Chapter Text
Frank opened his eyes and immediately shut them again when the light coming from the LEDs above practically burned their way into the back of his skull.
He lifted a hand out of the liquid to intercept the path between the overhead daylight simulators and his face. Something about the movement felt off. His brain was lagging behind like an overloaded processor. Slimy droplets oozed their way down his forearms, back towards the surface of the liquid. They didn't move like water -
Wait. Liquid?
The pads of his hands were wrinkled with it, like he'd been in there awhile. He shivered as the cool air graced his damp skin. The liquid he’d been laying in wasn’t exactly warm to begin with, and the temperature of the room wasn’t much warmer.
He tried to sit up slowly as he tried to place what it was, exactly, that he'd just been doing, what he'd just been thinking, or anything about today, or yesterday, or -
As he glanced around, he realized he had no idea where he was. It wasn't a tub. It seemed to be a glass tank, about the size of a funerary pod - the sides were transparent, revealing a row of work stations beyond the glass. The fluid he’d been suspended in was thick, slimy green, and waist deep. Not water.
A man in a lab-coat sat hunched over a nearby screen, typing away. The keys beeped quietly as the pads of his fingers registered against the surface of the board. The sounds echoed against the back of Frank's mind. The man was mumbling to himself as he processed. The only phrase Frank could decipher over the buzzing tech that surrounded them was “fuckin' shit,”
The noises around them grew louder, more urgent, almost like an alarm had been raised. It was an unwelcome intrusion on Frank's already overwhelmed senses. The man in the lab coat jolted upright and pressed a button to his right, which quieted the tech once more. He spun around in his rolling chair and froze as his eyes met Frank’s.
It almost hurt to try speak - to bring the simplest words to the front of his brain - like being washed out, but weirder. This face was familiar. This man's hair was longer than Frank remembered, and much more untidy. The rest of him was just as disheveled, down to the way his black tie hung loosely from his neck. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. That was usually the case with him, though. Frank knew this, but he couldn't place the rest - like what they were supposed to be working on, or how Frank was involved in the work.
The man in the lab coat pulled a small recorder from his pocket and pressed a button on the top.
“Subject Zero Zero is awake,” he announced as his eyes searched Frank's, "Finally."
He set the recorder down on the workbench beside the tank. It's red recording light blinked away.
“Hello,” the man said, rolling his chair closer to Frank.
“Um...?” Frank faltered. He swallowed hard as he returned the man's gaze. What had he been doing before this very moment? Why was that so hard to remember?
Nothing about the large, white room around them was familiar to him. He felt naked and exposed. Which lead him to realize he was. He slid his hands over his lap in an attempt to cover himself, even though the green fluid was already covering most of what he wanted covered. It wasn't just green, but opaque, synthetic. As he glanced down at his hands to make sure of this, something seemed off.
“Where the fuck are my tattoos?” Frank blurted out, startling himself.
He lifted his arms up and out in front of him, forgetting all about decency. His skin was pale and uninked, covered in pale, uneven splotches. He didn't remember getting the ink removed... And he was sure he'd remember that kind of pain.
There had been something wrapping around his wrist here. A colorful piece on his forearm there. A promise on the back of his hand there. The shapes weren’t coming to mind right away, but he remembered their presence. He remembered staring at the lines as they were painfully driven into his skin with an old world tattoo gun. He remembered that he'd traded a lot to get them.
“I should explain,” the man in the lab coat said hesitantly, pulling Frank from his wondering, “First, I need you to answer two questions…”
Frank darted his head back up towards the man, curiosity piqued. He lowered his arms once more.
“One. Do you know who you are?” the man asked.
“I’m… Frank? Frank Iero?” Frank said. He knew he sounded unsure of himself. ‘Do you know who you are?’ was sort of a vague question, though. He wasn’t sure if he’d answered right.
“Good,” the man replied, “Two. Do you know who I am?”
“You look familiar…” Frank supposed, lifting his slimey, uninked hand up to feel around for bumps or bandages along the side of his head. His head felt normal. His hair was soft and short just like normal, so why was everything else so fucking not normal?
“I’m trying to think of the best way to put this. Basically… You’re not Frank. You're a copy. A clone, if you will. The very first that I have created. To my knowledge, in this version of the universe, you are the only one.”
He paused, trying to gauge Frank’s reaction.
Frank waited for the punchline. Nothing was adding up. This face before him - a pretty one - was the only thing he was certain of.
