Bad Tidings || Gil, Francis [Thread 1]

[Alfred F. Jones]

it's a

revolution

Word count: 868

Tags: Gilbert Beilschmidt , Francis L. Bonnefoy

Notes: ...Merry Christmas?

Alfred could see lights in the house.

Thank god.

Alfred prayed that Gilbert was alone. The man had never mentioned throwing a Christmas party and with Alfred unable to babysit, Alfred had assumed that Gil had planned to stay in for the night. He certainly hoped so. He couldn't hear any music or laughter, but Alfred wasn't exactly in the best state to assess the situation properly. That much was evidenced by the sticky warmth that was soaking through the makeshift bandage on his arm.

He shouldn't be here. Alfred still remembered the fear that had struck him when he'd reached the base of the fire escape to find no one there. The man had been terribly injured. The very thought made Alfred's throat close up and his stomach churn. Alfred was fairly certain there was nothing left in his stomach. At least, he hoped not.

Alfred remembered watching the blood swirl down the drain as he wrung out the cloth. He'd scrubbed at the stain with bleach, the horrifying sounds of the man's shrieks of pain still ringing in his mind. He knew without a doubt that that image would be his next nightmare. He'd had the sense to save some in a small vial. Perhaps he could get it tested, figure out who this man was. Assuming he wasn't arrested within the next 24 hours, that was.

He shouldn't be here.

But he couldn't find Maëlle. Maëlle who had saved him, who had run afterwards. She needed to be safe. Someone needed to know she was out there, someone needed to bring her in, even if Alfred couldn't. If Alfred was dead. Gilbert was the best, closest option. The only option, really, that Alfred had been able to think of when he got in his car. Of course, now that he was here, Alfred was regretting his decision. He could've gone to Grigory. He should've. Gilbert wasn't in a good place, with Nico, with Luds, with Ren. Being caught with a wanted fugitive now would be a death sentence for the man.

He should turn back. But where else would Alfred go? The pain in his arm had dulled to a throb, but Alfred knew he needed medical attention. He'd lost a lot of blood and when he'd stepped out of the car, there'd been a moment when he thought he might just pass out right there. Hesitation, inaction...well Alfred knew where that road led to.

Alfred needed to focus on the next 48 hours.

He could run. Again. It would be smart. But Alfred couldn't run forever. He'd come so close this time. He had a life. An apartment. A job. He had the FF. And he had information. He'd met his brother. He couldn't just leave.

If he didn't leave though...well who knew what would happen then.

Alfred could operate underground, but for how long? Someone would snitch and then it would be game over. He'd be as good as dead. Maybe worse. Alfred wasn't going to get off easy this time, he knew that much. At the very least he'd be behind bars, maybe for life. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd be extradited or deported to the U.S. As strange as it was, that would probably be better than serving time in Russia. Alfred shuddered to imagine what that would be like.

Either way, Alfred doubted this would end pleasantly.

Alfred winced as he accidentally shifted his left arm. He didn't think it'd been that bad of a shot, all things considered. Really, he shouldn't even be alive. But Alfred had put off finding a doctor in trying to clean up his mess. He'd stumbled around in the dark, calling for Maëlle desperately. And then he'd driven here. He didn't feel all that good, the jacket he'd hastily grabbed seeming all too thin now.

How far was the drive to Leon's? Not that bad. This wouldn't take long, just tell Gilbert about Maëlle and leave. He could stash the car somewhere, go to Leon's place, get himself fixed up. Then...

If, by some miracle, Alfred wasn't behind bars in the next 48 hours, he would hide. He prayed that the masked man was dead in the woods somewhere, that the police weren't breaking down his door right now and tearing his apartment apart. He'd brought along the emergency bag that he'd created after the man's first visit. Fake IDs, passports, some basic disguises, his laptop and hard drives, a police radio. And the vial of blood, of course. That blood could be the key to figuring this all out. There were places in the streets that Alfred could hole up in for a while. He'd wait it out, see if there were any calls for his arrest.

Alfred nodded to himself. That was the best he could do right now.

Alfred pounded urgently on the door, praying that Gilbert was alone. Now that he thought about it, he should've called ahead. He couldn't have told Gilbert something like this over the phone in case of wire tapping, but he should've at least thought to call.

