Disclaimer: I do not own My Chemical Romance or its members, nor am I affiliated with them in anyway. The characters and events described in this story are completely fictitious, and any similarities between them and real people, places or events are entirely coincidental.

Gerard's eyes stung as he opened them. He was squashed into an aeroplane seat, too small for his tall frame, even though it was in first class. Stretching as much as possible in the cramped space, one hand reaching out to pull down the blind and block out the rays of sunlight trying to stare him down. He looked over at the still comatose form of Frank remembering the night before. Everyone but him had been drinking and had got stupidly drunk, Frank and Mikey more so then the others, and being the only responsible one, he had to make sure they both made it through customs and on to the plane.

The entire event had been so exhausting that he cringed to himself, he had done the same thing for years on end. No one had complained or condemned him for it, but he was over that now, and they said there was no need for forgiveness, that he just needed to forgive himself. Harder then they thought.

Assured after a quick inspection that Frank was okay, and knowing that Bob would take care of Mikey, He looked around for something to do. First class was nearly empty but for them and their entourage, and a sprinkling of middle-aged businessmen. One of which had already asked for an autograph 'forrrr myy dauuuughtherr' he had purred in his thick Middle-eastern accent urging the notebook and pen into his hands.

He spied a magazine tucked away in a pocket in the seat in front, the lurid colours identifying it as something other then a finance paper or a broadsheet.

It was the NME, and English paper that had worshiped the ground they walked on last time they had come to England, though had been to snobby to admit it.

It was a bright blue cover with a bunch of barely legal teens standing in a field somewhere two of whom were mock wrestling the others laughing along.

The title 'This Band Will Save Your Life!' half covered the quartet, barely looking at the camera. Gerard felt his lips tug up at the corner almost involuntarily, hadn't they said the same thing about us?'

They got off the plane in Heathrow, just outside of London. The rest of the band already recovered talking of the next drink, the next bar, the next show. Gerard still had the copy of NME, clutched to his chest like a safety blanket. Customs was once more a blur, Gerard remembered a time when airports had been en excitement a trip in themselves but now he loathed the sight of them, he just wanted to get to the hotel to what? Sleep, he was too awake for that he'd done it during the flight, food that was it and a chance to wander those empty halls vacant of personality dim lighting, plush carpets, staff trained to ignore unless paid to do otherwise. That was it that was what he wanted.

The car ride took just under an hour, he had his face pressed against the cool glass, eyes closed the blessed silence of the others too tired to talk enveloping him, the purple rays of twilight comforting as they died slowly making way for night.

A bellboy who opened the door of the car for him they were staying at the Hilton no less, made it big time now boy haven't you?

Gerard wandered into the lobby, Leslie Precious Leslie so very organised and devoted to the band, she would take care of the rooms. she always did and to such perfection. He sank into a huge tasteless modern armchair in the ostentatious oversized lobby. more or less just a large corner with glass walls that they had shoved a few armchairs into, and empty but for a small group to his right talking in bored educated middle class voices.

'So do you think success has changed you in any way' asked a voice older then the rest, it was an interview was it not? He was so used to people asking him that question that he half turned expecting the question to be aimed at him, the answer already on the tip of his lips.

'Not really I think because we're not known relatively well outside of the music scene in London, I mean were not Madonna, we can still hang out in our hometown or up London and not get bothered' said a voice, young, smooth, very educated and just a tiny bit camp.

'I think' said a second voice different to the last, though there was that same educated tone, less English, the accent more transatlantic, traces of American, and something else he couldn't place his finger on. it was deeper too husky, a whiskey voice they called it, a girl with the voice of a women. Gerard looked around dropping ash from a cigarette he didn't even know he had lit onto his trousers. He jolted slightly it was the band from the NME still clutched tightly in his damp hand. Though the photos had done them no justice, they were all extremely beautiful.

Two boys and two girls. The boys were Asian both rather short looking neither looked over 5'9 with chocolate coloured skin, and the serene faces of hindu saints. One had hair to rival Ray's almost, thick black and curling out of control, his plump cheeks dimpled as he smiled at nothing. The other had a face that belonged on a statue. So flawlessly sculpted, high cheekbones, arched brow, hair closely cropped to the head, with the glasses pushed up on top off it, looking almost obscenely sexual sitting they're glinting in the light from the little lamps on the table nearby,

And the women, no girls they couldn't be any older then twenty, were even more beautiful. Both as pale as moonlight, one looked like the poor dead Ophelia from Shakespeare's Hamlet. Blood red hair spilling down her back and half covering her sombre face, her sleepy dark eyes sweeping the lobby from time to time. The other paler, with the whiskey sour voice talking still, had a small round face, with the plump flushed cheeks of milkmaid, delicate features, soft hair curling in fragile gold ringlets about her face her vibrant green eyes shinning as talked. She looked for all the world like some sort of porcelain doll, that collectors would pay a load for. They weren't just beautiful but succulent little creatures, so secure in their youth and knowledge.