“Tell me your name,” Frank insisted, leaning against the edge of the tank to inch closer to the scientist.
“Gerard,” the scientist replied obediently.
“How do we know each other?” Frank asked.
“We’ve known each other for a very long time...” Gerard answered, slowly, to choose his words.
“I asked how,” Frank pointed out.
“I met the person you are an exact copy of in a detention facility in East Batt City. About... Hm, ten years ago?” Gerard offered, eyeing Frank, “I didn’t want to wear the boy's uniform so they threw me in there to scare me. Frank was the first person to be nice to me in there. I think at the time he’d been caught using the city’s carrier drones to deliver, um, contraband? But maybe it was the time he’d rigged his hoverboard to ride well above the ground-traffic upper limit zone? It’s hard to remember. He was in there a lot.”
Frank thought about it. That seemed right. Sort of. He remembered the cold light simulators of the detention facilities - not far from the sims above them. He’d known Gerard for what felt like forever, that was for sure.
“But that was Frank. That wasn’t you,” Gerard explained, “Does that make sense? You are made up of copies of the same cells that made up a version of Frank from a few years ago. Up until last week you did not exist.”
"Theory says I shouldn't open with harsh realities on such a new brain when the chemicals are still balancing but... Frank never liked me sugar coating things, so I'm going off-script."
“If this is a joke, it isn’t funny,” Frank - or, could he call himself that? - said. He was starting to believe Gerard, if only because he looked so serious.
“It's not a joke,” Gerard said. Frank watched him reach over to press on the recorder again to stop it.
“Can I get out of this thing?” Not-Frank asked as he glanced down at the green fluid once more. Definitely synthetic - single-component, not mixed on-site. He bent his legs, slowly rising his knees out of the goo. No tattoos on his legs either. He shivered as more of his skin was exposed to the chill of the laboratory air.
“You can," Gerard offered hesitantly, “The intro on the coding prototype I used said you should have full cognitive command, but I’m not so sure about that. I was just about to run some more tests to see if your muscles had atrophied, but now we can do it together. Here... let me help you. We'll do it slow. No rushing your first steps.”
Gerard held out his arm for Not-Frank to support himself on. Only, Not-Frank wasn’t sure how he was supposed to get out. The tank was raised a few feet off of the floor, and there wasn’t exactly a way for him to get down gracefully. No stairs, no ladder. He reached for the rims of the tank and used them to pull himself up. As soon as he was on his feet, he was shivering.
“Can I have a towel or something?” Not-Frank asked.
Gerard quickly slid out of his lab coat and passed it to the shivering clone. The clone eyed the garment for a moment before accepting it and pulling it on.
“This is all I have,” Gerard offered sheepishly, "Poor planning on my part..."
"Off-script, you called it," Not-Frank noted.
The coat was too big for Not-Frank. The sleeves went well past his hands. He hastily fumbled with the buttons on the front, trying to ignore the way the fabric clung to his slimy skin, the way it bunched around his wrists. He could see the green soaking through the crisp white. He could feel Gerard’s eyes on him as his pruned fingers slipped on the buttons.
“Would you like some help?” Gerard asked.
“I think I got it,” Not-Frank insisted, trying to face away from Gerard without slipping on the glass paneling under his feet.
“I guess I always figured cloning a person would involve more wires and breathing tubes," Not-Frank offered conversationally, “A few needle nodes or something?”
“I took all of them out before I started on your brain,” Gerard explained, “They’re not really needed in the final stages... I also thought they might freak you out. They were freaking me out.”
“Is there, like, a chair in here or something?” Not-Frank asked, glancing around at the computers and microscopes on the workbenches organized around the room. Most of the work-stools were too high up to be of any help.
Gerard rolled the chair he’d been sitting in closer to the tank and held out his arm again for Not-Frank to take. Not-Frank went for it. He clutched Gerard’s arm and took a cautious step up over the edge of the tank and onto the cushion of the rolling chair.
Faster than he had blinked, the chair rolled out from under him, twisting his ankle painfully, and causing him to crash-land into Gerard’s arms. The chair ricocheted off the platform the tank was situated on and bumped loudly into the closest work bench as Gerard caught his experiment at full speed. His arms were wrapped protectively around Frank (Or, not Frank. Not-Frank was realizing his personhood was as slippery as the liquid.)
