she could just as the three barged into the warehouse. Still think coming was a good idea, hmm? she angrily snapped at herself.

"This is the last place we're searching today," her father began. "If we still haven't found her, those Killjoys are going to get it. I'll beat where she is out of every single one of 'em, if I have to."

Missile covered her mouth to prevent any sound from coming out. What Killjoys? Did he mean Party, Jet, Ghoul, and Kobra?

No, they're dead! You saw them die!

She frowned suddenly. She had seen them "die" before, too, when she'd first been captured by Korse. But they had been all right, and had even come to rescue her! Could it be the same now? She risked raising her head just a little bit, enough to see them over the edge of the box, relieved they weren't facing her.

Suddenly, a radio hissed with static. "There's a map," whoever it was said.

Her father grabbed the handheld device from his belt and clicked it. "I don't care! Did he tell you where she is?"

There was an angry sigh on the other end. "The map has hideouts on it—hideouts she could be at. I've sent someone to retrieve it."

Oh my God…Missile Kid sucked a silent breath through her nose, resisting all urges to move. The map—the map she had—that was the only one the man could have been talking about—and the only people who knew about that were the four. So, that meant at least one of them had to be alive to have been able to tell him, right?

She grimaced at the thought of how exactly they'd gotten the information, and then unknowingly tuned in the conversation again.

"Why're you there?" the voice on the radio was asking. "I already sent someone to bring me everyone there." He paused and chuckled softly. "Those rebels were amusing."

"What were they doing?" Missile's father almost sounded interested; even that little fraction surprised her. He'd never been one to listen to what others had to say, much less care about any of it.

"Attempting to reverse the effects of the medication we give out."

Her father snorted. "Really?" He was only mocking curiosity now, and Missile widened her eyes.

"We've obtained all but the boxes and destroyed it. No one will think anything of it again."

"And the Killjoys?"

Another snicker, as if the man had heard a joke. "Dead. Killed by their little leader himself."

Missile Kid stiffened and bent down again, her mind racing at the words. Leader—Party!…Party? No, he wouldn't kill anyone.

She closed her eyes, biting her lip hard.

Not willingly.

God, if only she could get into the BLI building! Even if they were going to do so soon anyway, she knew they would never be able to get inside undetected. Yet that was exactly what they needed to do in order to have a chance at saving anyone!

Almost in the same instant, she'd settled on a plan. That's insane, she realized as she went over it in her head. No, calling this plan insane was an insult to every other insane plan they'd come up with. And although she could not be one hundred percent positive the man was talking about the four, or if any of them were even still alive if he was…

She peered up over the top of the box again, noticing all three were still not facing her, and she took a breath, risking them seeing her to rush out the open door. She ran, casting a glance back, but no one followed her, and she did not stop, even to catch her breath, until she had reached the camp of Killjoys, who were all staring at her worriedly almost instantly.

"What—are you okay?" Dr. D frowned as she almost collapsed, shaking her head and pushing away Skye as she tried to steady her. "No! My—he's—" She cut herself off, glancing behind her again and waiting until she could breathe normally before she began once more. "My dad is looking for me."

"Where?" DJ asked, and all the others looked at her curiously, several with their hands on their guns, expecting someone to have been chasing her.

Missile Kid shook her head, not having time to explain everything. "Listen…" She stood up straight and took a step forward. "I have an idea…and it's going to sound totally crazy, okay? But…I don't think we have much of a choice after…" She almost couldn't bring herself to tell them about her hopes of the others; far too many of their hopes had been crushed lately, and if this news would only do the same…

Dr. D's frown only deepened as she looked at him, but he was obviously willing to allow her to speak.

"What kind of idea?"

The BLI agent and the two Dracs walked out of the warehouse, slowly climbing back into the van they had arrived in. "That's it. I'll kill them all." the man growled, slamming the door and starting up the engine, pulling ahead about an inch before he stopped it again, staring at the figure that had appeared over the edge of the hill to his left.

Grace.

The man jerked the car door open and softly ordered to the Dracs, "Get her. Now!"

