And Bert was busy spiraling out of control, which is what he did best.

Weeks ago, Gerard made a decision. It was possibly the hardest one of his life, but he�d made it. And he fully intended to stick with it, even as Bert�s puppy dog eyes sought his own amongst the gyrating crowd.

Gerard would not be tempted. Well, he would be tempted; he was human, after all. But he wouldn�t fall to temptation. That�s what separated him from so many others. He watched as the show ended and Bert shuffled backstage, swaying slightly like he was about ready to collapse. He probably was. Gerard hadn�t seen him steady on his feet in God only knows how long. If ever.

He made his way backstage, following the stench of sweat, and stale beer and the different, yet distinctive smell of several brands of cigarettes, all mingling as one.

A craving shot through him, but he pushed it aside; he had some shit to deal with before he would allow himself a much needed nicotine hit.

No one bothered him as he weaved his way through people to get to the dressing rooms. Several security guys (burly men, more often than not of the African American variety) stepped up to him, but didn�t question his right to be there. They all knew him, if only by reputation, maybe not by sight. He reached a closed door marked �band� and took a deep breath before pushing it open.

His eyes took in the images of the band members, one tuning a guitar, another chugging water down as fast as a camel, and another air-drumming, then he saw the one he was looking for most of all. Bert sat on a couch, puffing on a cigarette with his arm draped lazily around a scantily-clad blonde girl. His hair hung around his face in drenched and dirty strands. His eyes were wide, but hooded and there were huge bags beneath them, like he hadn�t bothered sleeping in a long time. One of his legs was jiggling up and down with an imaginary beat, and when he looked up to see who had walked in, his mouth fell open, dropping the cigarette into his lap.

Bert yelped and jumped up, brushing ash off his crotch, all the while muttering a string of curses. Gerard closed the dressing room door behind him, biting his lower lip and pushing his freshly-cut hair out of his face.

Even though Bert had clearly seen Gerard in the crowd earlier, his memory was not what it used to be. Bert could often be found asking his band members what he�d eaten that day, if anything, and lots of times he found crumpled up pieces of paper in the depths of his pants pockets containing girls� phone numbers; girls he didn�t remember meeting ever in his entire life.

The other band members offered him jolly hello�s, Quinn even got up and gave him a manly handshake; Bert, however, stood riveted to the spot, one hand on his crotch and another hanging at his side, loosely holding his cigarette as the ash built up, threatening to fall into a heap on the floor. He blinked a couple of times, just to make sure he wasn�t hallucinating. Then he found his voice.

�Gerard!� He stepped over an ashtray, dropping his cigarette as he went (and missing the ashtray by a foot) and an array of objects that had been cast aside, and pulled Gerard into a hug.

Gerard felt awkward in returning the hug, so he only patted Bert on the back with one hand and then carefully stepped out of reach. �Hi,� Gerard said, clearing his throat and reaching into the pocket of his jeans. He pulled out a battered cigarette box and shook one out, shakily bringing it to his mouth.

�I thought you quit,� Bert said, cocking his head to the side and offering Gerard a lopsided grin. He pushed some mangled and sweaty hair behind one ear, waiting.

Gerard let out a hoarse laugh. �No,� he said spitefully. �There�s been too much shit going on.�

Bert nodded, and didn�t say anything else. This surprised Gerard; usually he couldn�t get Bert to shut up. Perhaps he was sober. No, Gerard argued with himself, there was no way he was sober. Bert was never sober, and if he was it was only because he was sleeping off a hangover.

�Good show,� Gerard offered after a minute; it was awkward as hell, standing there in the middle of the room with everyone�s eyes on them. And Bert was not helping by being quiet. If there was one thing Gerard could rely on Bert for, it was the fact that if Gerard felt nervous, Bert was always there as a buffer. Tonight, he seemed off in his own world, thoughts of buffering nowhere in sight.

�Thanks,� Bert replied, then sighed. He shrugged as if to say �What the hell� and then wandered back to the sofa, where he picked up his pack of cigarettes and lit one. The girl beside him was watching Gerard with curious eyes, but he ignored her in order to fumble with his pink lighter (stolen from Frankie) so he could light his cigarette; finally he succeeded and sucked in too much smoke. He coughed and sputtered, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

�How�s the guys?� Jeph asked from the couch, his hands running through some random girls� hair while she giggled.

�Fine,� Gerard answered, taking a step backward and taking a hit off his cigarette; he cast a cursory glance at Bert, whose eyes were lidded and unreadable. He kept backing up until he hit the door handle so hard that he could tell he�d broken the skin; a slight stickiness rolled down his hand and he looked down to see a trickle of blood sprouting out of the tiny wound.