Their faces were inches apart. Not-Frank searched Gerard's eyes, curiously, noting that the scientist didn't seem to mind the closeness. Not-Frank opened his mouth to ask about this, but before he could Gerard was loosening his grip. Once he'd established a distance between them, he clutched Not-Frank’s shoulders at arm’s length.
“Sorry. I should’ve set up the tank differently...” Gerard apologized, pink creeping over his cheeks, “Here. Baby steps, now, like I said. Let me show you around.”
Gerard beckoned for Not-Frank to follow him. He slid the recorder off the workbench and back into his pants pocket and started to take steps backwards, eyeing Not-Frank up and down to make sure he was following along alright as he took a few cautious steps forward.
"I feel like I should be keeping you in a controlled environment of some kind," Gerard offered, "But I want you to trust me, and you'd never trust me if I treated you like an experiment. You are, but you're not. Do you understand?"
The pristine white tiles under Not-Frank’s feet were icy cold. The monitors strung along the rows of empty work stations were dark. The tech itself looked familiar, but Not-Frank remembered them all lit up with coding sequencers. The servers in the wall panels whirred loudly when they ran at full capacity. He’d been here with Gerard before, or somewhere like this. Rather, he hadn’t, maybe, but Frank certainly had.
“How are you feeling?” Gerard asked, “Are you hungry? Thirsty? Tired? The manual didn’t have too much information on what you might need, but then again, the prototype was intended for livestock, not… not...”
“Livestock?” Not-Frank asked, running his wrinkled fingertips over one of the interfaces as they passed the last row of computers. He was too overwhelmed by the surrounding lab equipment to know how he was feeling. He supposed his mouth was a little dry. He watched as Gerard held his hand up to a touchpad in the wall, causing the lab’s main door to slide up and open. They stepped out into a hallway.
“There aren’t citizen cloning kits available for industrial clearance just yet,” Gerard explained, “I’ve been commissioned by Better Living to develop one, but even if I’m able to increase the cell growth enough to develop a clone overnight, it’ll probably never see the light of day... They want it for themselves for some reason. I didn’t ask. I’m not even supposed to talk about it, let alone question its uses."
“What made you decide to test it out on me?” Not-Frank wondered aloud.
“Frank helped me develop the livestock replication suite the agricultural division still uses to this day,” Gerard supplied easily, “Do you remember anything about that?”
“Nope,” Not-Frank answered, “Am I... supposed to be good at science? Because I don’t know if I could even think my way out of a beaker right now. I can’t remember-”
“Science was always sort of my thing, technically,” Gerard offered slowly, as they made their way down the hall, “Frank was one of the only citizens in all of Batt City with an artist permit. He did graphic design for them, if you could call it that. But you- uhm, he always helped me with my experiments. He was always with me in the lab, helping me invent things. He was very good at technical things, computers, stuff like that. I think we’d be running this place if…”
“Was,” Not-Frank repeated. Noticing that Gerard had been using past-tense verbs.
“I’m telling you all of this because you’re going to be experiencing what we, in the industry, refer to as ‘selective memory.’” Gerard went on, ignoring Not-Frank's prying, “It's only ever been described in theory, not observed in practice... But in the script we wrote there were too many variables in the brain development sequence coding. Not everything would’ve transferred over one hundred percent. So, statistically speaking, you could have a completely different set of interests and abilities than Frank. It’s impossible to know what did or did not stick. There’s a good chance you’ll never get all your memories back, but bits and pieces should be trickling in. This might be a source of emotional distress for you. But it shouldn't be. The memories aren’t… yours. They're Frank's.”
“But I’m Frank, aren’t I?” Not-Frank asked, “You would’ve needed a pretty substantial DNA sample to initiate the cell-growth sequencer.”
Gerard and Not-Frank both stopped walking and stared at one another, wide-eyed. Not-Frank wasn’t sure how those words had come out of his mouth.
Selective memory - slippery as the liquid, and the personhood, then.
“Why do I know that?” Not-Frank asked.
“Because Frank would've known that, I suppose,” Gerard offered, "This will take some getting used to - for both of us."
And maybe the narrations were more for Gerard than for Not-Frank...
Gerard paused to place his hand on another touch-pad along the wall. Another metal door slid open, revealing a more informal space. There were couches, a kitchenette against the far wall, a TV...
“Home sweet home,” Gerard said, following behind Not-Frank. The door slid shut behind them without further command.
“Where are we, anyway?” Not-Frank asked, “Are we in Batt City now?”