He had the sudden urge to go over and touch them. To cup the dimpled cheek of the boy feel his dark curls, run his finger along the flesh of little Ophelia's red lips, to stare into the little doll child's eyes and take the other up to his room and God know what else.

He shook his head suddenly, at the sheer ludicrousness of such thoughts, he had a girlfriend didn't he? Somewhere back home, Olivia his dark goddess, whom he loved with a passion, a passion though, that had been abating more and more since he had been on the road. Each brief encounter growing more dissatisfying then the last.

But he still loved her he had a fondness for her, for her long dark nails and wet lipstick, so trashy and inviting, her wriggling thighs, cheap leather skirts all of it he still loved. But, he thought, casting a glance over to the little group not so very far away, where the two lovely girls were studying him in a detached manner. How similar they looked alike then for all their differences! Ah to have them all if only once! Too beautiful, and too tempting, he looked away. He could feel their combined gaze on him as he stood up and walked over to his friends.

They all looked dead on their feet and older then their years, this touring was taking it out on them, they needed a rest a proper one. Not merely this one night off or the three nights they had off after these few London shows, all sold out and advertised to the last.

They were walking shells of who they once were, he was too he could feel it, how could they give all that they once had if they didn't even have themselves anymore?

The very thought ached his head he needed to lie down in a dark room. Not to sleep just to rest his eyes his soul, rid himself of the tantalising thoughts of those delicious children, don't even kid yourself Gerard, you're an old man at thirty and those kids are too fresh and innocent to take down with you. Well he could dream couldn't he?

He stared down at the amber liquid in the glass in front of him, the smell was intoxicating, yet the glass lay untouched. Just testing he thought to himself, to see if he could do this, could be this close, this tempted and stay strong. It was a sort of ritual he had developed, over the past few months, to sit alone and see if he could go through this, so far he had succeeded. And never mind that the barman was giving him odd looks. Some strange pale faced guy in a filthy leather jacket and greasy black hair falling in his eyes, sitting up at the polished bar like he belonged, staring at intently at the drink he obviously had no intention to touch. The bar was like the lobby, darkly lit and with no real walls a just carpeted floor instead of the shinning marble floors that covered the rest of the building.

The place was quite and near deserted but for him and a few others. The silence being broken now and then by the hushed childish giggles from the other end of the bar where the two curly haired creatures sat slowly polishing off their bottle of over priced whiskey.

He couldn't hear what they were saying only catch fragments of gibberish, the boy so serene looking still, occasionally shouted but this again was gibberish.

They had appeared from nowhere suddenly after he had been sitting there for a nearly an hour.

He in dirty jeans and a T-shirt his frame so like Mikey's but for his height and she dressed like the doll she was, in crushed blue velvet and lace, the dress looking like something from a movie, did they even make dressed like that anymore? He wondered.

It was while he was wondering this staring at her bent head and the way the light turned her hair the colour of old gold. That the boy slid of his seat and fell to the floor with nary a sound he had simply slipped of the seat to drunk to even try and save himself from falling.

The girl gave out a little laugh, which rang through the bar as clear as a silver bell. What were their names again? He had read it in the magazine but then he had been so tired at the time, very beautiful names though they had been, very old fashioned sounding.

The girl caught his eye from the other side of the bar, they shone in the dim light bloodshot but still focused.

"Couldn't lend me a hand could you?" she purred in her seductive little voice "there is a car out front waiting for us, it wouldn't take long".

It was all that he required he was off the stool and had the boy in his arms within less then a minute, though she had offered to share the load as she put it, but he shook his head, old fashioned manners being brought to the fore.

The car was large and black, he placed the boy in the backseat he stood back to let her pass, yet she looked at him expectantly, clearly indicating for him to slide in next to her friend.

What harm could it do? He thought to himself. The girl was tiny compared to him. And the boy was little danger. Plus a part of him longed to go with them to climb in the car with these gorgeous kids still with the flush of adolescence in their cheeks. To put his arm around the almost comatose boy and to talk with the little doll child, a girl with the eyes and voice of a woman. To converse with her at length to pour out his soul before her, as though she would understand the sorrow he felt, the inadequacy that no amount of praise or worship could wipe away. And she would understand he thought suddenly, he knew nothing of her yet he felt as though she would, her with her cold green eyes, and dolls clothes and bare feet, bare feet! In this cold!

He stared at her a moment longer then slipped into the seat feeling her follow close behind silently. Without a word said to him or the driver they sped of into the night.