It was too late for that now. Alfred just hoped it wasn't too late for everything else.

i suppose

by Worldie for Leia

[Francis L. Bonnefoy]

Francis didn't get to enjoy much on most days; but then again, what was there to enjoy when you were locked away in the underground when the only contact you had was with any cellmates you hand and with the battles they forced you to fight. This he did enjoy. He was warm, comfortable with his friend asleep beside him, a blanket over them both. Beside Francis sat a warm cup of coffee, on that the steam was still visible, floating up towards the ceiling in small swirls. The light was on beside him, lighting the room, but it wasn't enough to keep his friend awake. The story that he had been reading was an old one from their childhood, but it still meant a lot to them both. It was a reminder of more innocent days that were long gone, the time before when they were free to run about and play with nary a worry or a care beyond a scolding from their parents. Carefully laying the book down, Francis could only sigh in peace, running a hand through Gilbert's hair. It wasn't often he got enjoyable moments of peace, but as long as he was with Gilbert, there would always be a sense of peace with him. The light haired German was so nice to him, treating him as a normal person, as his old friend; he almost couldn't believe it sometimes. But then they had times like this where they could just sit together and enjoy each others company like Francis hadn't disappeared for years, and he found himself truly happy. He was normal to his friend, he was just another person, one that the only special thing about him was that he was his friend. He would do anything to protect this man, protect one of the first friends he had ever made.

He had done much to protect his friend, he'd broken the law... not that he cared. He cared for very few things really, the law was one of them. He followed the law of the land, and the rules set forth for mutants because a majority of the time it gave him what he enjoyed. But the thing that no one counted on with Francis was how much he didn't care about most and how much he did care about some. He loved Gilbert. They were brothers in every way but blood, and they were sometimes lovers, but that's not why he loved Gilbert. He loved him because he had never changed how he thought about him. Always there for each other when they could be, when it counted. He knew that they wouldn't never be romantically involved, and that was fine with him, he didn't want this to go that way. He wanted his friend. And it was for this friend that he loved that he had defied the law, defied everything about mutant rules. When he was shown that his friend had kill Ren, one of them main tormentors, he was thrilled. Well, he would have been if his mind wouldn't have been foggy and hard to focus. He had used his powers to bury the man, and where he was buried would never be found or revealed. The bones would be taken deep in the earth, the flesh and muscles would be broken down for use by the plants and the earth creatures for food and energy. As far as Francis was concerned, this was a proper burial for once such as Ren was. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. He fed from the Earth, now the Earth fed from him. It had all come full circle.

It was as he was watching his friend sleep with a smile on his face, glad that he had such a good friend and one who's loyalties that he shared, that he heart a sudden knocking at the door.  Frowning some, such a look looking odd on his face, he slowly disentangled his hands from that silver hair, and moved towards the door slowly.  He didn't know why whoever it was was knocking so insistently or with such strength behind it, but Francis did know that it was never good. Carefully, he  barely opened the door, just enough to see who it was and to be seen. He was ready to slam the door if needed, but for  now, he put on a welcoming smile, every wary of strange people showing up in the middle of the night.

"Oui? Bonjour Monsieur, how can I help you today, well, this evening?

[Gilbert Beilschmidt]

  If I'm going to hell...
    I won't be going alone...

AGil had forgotten what it felt like to truly be at peace. Ever since his fateful interaction with Ren, he hadn’t slept more than a few hours a night. He made all the excuses, work, Nico, planning for the future with the Freedom Fighters… there never seemed to enough hours in the day. And everything proved to be a better use of time than lying in bed with the ghosts of the pasts haunting the silent hours that had been devoted to sleep.

He didn’t realize how much he had stretched himself too thin until Fran had managed to make it back into his life. His friend had been an actual godsend, first by removing the chance of Ren’s body ever being discovered, then by being the soothing presence Gil so desperately needed. Gil would never be able to pay Francis back for the kindness he had shown since he had arrived at Gil’s house.

Christmas night found him and Fran sharing a blanket, content to doze as Fran’s soothing voice washed over him. Nico had been put to bed, exhausted by the toys and playtime that Gil and Fran had lavished on him. Now the tree stood alone in the corner, with only a single present to keep it company. He supposed that it was foolish, it wasn’t like he and Al were friends. They were coworkers, acquaintances with a similar goal and though Gil might like to think otherwise, it was foolish to think otherwise. There was no sign, no reason that Al would show up tonight, but Gil still stubbornly kept the present by the tree, still insisted on staying in the living room… just in case.

The night had been a quiet one, and for once Gilbert was thankful for it. After all of the excitement, Gil could use a bit of respite. Nico and Fran were safe and healthy, West was as safe as he could be and maybe it wasn’t such a terrible idea to just relax.

Or it wouldn’t have been, had the world not chosen this night to go all to hell. He woke up with a jolt, disoriented and looking around for the source of the noise. He looked up to see Fran opening the door.