“Where else would we be?” Gerard asked, “It’s not much, but it's home. Its yours, too. For now."
“Oh, okay...” Not-Frank said. The tiles were much less cold than the tiles in the hallway, but that didn’t keep him from stepping onto the first pristine-white area rug he saw and hoped that the green slime wouldn’t stain. He glanced behind him, noting that there wasn’t a trail of gooey green following them into the living space.
Not-Frank stayed by the entrance of the room as he took in his surroundings. The place looked mostly un-lived in. There was no evidence anyone had spent any time in front of the TV, though the TV was on, playing the mid-day reminders:
... Talking is prohibited in sections G, I, and Q of the inner city limits until further notice. Have a safe day.
“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Gerard asked, eyeing Not-Frank.
“I don’t know,” Not-Frank answered thoughtfully, “I think I’d like to get this stuff off of me.” The substance had started to congeal where it had formed thick droplets on his legs. Not-Frank pealed a congealed portion off of his neck and held it up to the light to see if he could see through it.
“Would it be alright if I showered off?” Not-Frank asked, nonchalantly sliding the mass of green into the pocket of the lab coat.
“Of course. I’ll go get you a change of clothes,” Gerard offered.
The act of turning the shower on was familiar enough. Though, Not-Frank had never done it before, technically speaking.
Technically he’d just been… Born? Created? Grown? Awakened? Assimilated? He didn’t know.
The timer started, letting him know he had thirty seconds before the water would start. He pulled Gerard’s lab coat up over his shoulders and off, not even bothering with the buttons. It lay crumpled and stained on the washroom floor. The heat lamps above Not-Frank came on to adjust the room to an ambient temperature that would be comfortable for an occupant in a state of undress. The shift in the tech added a soft, warm glow to the room. Frank took a deep breath of the clean, filtered air and breathed out again.
He stepped under the spray and began rubbing the coagulated green slime off of himself. It came off pretty easily. He ran his hands through his hair to get it out of his hair.
Once he’d gotten the worst of it off. He glanced down at himself, still a little confused where all the tattoos had gone, why his skin was so uneven... He was unrecognizable to himself. He glanced up at his reflection in the mirror to confirm that, yes, he was indeed some version of Frank Iero.
Trying to work through whether he was or wasn’t Frank was officially starting to give him a fucking headache.
He closed his eyes and let the warm spray pound onto his face - for all of two seconds - and then the water shut off. Not-Frank pushed the button to make the water start up again. He was startled by a voice:
“Denied,” the room said.
He pushed it again.
“Denied,”
Fucking water rations.
Wait.
Water rations. He remembered those. He’d stopped taking showers with Gerard when Better Living had put them into effect. There wasn’t time to take time in the washroom anymore. Showers had become strictly business, since they both had to be clean and presentable for the hours they logged, should the benefactors stop by unannounced, wanting a tour or an explanation of workflows.
The clone waited for some of the water to drain off of him before stepping out of the stall. The heat lamps were still on, but dimmed, keeping the room comfortable. He opened the panel in the wall by the mirror and pulled out a fresh towel.
More of the details of his life fell into place as he dried himself off...
Gerard himself was the keystone. There was a reason Gerard had asked if Not-Frank remembered him.
To call it selective memory, to say it did not belong to him, felt clinical and cruel. This was the BLi-sanctioned living space they'd shared since they'd filed for domestic partnership. Their home.
Not-Frank hadn't seen any other Franks hanging around. And a scientist as clever and fringe as Gerard wouldn't try to clone the people they loved without reason. Something had to have happened to Frank...
Not-Frank slid into the clothes Gerard had handed him: A pair of black pants and a fresh white shirt, colorless, neutral, tailored to his measurements. They fit like they belonged to him. Not-Frank swallowed hard.
The contrast between the shirt and his pale skin looked less stark without the tattoos. He didn’t like any of this at all. It was something like being homesick... on his first day on Earth.
He pressed his hand against the touchpad to let himself out of the bathroom. He needed to get away from the mirror. The heat lamps shut off as soon as the door slid open. He left the lab coat and his damp towel on the floor for the cleaning bots.
Not-Frank followed the sounds of Gerard’s movements to the small kitchen area in the front room. He was holding a white mug in his hands and breathing in the steam skimming off the top of the liquid.
His dark circles had given him away almost immediately. Gerard needed to stop drinking that BLi instant coffee so fucking late in the day if he ever wanted a good night's sleep ever again. It always kept him up.