Gerard looked up to see that no one was paying him any attention. He knew they all had the attention spans of goldfish (or worse) but he hadn�t seen them in so long, he thought maybe he�d get more of a response from them. A parade maybe.

He didn�t belong here anymore. In this constricted, smoky room filled with people he thought he knew and empty bottles of hard liquor.

Everything had changed. And while Gerard knew this, it hadn�t hit him until this moment. When he saw the line drawn between himself, and the rest of the world. Or maybe just the one part of the world; the part that had been, before, the center of Gerard�s universe.

�How was it?�

Gerard looked up from his shoes, surprised to find that someone was actually addressing him. He�d almost forgotten where he was. His head was jumbled with thoughts, and he couldn�t keep even one of them straight. In short, he was a fucking mess.

�Fine,� Gerard offered with a shrug.

Frankie leaned forward over his guitar, which he�d been tuning. �Are you sure?�

Gerard dropped down onto the couch and sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. As always, he was slightly surprised to find his hair so short, since he was used to the length he�d had once. �Yeah,� Gerard said, attempting a smile; it ended up looking more like a cringe.

�This always happens man,� Frankie said empathetically, setting his guitar aside and tucking a leg beneath him. �Why do you let him do this to you?�

�I don�t let him, Frank,� Gerard stated heatedly. �You try being so fucking in love with someone that you can�t see straight, and then having your heart broken. And stomped on. It�s fucking torture.� He let out a hoarse laugh. �Actually, torture would probably be more fun.�

Frankie sighed, knowing there was nothing he could say to help. It was best to let it lie, like he always did. Sometimes you can�t face your demons head on, and sometimes Gerard can�t face his at all. The last thing Frankie wanted was for Gerard to get more upset than he already was; he felt a sudden urge of protection for Gerard, and wanted to hug him, but didn�t reach out. It just didn�t seem like the right time.

It was the right time for a change of subject. Frankie was always good at doing that. �I figured out a riff for that new song,� he said, picking up the remote control and turning the TV on.

�Cool,� Gerard said, relaxing a bit. He was exhausted, and wanted desperately to go to bed and sleep for years, but the bus wasn�t all that comfortable. And his brain was whirling around, making sleep an impossible activity. His head was pounding, and his hands were shaking, and his heart ached. He longed for the bliss of months ago when he could drown himself in alcohol and wake up in the morning with a blank memory.

Eventually, he had an idea that maybe he�d spend some quality time with his brother to pass the time. Or to get his mind off things he shouldn�t be thinking of. Namely Bert, although there was a tiny nagging in the back of his mind that thought he should get plastered for old time�s sake. �Is Mikey still up?�

�Nah, he crashed about an hour ago,� Frankie answered, stopping on an infomercial. �Sweet, look at that.�

Gerard chuckled lethargically. �Why would you need a vacuum cleaner that doesn�t actually vacuum?�

Frank gave him an incredulous look. �It vacuums, washes the floor, dusts, makes cappuccino AND color coordinates your ties simultaneously. How can people live without that thing?�

�You can live without a lot of things,� Gerard commented seriously; Frank turned to him, an eyebrow raised in question. It seemed he was no longer speaking of vacuums, but of something much more meaningful.

�Mikey, don�t stick the fucking fork in the toaster,� Ray muttered, wandering into the kitchenette and pulling the silver utensil out of the younger man�s hand.

�It�s a knife. And I wasn�t going to stick it in there,� Mikey argued, just as some nicely singed bread popped up. �I was waiting to butter the toast.�

Ray pulled a carton of orange juice out of the fridge and gulped some down; he gave his friend a skeptical look before tossing the nearly empty container back into the depths of the fridge. �I swear to God I�m going to get rid of all the silverware and replace it with plastic shit so you can�t hurt yourself.�

�You can hurt yourself with plastic silverware,� Mikey said matter-of-factly, digging around in a drawer for another knife to use.

�I�m sure you could figure out a way,� Ray commented with a laugh.

Bob looked up from the newspaper he was reading at the tiny table. �Yo, Mike, toss me a piece of that.�

Mikey tossed him a piece of buttered toast and went back to methodically buttering the other one. �Did you talk to Gee last night?� Bob questioned, as Ray sat down across from him and started reading the comics.