“Ah! Al, I thought you might show up—“ He peered over Fran’s shoulder, smile freezing on his face. Al looked awful, pale even in the dim light, and he was holding his left arm close to his body. But it was his face that gave it away, pale and gaunt, desperation shimmering in his eyes. He knew that look all too well. He was sure he looked similar when he showed up on Al’s doorstep not too long ago.

“Mein Gott, Al! Get inside, quickly.” He ushered the boy in quickly. He’d find out the details later, for now, it was more important to make sure Alfred didn’t bleed out in his living room.

word count: 490
tags:  Francis L. Bonnefoy  Alfred F. Jones
notes:

by worldie for kat

[Alfred F. Jones]

it's a

revolution

Word count: 701

Tags: Gilbert Beilschmidt

Notes: Francis L. Bonnefoy

Alfred couldn't help but feel anxiety sweep over him as he stood there in the cold, waiting for someone to answer the door. He ran everything through his head again. Tell Gilbert, go back to the car, get fixed up, and then...then whatever happened next.

His bag was slung over his good shoulder just in case something went wrong. That bag held everything for Alfred. Everything that Alfred had worked for, everything that would get Alfred out of a pinch. There was no chance he was leaving it in the car. There was no one around, not that Alfred could see, but he couldn't be too careful. Not now. Especially not here.

The sound of footsteps was a relief to Alfred and he stepped a little aways from the door. He was alright. Alright. Completely okay. He just needed to speak to Gilbert and then he would be on his merry way. Alfred repeated those thoughts in his head like a mantra, evening his breaths out as he heard someone unlock the door. He needed to be as composed as possible right now. Gilbert tended to be nosy after all, and Alfred had no intention of being questioned here on Gil's front step. There wasn't enough time for that. There wasn't enough time for anything.

The door opened and Alfred looked up, words on the tip of his tongue when he stopped himself. The door was only partially open, but the man that was behind it was definitely not Gilbert Beilschmidt. With shoulder-length, wavy blonde hair and a hint of stubble, the man peered out at Alfred. He smiled, though his blue eyes seemed wary.

Shit. He should've called ahead.

Did Gilbert have visitors? Alfred should leave, he should leave, yes. He should apologize, say this must be the wrong house. Hell, say Merry Christmas and be on his way. He could drive to Greg's. It wasn't that far, right? He could make it. Go there, then Leon's. He could do that. It wasn't ideal, but in this case...

Alfred blinked as the man finally spoke, snapping him out of his own thoughts. That wasn't English, right? It took him a second before it occurred to him. French. Well, French mixed with English, he got the English bit.

Didn't Gilbert mention a friend who was staying with him? He'd been sick, Alfred recalled, which was why Alfred had taken Nico in for a few days. Perhaps this man was him. That should have occurred to him earlier, but his mind had been foggy. It wasn't functioning at full capacity, that much Alfred knew.

In that case though...if Gilbert had a friend here, this man could be taking care of Nico. In which case Gilbert might not be here at all. Alfred's heart fell at that possibility, one he hadn't even considered. He should've called. No, he should've gone to Greg.

Alfred put on a faint smile for the man anyways. It wouldn't do to simply walk away yet. Alfred needed to at least try to see if Gilbert was here, or this entire trip would have been for nothing. He was fine, he reminded himself. Absolutely fine. "Hi. Is Gilbert Beilschmidt home?" Alfred asked cautiously. "I need to—"

Speak of the devil. Gilbert appeared at the door. His smile sent a wave of relief through Alfred, though it dropped off as soon as he caught sight of Alfred. Before Alfred could protest, Gil was ushering him into the house. Wait. Wait no. Alfred needed to leave. Maybe it was okay for a moment, it wouldn't do to have the neighbors suspect anything. Alfred would leave soon.

"I'm okay," Alfred said immediately as he entered, and for a moment he even believed it. "I can't stay, Gil, I just came to ask you for a favor." Alfred glanced hesitantly at the man next to Gil before he pressed on. Gilbert trusted this man, right? He'd leave the details out. "Maëlle ran away. I can't find her... I need you to find her and take her in. Please."

Alfred hoped Gilbert would take the hint and let him leave without asking any questions. Alfred needed to get moving. He couldn't afford any delays.

i suppose

by Worldie for Leia

[Francis L. Bonnefoy]

Stepping out of the way so Gil could pull his friend inside, Francis saw what Gil had seen as he became illuminated in the brighter room; the blood-soaked sleeve, the pale features, colored with worry and blood loss. As Gil worked on whatever he was doing, Francis slipped quietly from the room, returning a few moments later with the first aid kit. He left again after that.