They jumped out, and immediately the girl shot off; not in the same direction she had come, but towards where the van had previously been coming from, like she had a hope of getting away. "Grace!" he shouted, but she did not slow down until a moment later, when she tripped and fell to a stop in the dust. The Dracs caught up to her easily and grabbed her by her arms, hauling her to her feet and forcing her to walk back to the vehicle, halting in front of the agent, who smiled, though it wasn't of happiness to see his daughter again. It was more like of satisfaction he now had finally caught her. "Hello, Grace."

The girl did not reply, expressionless, running her tongue over her bleeding bottom lip, and her father nodded at the two, who pushed her into the back seat, getting in beside her to assure she did not try to escape.

"You've caused us quite a bit of trouble," the man continued, yet she still showed no emotion. "Where have you been, hmm, Grace?"

"It's Missile Kid."

Her father laughed and once again started the engine. "You're too much like one of those Killjoys." He glanced back at her in the mirror. "Don't worry; we'll fix that."

"I'd like to see you try," she retorted quietly, and he smiled, turning the car around. "Trust me; I will."

None of the three caught the very brief, very small smirk that crossed the girl's face as she turned to look out the window, and none of them noticed what exactly she was looking at.

It was the hill she'd run from, which every Killjoy they'd found, Dr. D, and the others were hiding behind, all very aware of the plan she could only pray worked.

She faced forward again, forcing herself to remain expressionless once more, staring at her father.

I hope you do. Because that's pretty much what I'm counting on.

God I hope they're okay.

Ray shifted, biting his lip as a particularly painful hunger pang went through his empty stomach, making him nauseous and suddenly glad he couldn't be sick. He placed an arm around him, pinching his side to focus on something else until it faded.

He wished he could at least know what was happening with Gerard and Frank. He hated that, even though it'd only been an hour or two, they could have been dead. Korse could've done anything he wanted with them in that time, no matter what it was, and that, unfortunately, included killing them.

And Ray would never know until the man came back—if he came back at all. He had the option of just leaving them there to die. More than once, especially since Frank had been taken, he believed the cause of their deaths would be from dehydration. He could hardly speak, and doing so caused almost the equivalent of pain the electrocution device had in his throat. And Korse had shown no interest in giving them water, or food, both of which they needed desperately.

At least something to give Mikey to drink—it might have cooled him down a bit. Anything to help him feel better; he was completely soaked with sweat resulting from his illness and the heat of the room, though he continuously trembled when he was awake, despite having both his own and now Ray's jacket covering him. Ray had tried to take both off of him, hoping it would lower his temperature, but the blonde had been unable to stand how cold he'd gotten as a result, and Ray didn't want him to be in any more pain than he already was, uncertain if it would have helped him, anyway.

Ray winced and closed his eyes; sleeping was the only thing they could do now, though it brought no comfort, no less worry—only moments when they weren't aware of what was going on, only to be jerked back into a nightmare when they awoke.

That is not how that's supposed to work.

"R-Ray?"

The twenty-four-year-old looked over at Mikey, who had raised his head enough to gaze at him, his eyes unfocused.

"Yeah?"

"I'm…" Mikey trailed off and frowned, seemingly to suddenly be wary of what he was going to say and not continuing.

"You're what?" Ray asked, and with a voice no louder than a murmur, the blonde replied, "Thirsty."

Fucking A, he must be sick; he complained. Ray scooted a bit closer, stroking his arm gently, swallowing painfully and forcing his voice to work. "I'm sorry. I'd get you water if I could, but I can't…I'm sorry."

Mikey moaned softly, lowering his head back to the tile. He'd known that, anyway, before he'd even said a word about it, and wasn't quite sure why he had mentioned it now. He was disoriented from the fever; that had to be the reason. "You…you gotta tell Gee…if I—"

"Hey, knock it off," Ray interrupted, frowning and placing a hand on his cheek. "Don't talk like that." He looked away as the words left his lips; the kid was still very hot, maybe even more so than before.

Mikey closed his eyes and shivered violently, and Ray reached out, taking his weakened form and gently bringing him towards him. "It's okay; we're gonna get out of here."

Managing a miserable chuckle, Mikey leaned against him. "How're you so sure…?"

Ray hesitated, wrapping both of his arms around the blonde to comfort him. "I just am."

"Wh'ever you say," Mikey murmured, and then cried out as he absentmindedly moved his foot.