Not-Frank’s first inclination was to reach for Gerard but he kept his arms at his sides. As if it wasn’t already confusing enough to decide if he was or wasn’t Frank Iero (and what declaring one or the other meant for him)... He had no idea what to do with Gerard now.
“The growth serum comes right off with a little warm water,” Not-Frank offered conversationally.
“That’s good to hear,” Gerard said, setting down his mug, “Your cognition should be improving steadily, but… Here.”
He handed Not-Frank a can of cola.
“Getting your blood sugar up should help with the... foggy-headedness," Gerard offered.
"Foggy-headedness," Not-Frank repeated with a small smile, "Is that an approved medical term?"
Not-Frank inspected the can for a moment before tapping the top, cracking it open, and taking a sip. The gentle carbonation and sweetener was as familiar as Gerard's dark circles.
"Sarcasm in the first hour," Gerard commented, checking his wristwatch, "Why am I not surprised?"
“Is there anything that you feel should be noted in particular, Subject Zero Zero?” Gerard asked, “About you? About your cognition? About anything?”
He always got like this when he was excited about his work. Only, his experiments typically couldn't talk back. Aside from that stint he'd done with the D.U.
“I’d forgotten about the water rations,” Not-Frank mused, returning Gerard’s gaze. He was about to try and describe the sensation of knowing where everything was, as though he’d been in that bathroom a million times, even though he hadn’t. Surely there was an approved term for that. It was on the tip of not-Frank's tongue...
The light in the room seemed wrong somehow. Not-Frank's eyes tried to scan the space to pick up on what had changed. That was when he noticed the walls. They were white. They hadn’t been white before...
“Where did the color go?” the clone asked.
“Huh?” Gerard asked, turning to try and follow Not-Frank’s gaze.
“On the walls," Not-Frank elaborated, "They were different before."
“Oh. Yeah," Gerard said, “Mikey helped me change them back to standard, said I could use a change.”
Gerard’s head snapped back in Not-Frank’s direction. “Wait. You remember that?” he asked.
Not-Frank nodded.
“What else do you remember?” Gerard asked.
“I remember Mikey,” Not-Frank offered.
Not-Frank took another sip of his drink and crossed the room so that he could drop onto the white couch. He glanced at the TV again. A program about housekeeping droids was playing. He glanced back up at Gerard almost immediately.
Aside from the time Not-Frank had spent in the shower, Gerard hadn’t taken his eyes off of Not-Frank since he’d woken up in the lab. Not-Frank sort of understood why. Successfully cloning a human being was probably very exciting to Gerard, even if Not-Frank couldn’t fully wrap his head around it. They should probably be celebrating a successful execution. Still, there was something uncomfortable about being the thing Gerard couldn’t take his eyes off of. There was a sadness to his gaze. An uneasiness.
“My brother’s on his way now,” Gerard said, setting down his mug, “He’s a doctor. I’m going to have him look you over and administer some basic immunizations… You can’t really leave here without them. You have the immuno-defense of a newborn infant right now…”
“Are you calling me a baby ?” Not-Frank asked.
“No,” Gerard said, allowing himself a sad smile, “...But can I just say, I’m glad your sense of humor wasn’t lost in the translation process.”
Not-Frank bit his lip, unsure how to respond. The look on Gerard’s face was just so fucking heavy.
"Where is Frank, Gerard?" Zero asked carefully, "Where did he go?"
“We should wait for Mikey in the lab,” Gerard said, changing the subject.
“The lab?” Not-Frank asked, “Why can’t we just do it in here?”
“I’d prefer if the examination was more formal,” Gerard explained, “Frank had an issue with authority. He had a hard time taking... anything seriously. Wouldn’t surprise me if you’re not any different.”
“So?” Not-Frank asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh dear…” Gerard sighed, “Come on, let’s go,”
As soon as they were back in the lab, Not-Frank eyed the tank he’d woken up in. The green liquid was still sitting there - congealing.
At the far end of the room lay what Not-Frank could only describe as an operating table. Gerard insisted a thousand times that no one was going to cut him open and that everything would be fine. It was just for emergencies. A thousand things could go wrong in the cloning process. Medical equipment had to be readily available in case something awful should happen and a clone experienced a medical emergency. Seizures and heart failure were the most common complications, but Gerard was prepared to handle these things, apparently.
Not-Frank sat on the edge of the metal table, glaring at Gerard.