While some people might consider Francis ' actions rude, he thought it was polite. He was giving his friend time to talk and fix him figure out what was going on and patch his guest up.

Starting the coffee, he busied himself with that and making something for the two friends to eat. It was obvious the other blond needed some type of food, something to start repairing what was lost. He was also giving the two time to talk without being overhead. Francis had learned long ago that somethings it was better not to know, for what he didn't know, he could never reveal or accidentally give away.

Putting two cups of coffee on a tray, and some finger sandwiches also, he walked back into the room, a little bit louder than necessary so the two men knew he was coming and would not be surprised mid-sentence and accidentally hurt himself.

"I brought coffee and some food. Now, no matter your plans, you must drink some coffee and get some food. I will not let a friend of Gillian leave and fall over for lack of care. Attend wounds and food... and though I wish you could sleep a bit, whatever Gil decides will have to do, he knows best how you are and what you will deal with."

And with that said, he started distributing the cups among the two humans. He would accommodate Gil's friend how he could, and hopefully he could do something to help though. For now, he excused himself, if he wasn't needed, he would go check on Nico to make sure he was asleep. He would also grab another blanket, for even if his friend didn't stay, he would need a blanket to stay warm.

[Gilbert Beilschmidt]

   If I'm going to hell...
    I won't be going alone...

Gil managed not to swear at the younger boy, but it was a close thing. Did Al really think he could show up on Gil’s doorstep looking like he did and expect to disappear just like that? Did he really think so little of Gilbert? The German kept a tight grip on Al’s wrist as he all but dragged him to the couch to sit down, tugging off his sweater and laying it against the cushion so Al could bitch about ruining the couch by bleeding all over it. (Because Al absolutely would worry over something stupid like that.)

“We’ll find Maëlle. I promise. She’ll be safe with me. But in the meantime, we have to make sure you don’t bleed to death on the side of a road, now, let me see that arm.” Gil was in no mood to argue with the American tonight, not when he chose tonight of all nights to end up injured. Gil was not about to let the stubborn ass ruin Christmas by dying. No way. He tugged off Al’s coat, careful not to jostle his injured arm more than necessary. There were so many questions circling in his head as he surveyed the damage done to his compatriot. What had happened? What was Al doing, running a mission on Christmas and what did Maëlle have to do with anything?

He stopped for a moment, barely noticing Fran slipping away. His rubied gaze fixed on the… on the wound…. The bullet wound. Al had been shot. Gil felt sick at the thought. Al had been shot. It was a risk of the job he did, they both knew that. But now, staring at the actual wound, Gil realized that he’d never really believed it would happen. Alfred was a professional, had been operating in the shadows for years… he wouldn’t be so careless as to actually…

“Who-“ His voice came out scratchy, as though the realization had sucked out the wind from his lungs. “Al, who should I call? The Freedom Fighters must have someone to help anyone who gets injured and can’t got to the hospital, right? Someone who can stitch you back up. Just give me their number and I’ll call them for you.” Gil hated to admit it, but he wasn’t able to help Al, not the way he desperately needed to be helped. But at least he could find someone who could help him who could… God there was so much blood.

Gil looked up, his jaw tight as he looked at Fran, who returned with a tray of food and cups. He managed a smile of thanks and turned back to Al, keeping a hand on his non-injured shoulder.

“See, you can’t leave now. Fran went to the trouble of making you food. You can’t let it go to waste. So eat up while we get someone to take care of you. Then I’ll go search for Maëlle. She’s a smart dog, she’ll be fine until then. She wouldn’t want us to be focus on finding her when you’re clearly in trouble. So lets take care of you now, then we can deal whatever’s next.” He gave Al a comforting grin he didn’t exactly feel. But it didn't matter. He just had to see Al through the night... everything would be okay in the morning. He had to believe that.

word count: 562
tags: Francis L. Bonnefoy   and Alfred F. Jones
notes:

by worldie for kat

[Alfred F. Jones]

it's a

revolution

Word count: 994

Tags: Gil, Francis

Notes: I got it under 1000!

Gilbert didn't let go of Alfred. If anything, Gilbert tightened his grip on Alfred's wrist, tugging him insistently towards the couch without a word.

"Gil. I said I'm fine," Alfred protested. "It's not as bad as it looks."