"Ssh," Ray tried softly, and Mikey whimpered, every inch of him tensed in the agony he just didn't think he could stand anymore. "It hurts…" he whispered, not even bothering to attempt to stop the tears this time.

"I know, I'm sorry." Ray allowed the younger Killjoy to take his hand and squeeze it like he had before. "You're going to be fine, though, okay? I promise. Everything's gonna be okay…"

Mikey only vaguely heard his words, but he immediately knew they were only to maybe make him feel better. The pain was just insufferable, and he'd never felt so hopeless…or tired.

He knew he wasn't going to make it, and that meant he would never see his brother or Frank or anyone else again. And despite not knowing how long it would take for whatever illness he had to overpower him, he could now honestly say he was terrified.

"Ray," he mumbled, "t-tell Gerard I love him, okay?"

"Stop." Ray said. "You're not dying."

"Not yet," Mikey responded weakly, closing his eyes, and Ray frowned. "You aren't going to at all! Not now, and not for a long time; I promise." He tightened his hold on him. "I won't let you die, Mikey; I—I love you."

He regretted the words instantly, no matter how true they were, and he blushed, awaiting the boy's reaction, but he did nothing, and after a moment Ray realized his breathing had evened out.

He's asleep. It was relieving in a way, but in another he felt no different, almost as if he'd wanted Mikey to hear in case…

Stop thinking like that. He sighed and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes again.

Dr. D, I don't know if you're even halfway thinking about rescuing us, but…if you're going to, please do it soon…

"Do you honestly know how much trouble you've caused us?"

Missile Kid glared at her father as she would have any other BLI agent, her hatred obvious. "I'm so sorry!" she spat, and he shook his head.

She was sitting in a chair in the back what she assumed was the man's office, paying more attention to her surroundings than him. There was a window that entirely made up one of the walls, and she wasn't too far away that she couldn't see out of it. It overlooked Battery City, and she could make out glowing signs below advertizing things, even the small figures of people walking along, unaware of anything going on above them.

Nice view. You've got a front row seat to watch yourselves destroy lives.

"You should be," the man replied, though he was very aware she was being sarcastic. "You and all your Killjoy friends."

"You've killed most of them!" she retorted, incensed. "I hate you! I'm not sorry for anything, and I never will be!"

He slapped her, and she jerked back, fully remembering how awful he'd been to both her and her brother. "I sure as hell know Neo isn't, either!"

Her father's face suddenly went solemn. "Neo?" he shook his head. "Grace, he's dead."

"…What? Since when?"

"When your pathetic friends kidnapped you from here."

"Kidnapped!" Missile spat. "Rescued is the word you're looking for. And you're lying! He wasn't there!"

She flinched suddenly, without the man having to speak another word. "No…or…he was, wasn't he? You—"

"I merely gave him the same treatment I give all the Killjoys we don't use for other things—tests and such—and he—"

"You turned him into a Drac!" Missile shrieked. "How could you do that? He was your own son!"

"He was no better than the rest of them."

Missile gawked at her father, horrified. "Bastard!" she shouted. "Did you kill him?"

He struck her again, for both the curse and the accusation. "Of course not; don't be a fool!" he scowled. "One of your Killjoy friends did."

"Who?" she demanded, ignoring her stinging cheek, and he looked at her, remembering the name Korse had told him when they had first captured the four. "Party Poison."

Missile blinked. "…What…?"

The man stared at her for a moment, noticing she obviously had a connection with the one he'd mentioned. If he could get her angry enough at him, at them all, maybe she would stop fighting. "He killed him without even thinking." he lied. "Without caring. He knew it was your brother, did he not?"

"No…I mean, yes, but…" she muttered, clearly confused, and so he continued. "I don't know why you two ever thought it was a good idea to join those rebels. They do nothing but kill."

"Yeah, you guys." she murmured, monotone. "You deserve it."

"Did Neo deserve it?" he demanded, grabbing her by her wrist and pulling her to her feet when she did not respond. "Did he?"

"No!" she whispered, shaking her head. "But—but it's your fault! You're the one who brainwashed him. If he hadn't been a Drac, he wouldn't have died!"

Her father shook his head. "If that's what you'd like to believe. But how many others need to die before you realize you should never have left? Your mother would be so disappointed…"

She flinched. Would…? "She's not…"

"She is. You ran off with your brother a month before she died of an overdose."