�No, I crashed before he got back,� Mikey responded, biting viciously into his toast. �I�m sure Bert played his fucking mind games again.�

Bob sighed. �We�ll have to pick up the pieces.�

�Once again,� Ray replied dramatically, shaking his head and reaching blindly for a box of cereal. He grabbed one and looked at it. After a second he shook it. �There�s no more Captain Crunch,� he said with unconcealed surprise. �Who ate all the fucking Captain Crunch?�

�I got hungry last night, and that was the only thing I wouldn�t have to cook,� Frankie announced, coming into the area and hopping up on the countertop beside Mikey.

�We have Spaghetti-O�s,� Bob stated evenly, unconcernedly turning a page of the paper.

Frank rolled his eyes. �You have to cook those, genius.�

�You could eat them raw,� Ray said crossly, reaching for the Fruit Loops. �Straight out of the can, like a MAN!�

Mikey snorted, Frankie scowled and Bob laughed. �Real men eat shit raw, Iero.�

After making a very interesting face (that made him resemble a demented owl) Frankie grabbed a handful of cereal from an open box beside him (Count Chocula) and threw it at Bob, who hid behind his paper; a ton of little brown pieces ending up raining down upon Ray�s head (mostly getting caught in his fro).

�Dude, toss me the Dorritos,� Bob stated, making a �come hither� motion at the bag of Dorritos situated beside Mikey�s leg. He was using The Force, but a fat lot of good it was doing him.

�Why am I always the one getting you food?� Mikey asked, picking up the bag and throwing it at Bob.

Frank laughed. �Probably because he knows you�re not gonna eat it.� He reached over and grabbed at a bit of fat on Mikey�s hip. �You don�t eat.�

Mikey held up his toast, which was almost gone, and squirmed out of Frank�s grasp. �I do eat. See?� He said pointedly, making weird hand gestures at the bread.

�Give him a Dorrito,� Ray commanded, pulling his phone out of his pocket and flipping it open. �That�ll fatten him up.�

�No way,� Bob said through a mouthful of chips. �Mine.� He clutched the bag to his chest, chewing quickly and giving the other guys looks that were designed to scare them away.

Gerard appeared in front of them suddenly, his hair all over the place and eye makeup smudged under his eyes; he rubbed at them, smudging it further, which gave him the appearance of a corpse once he pulled his hands away.

Bob dropped his Dorritos, then hastily reached for them again before Mikey had a chance to react; Frankie fell off the counter, and even Ray stopped talking on his phone briefly.

�It�s nice to come into a room and have it go quiet,� Gerard commented, shuffling over to where he hoped there was some coffee hidden. �That way you always know you�re being talked about.� He sent a disdainful look at his brother, and stepped over Frankie to reach a mug.

�We weren�t talking about you, Gerard,� Mikey said swiftly, finishing off his toast in one quick bite. �We were talking about�uh�chicks.�

�Yeah,� Frankie said enthusiastically. �Girls are hot.�

Ray nodded and held up his phone. �I�m talking to one right now.� He spoke quietly into the phone, �Gotta go Mom,� and hung up.

�I like Dorritos,� Bob said with a shrug; he received a kick to his shin from Ray.

Gerard leaned a hip against the counter beside his brother, an eyebrow quirked; he pushed some hair back out of his face and took a sip of coffee. �None of you can lie for shit.�

�How�d it go with Bert?� Bob asked as casually as he could with a handful of Dorritos headed to his mouth. Ray, Frankie and Mikey all stared daggers at him; he simply shrugged. �What? He knows we were talking about him.�

Gerard sighed and finished off his coffee in one gulp; he barely felt the burning sensation as it went down his throat. �Bert�s a fucking bastard,� he said crossly, pushing past them to the bus door. �But he was a good lay.�

Mikey blinked, looking rather green, Frank smirked and Ray looked like he was going to pass out on his cell phone; Bob laughed.

Frankie slipped an arm around Mikey, but was slapped away. �Dude. It�s too early to fuck with Mikey�s head. He�s so fragile. And he�s only had one piece of toast.�

Ray stood up bravely. �Gerard, if you wanna talk�.� he trailed off at Gerard�s expression of pure venom.

�I know,� Gerard said heavily. �But I�m over it. Okay?� He looked at the other three in turn. �I�m so over that idiot.�

It was a couple of days later, after a pretty exhausting gig, when Gerard found out just how much he really was over Bert.

The boys of My Chemical Romance were sitting around the backstage area, chugging down copious amounts of bottled water and playing video games, waiting for the show to finish so they could go home. It was a benefit concert, and there were at least twenty bands playing, so it was an all day thing. They had to do a signing at some point that afternoon, so there was no point in leaving. Even though they all very much wanted to break free of the confines of the hot building.