Gilbert ignored him, instead sitting Alfred down on the couch. The man's voice was tense as he spoke, his words leaving little room for argument. Gilbert removed Alfred's jacket, and Alfred winced as Gil eased his arm out of the sleeve. It still hurt. Not unbearably painful (which would have been bad, Alfred remembered there was a bundle of nerves in the shoulder...he may have just been lucky enough to miss it), but painful enough that he was still conscious of it. Pain was good, Alfred reminded himself. Being aware of pain was good.

Alfred mentally tried to remember the risks. Shoulder...the main risk in the shoulder were the nerves. Then the arteries...there was a big artery that ran through the shoulder. Alfred remembered David—his dad's friend—telling him about a guy who'd been shot in the shoulder and bled out in minutes.

It must have missed the artery, or if it'd hit, only just nicked it, because Alfred wasn't dead. He'd tried to stop the bleeding as well as he could, and admittedly there had been a fair amount of blood, but he wasn't dead. Which was good. Alfred closed his eyes as he tried to remember the other possibilities. Left shoulder was tricky. Right next to the heart. That's probably where the bullet should've gone. Should've, could've, would've, if it hadn't been for Maëlle. He would've probably died in his apartment.

It was almost absurd, the thought of it all. Alfred wanted to laugh. He had always known, to some extent, that it could happen. That it probably would happen, if he didn't end up in jail first. But it felt surreal, now that it had happened. Like a dream.

Alfred gave Gilbert a faint smile as the man tried to get a better look at the wound. "I paid so much for this suit too," he joked weakly. "S'a pity, don't think I can just take it to the dry cleaner's now..."

It really wasn't much help, and the stricken look on Gil's face told Alfred just as much. Alfred shivered. It suddenly felt very cold in the room, even though logically, Alfred knew that there must be a heater on. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn't wearing his jacket anymore.

Gilbert looked so goddamn concerned. Alfred wished he could just tell him to calm down and stop panicking. Most gunshot wounds were survivable, so long as they weren't to the head. Something like 80% of people survived so long as it wasn't to the heart or head. He would be fine, if Gilbert would stop looking so goddamn worried.

"Number..." Alfred murmured, eyebrows furrowing slightly. "There's a guy, yeah, but..." Alfred straightened a little. Pull yourself together, Jones. It's only a gunshot wound. "He won't come if you call him. I should do it. But it'd be better if I drive myself. Really. It's not that far from here."

That was a lie. This was a nice part of town, and Leon's place was far from that. But it wasn't a terrible drive. Not unbearable. Alfred could make it. If he could just convince Gilbert...

Alfred glanced up as the man with the long hair reentered the room. He'd barely noticed the man leaving, but he'd returned with coffee and food and set it down besides the two of them. Gilbert's friend. Or at least, Alfred was pretty sure he was Gil's friend. Gil had never told him much. Alfred wondered how they knew each other. They seemed comfortable around each other, so they must have been friends for a while, to be spending Christmas together.

Christmas. Alfred really shouldn't have intruded on Christmas.

Alfred shifted slightly in place, wincing again. Gilbert still had a hand on his shoulder, whether it was to comfort him or keep him in place, Alfred couldn't tell. Probably both, Alfred thought wryly.

"I'm not...that hungry." He peered past Gil towards his friend. Fran? That's what Gilbert had called him, right? "It looks good though," he commented. "Thank you. I'm just...not hungry."

Alfred shivered again. "I don't think we've met," Alfred said towards the man with a small smile, hoping to distract himself from the cold and the pain. "I'm Alfred. Sorry I had to crash in on you. I'll be off your hands soon, I promise."

Maybe Gilbert didn't have the heat on. Or maybe he was still feeling the chill from outside. Alfred was unusually sensitive to the cold after all. Matthew had always teased him about it. He turned his attention back to what Gil was saying, about Maëlle. Gilbert needed to know. Just in case. My would be scared and alone and out in the cold and... Alfred could feel panic shooting up in his chest. Glancing at Fran, he leaned in towards Gil and lowered his voice to an urgent whisper just in case. "My...she's not...she's not just a dog, Gil. She's a mutant and I just...I need you to find her. If I can't do it, I need you to find her."

It was so much to ask, too much. Maëlle probably wasn't even in dog form, was probably far, far away from here. But someone needed to know. To try. Alfred owed Maëlle that. Stupid, stupid. How had he not known? How had she not trusted him? After all this time...

Alfred winced as he accidentally moved again. He picked up the gauze he'd had earlier and pressed it back against his wound, closing his eyes as he applied pressure. He should really go to Leon's. It wouldn't do to just bleed all over Gil's couch. Gil was a stubborn ass though, so terribly overly concerned. If he would just let Alfred leave, things would be so much simpler.

i suppose

by Worldie for Leia