"An overdose of the drugs you told her to take?" she screamed, yanking her hand free and stepping back.

He ignored the words and countered it. "She did it because you left."

The ten-year-old froze. "Wh—"

"She was so hurt by the fact you and your brother cared more about your crazy beliefs than you did us, she didn't want to keep on living. She didn't know when, or even if you two were coming back."

"No…" Missile shook her head, trembling slightly.

"Yes, Grace." her father said seriously. "Doesn't that make you think you could have made a better choice?"

"By…letting BLI control everyone without fighting…?" she asked, trying to keep up the act of defiance she always had, but her voice was much too quiet and shaky, and she couldn't think straight. "I…"

"You have no one but me left now that Neo is gone." he continued. "Do you hear me, Grace? The only person who you ever apparently really cared about is dead. Why don't you just accept that and give in?"

Grace did not answer, but her father caught the look of defeat on her face before she looked away, blinking back tears, and he grabbed her gently, wrapping his arms around her, smiling as she neither protested nor moved away.

"Is he still alive?"

He pulled back after a moment as she spoke, her voice very low, and she raised her hand to rub her eyes, finally looking back, her expression now blank.

"Who?" he asked.

"Party Poison."

He eyed her closely and replied after a moment or two. "He is."

She showed nothing—not surprise, not relief, not anything that he would have expected. Had he really gotten to her? "Why?"

"I want to see him."

He frowned and released her fully, straightening up and taking a step back to stare at her. "Why?" he asked again, more sternly, and she glared at him, though her sudden anger was not directed at him, and it replied for her.

The man smirked.

Grace's father entered the room Korse had placed the Killjoy who had killed his son and another in, amused to see both of them cuddled together in the corner, asleep. He purposely slammed the door back as loud as he could against the wall, and they both started, jerking awake with several whimpers and blinking at the man, their eyes wide, clearly frightened out of their wits.

"…Missile?" Gerard mumbled as the ten-year-old stepped in behind the man, and her father jerked forward a step, his hand up threateningly. The Killjoy violently flinched, turning his head against Frank's shoulder, though the man had hardly moved.

"Don't call her that, boy." the man growled, and Grace took a step towards them.

"Are you okay?" Frank asked, concerned, but her expression remained unreadable, other than the obvious fact she was furious, and she did not reply, her eyes on Gerard, who looked back up to realize she was holding a ray gun extremely tightly in her hand.

A jolt of fear ran through him.

"You killed my brother?" she asked, her voice soft, and he stared at her, his mouth open and yet not making any sound for a moment or two. "Grace, it was an accident—"

"So you did?"

"I—I didn't know—"

"Don't listen to his excuses, Grace." the man said, leaning against the wall, almost smirking. "He knew before he shot him."

"I did not!" the red head protested, and Frank watched helplessly as he tried to convince the girl of the truth. "He—he had a mask on! I didn't even know Dracs were human until I took it off! After he was already dead!"

"He wasn't dead when you took the mask off," her father said, "was he?"

"I—n-not…I'd already shot him!"

"You're lying," the man accused, and then scowled as Frank shouted, "Shut up!"

"Do you really think I would've ever killed them if—if I'd known they were Killjoys?" Gerard demanded, and Grace briefly looked away.

"You would have, boy." the man continued. "All because they worked for us. That's your entire life goal, is it not?"

Gerard did not reply, his eyes on Grace, who was trembling now. She returned her attention to him and raised the gun, and Gerard cringed as the aim locked with his chest, releasing Frank and scooting a bit away from him without getting up, panicked. Was she really going to—?

"Please, Grace," he tried a last time, desperate. "I'm sorry! I never…" Trailing off uselessly, he gave a terrified whimper and shook his head. "I'm sorry…"

Grace's grip tightened, and Frank stiffened, his wide, frantic eyes going from Gerard to the girl and back again. He then reached out to the red head and grabbed him, pulling him back into his arms, able to feel every tremor going through him. If he were to be killed, Frank would die with him, protecting him as best he could. But after everything they'd done for her…she couldn't—she wouldn't—

"Me too," Grace replied finally, watching as the two of them squeezed their eyes shut.

She took a shaky breath—

And fired.