�Do you have any seven�s?� Mikey tapped his foot impatiently against the cement floor. �Ray!� He bellowed, waving a hand in front of Ray�s face.

�Wha-huh?� Ray shook his head to clear his thoughts and stared down at the cards in his hand. �Sorry,� he said, pulling a card out of his bunch; he handed it to Mikey and then leaned back in his seat, sighing.

Gerard paused the game he was playing (much to Bob�s dismay) and turned to his brother. �Hey, Mike, go see if The Used are done with their set.�

�Why me?� Mikey questioned, laying down four seven�s and pouting at his older brother.

�Because you�re younger and because I said so.� Gerard turned back to the game and hit the start button. �I wanna take a walk but I don�t wanna run into�� he stopped abruptly and made a huge point of staring at the television screen, where Bob was blowing him up.

�I�ll go,� Frankie offered, pulling himself off the couch and skipping to the door. He was reaching out for the handle when the door swung open and hit him in the head; he bounced back and lay sprawled out on the floor. �FUCKING HELL!� He roared, clutching his nose. �Don�t you knock before you----� his anger ebbed away, along with his words, when he saw who it was.

Bert was timidly walking into the room, his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets; his hair was framing his face in damp strands, and what little makeup he�d applied before going on stage was running slowly down his face, giving him the appearance of a clown left out alone in the rain.

�Hey,� he said, bending down to help Frankie to his feet. �Sorry, man. You okay?�

Ray and Mikey, Go Fish forgotten, were examining Frankie�s face for any signs of blood. He had a bit of a bump on his forehead, and his nose felt broken, but other than that he seemed fine. �I�m okay,� Frank said, pushing Mikey and Ray away angrily. �I�m gonna go for a walk.�

�I�ll go with you!� Mikey offered, casting a cursory glance at Bert, and then at his brother.

�Me too,� Ray hastened to say, hurrying out the door after Frankie and Mikey just in case Gerard decided to stop them. He didn�t bother, just watched them go dejectedly, wishing they weren�t leaving him alone with the last person he wanted to speak to. Then he remembered Bob.

Bert stood in the middle of the room, looking exactly like Gerard had looked days ago, in a similar dressing room, in a similar city across the country. Bob raised an eyebrow at Gerard, a silent question.

Gerard nodded and stood up, brushing his palms on his pants; he was suddenly very sweaty.

Bob stood up, turned off the TV and left the room without a word. It was silent except for the sound, somewhere off in the distance, of a fading crowd and of a broken air conditioner that kept clunking every so often.

�Hi,� Bert said after a moment; his voice was hoarse and strained.

Gerard managed to nod, but didn�t speak. His vocal cords seemed to have left him in the dust.

Bert stood there motionless, not even blinking. He looked the epitome of a deer caught in the headlights.

�You---� Gerard realized his voice was coming out a lot stronger than he intended, and cleared his throat; when he spoke next, his voice was back to normal. �You wanna sit?�

�Okay,� Bert said hesitantly, like he wasn�t sure if this was more an invitation for Gerard to kill him, rather than have him sit on a harmless sofa.

He slowly walked to the sofa and sat down carefully, like he was afraid he might break.

Gerard sighed inwardly and ran a hand through his hair, messing it up; it was in desperate need of a shampoo, but he had more important things to worry about at the moment.

�I just needed to tell you something,� Bert stated, avoiding Gerard�s eyes.

Gerard didn�t say anything, but he sat down on the other side of the couch, watching Bert cautiously. He wasn�t sure he wanted to hear what Bert had to say. Seeing him there, looking so lost, was almost too much; Gerard wanted to pull him into his arms and forget the past year�but something held him back. He had to be strong. He could do this.

He prepared himself for the worse. He didn�t know what the worst could possibly be, but he had a few ideas, none of which put him at ease as he sat there, staring at a man he used to know better than he knew himself. Or, rather, he thought he had known him.

�Gerard,� Bert began, his voice heavy; he looked up, his eyes locking with Gerard�s. For once it seemed that Bert was all there. He didn�t seem to be teetering on sobriety, and his eyes weren�t clouded or black.

Gerard�s heart started beating faster, as his anxiety wildly grew.

Finally, Bert spoke again, after what seemed like an eternity of silence. Gerard watched, shocked, as a single tear rolled down Bert�s sweat-stained cheek.

�I�m sorry.