“I told you that you’d have an issue with this,” Gerard said. He perched himself on the edge of a stool nearest the operating table.
Not-Frank stuck out his tongue.
“All this stuff was my idea, you know?” Gerard offered gently, “My superiors said there’d be no reason to attempt to revive a defective clone, since they’re not real people.”
“You don’t think I’m a real person?” Not-Frank asked, mock-scandalized.
“Of course you’re a real person," Gerard defended, “But in the eyes of the government, you're not. No papers. No record. You’ve got about as much agency as a cleaning droid. Less, maybe.”
Not-Frank just frowned at the comparison. First babies and now droids? Gerard sure knew how to charm a guy.
“In other words, they can take you away from me if they find I’m mistreating you,” Gerard explained, “But that’s about it. Suppose that's what they want the sequencer for...”
“As long as I don’t have to contribute to anything to their cause, I’m cool with that,” Not-Frank supposed.
Gerard smiled one of his sad, heart-wrenching smiles.
Not-Frank must’ve said something Frank-like.
“Have you had any defective clones before?” Not-Frank asked curiously, clearing his throat, trying to change the subject.
“Not yet,” Gerard said, shaking his head, “My calculations are never wrong. It’s just precaution. Something I wanted listed in the methodology for future experiments.”
“So, then, I’m just the first...” Not-Frank mused, “Zero Zero, you said? How many of me are you going to make?”
“I just needed one. One of you is more than enough... ” Gerard said, with feeling Zero couldn't follow.
The lab’s main door slid open. A tall, thin man in a lab coat - with hair the color of the endless desert sand and a brief case - wandered in.
“Over here,” Gerard called.
Mikey froze a few steps short of Not-Frank.
“Holy shit,” he said, eyeing the clone, “Frank.”
'Not Frank,' Not-Frank thought.
“Don't you mean, 'Eureka?'" Gerard asked.
Mikey's next steps were experimental, cautious.
“Holy Fuck, Gerard,” said Mikey, ignoring Gerard's suggested exclamation, “Hello, Frank-enstein.”
Not-Frank frowned at this. It was easy to smile when you weren’t a science experiment, comparable to a droid, sitting on a fucking operating table.
“This is subject Zero Zero,” Gerard said, “Subject Zero Zero, this is my brother, Mikey.”
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Mikey said, reaching out his hand to shake Not-Frank’s, "Wow."
Not-Frank took Mikey’s hand and shook it weakly.
“Holy shit,” Mikey said, again, decidedly not Eureka, as he glanced over at Gerard, “How’s the cognition? Can he walk? Talk? Think? Feel? ”
“All of that,” Not-Frank answered for himself, "And more."
“You look just like him, too...” Mikey mused, turning back to Frank.
“'Near Perfect Copy?'” Not-Frank asked coolly.
“Well, yeah, but, still, this is…” Mikey paused, setting his briefcase on the table beside Frank, “This is big, Gee.”
Mikey got out a flashlight and shined it right into Not-Frank’s eye.
“Hey,” Not-Frank huffed, holding as still as he could.
“Sorry,” Mikey said sheepishly, clicking the light off again, “I just want to check a few things. Say ‘ah’ for me.”
Mikey mumbled 'good' after each step of his examination. Hearing? “Good.” Sight? “Good.” Reflexes? “Good.”
“Lie down for a moment,” Mikey requested.
“Why?” Not-Frank asked suspiciously.
“I’ll give you a lollipop if you’re good,” Mikey offered. Frank did not like that he could not tell if Mikey was for real.
Not-Frank started to lower himself onto the operating table, hesitantly, suspiciously.
“I just need to make sure everything’s where it’s supposed to be,” Mikey explained, sliding Not-Frank’s shirt up and running a hand over his ribs. His pressed against them gently then pressed lower, against the soft of his belly. It tickled a little, but Frank tried his best to lay still. Not for Mikey’s sake, but because he could still feel Gerard’s eyes on him.
“Good,” Mikey decided after a moment, "All good."
Did Mikey know words other than 'good' or 'holy shit.' Though... Not-Frank was fine with those being on record.
Mikey brought out a stethoscope and placed it over Not-Frank’s heart. It was cold against his skin. He held his breath for a moment as he adjusted. Mikey listened to his heartbeat intently. Not-Frank was nervous suddenly. What if something was wrong with him? What the fuck would they do? Start operating?
“Your heart rate seems a little quick… are you feeling alright?” Mikey asked.
“Yeah,” Not-Frank replied, “Just… well, you know.”
“I don’t,” Mikey said, pulling the stethoscope away and lowering Not-Frank’s shirt. As Not-Frank studied his face, he tried to remember the doctor. Mikey.
“So what’s up, doc? Am I gonna make it?” Not-Frank asked lightly. He felt a little more relaxed now that he’d seen there weren’t any scalpels in Mikey’s kit.
“I think so. We still need to immunize you, though,” Mikey said, “So I’ll let you take your pick… upper arm or ass cheek?”
“Seriously?” Not-Frank asked.
“Ass cheek would hurt less,” Mikey prompted.
“You weren’t joking,” Not-Frank commented, glancing over at Gerard, “He’s not joking.”
Gerard just shook his head.
“Ass cheek it is, then,” Not-Frank grinned.
“The similarities in personality are uncanny,” Mikey commented.
When Not-Frank looked back over at Mikey, he realized Mikey was talking to Gerard, not him.
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not right here,” Not-Frank requested.
“Sorry, Frank,” Mikey said, digging in his briefcase.
“Don't call me Frank, either."
“Roll over, please,” Mikey commanded.
Not-Frank obliged, looking to get it over with. He grumbled as he slid the hem of his pants down a few inches in the back. At least he could moon Mikey while he did this.
“Good boy,” Mikey said.
Not-Frank closed his eyes as he listened to Mikey prepare the needle. He took it out of it’s plastic packaging and stuck it into the small hermetically sealed glass filled with… germs? Viruses? Sedatives? Who knew? Considering the day he'd been having, Not-Frank was putting a lot of fucking trust in these people.
As if he had options...
“Now, this is going to hurt a little. You can hold Gerard’s hand if you want...” Mikey said.
Not-Frank almost opened his mouth to protest and point out that he was not, in fact, a helpless baby who couldn’t handle a fucking needle, but the curiosity - over touching Gerard - got the better of him. If he was a clone of someone who loved Gerard, would he be able to feel that, too?
Not-Frank let his arm dangle off the edge of the operating table. Gerard reached for it immediately. His heart fluttered as their hands touched.
Not-Frank tried to focus on how it made him feel - if it made him feel anything at all. Gerard’s palm was so warm and comforting. He thought, idly, that Gerard was the first person he’d ever touched.
Up until Mikey had started the examination, Gerard was the only person he’d ever touched.
“When I say ‘go’ I want you to hold your breath and count with me to four, alright?” Mikey instructed, rubbing an alcohol swab over the injection site.
“Fucking do it already,” Not-Frank protested, feeling the chill of the alcohol in the swab drying on his bare skin.
“Alright, then,” Mikey said, “Go.”
Not-Frank felt the needle pierce into his flesh. Mikey hadn’t been kidding. It fucking stung. His hand twitched involuntarily in Gerard’s. Gerard ran his thumb over the back of Not-Frank’s hand comfortingly.
“One… Two…” Mikey said calmly, “Three… Four…”
Not-Frank released his breath after Mikey had pulled the needle back out and pressed a bandage over the small intrusion. Not-Frank opened his eyes and looked at Gerard.
“Well, shit, next time I let someone stick something in my ass, I’ll make sure there’s something in it for me,” Not-Frank hissed, delighting entirely in the uncomfortable blush that bloomed on Gerard’s cheeks.
“Glad that’s over...” Mikey sighed, ignoring Not-Frank, “So I’ll save you the gory details. I basically just dosed you with everything you’d find on the keypad of the most popular credit-machine in the Inner City… You might feel like shit for a day or two. Frank always had a miserable immune system.”
Not-Frank let go of Gerard’s hand and rolled over, inching his hips off the table to slide his pants back up.
“You guys figured out how to clone an entire fucking human being but couldn’t take the time to throw in a nicer immune system?” Frank huffed.
“Easy enough for you to say,” Mikey scoffed, “Your co-creator was incredibly sloppy. It took me forever to straighten out Frank’s coding on your lungs. It’s a miracle you’re breathing right now, Zero Zero.”
Not-Frank sat up slowly but his vision swam anyway. He blinked for a moment waiting for the colorful specks to fade. He was overly aware of the tender injection site as he re-settled his weight onto it.
“No, it’s a miracle I haven’t punched you yet,” Not-Frank said.
“Threatening me after I’m done sticking a needle in your ass was probably good forethought,” Mikey shot back.
“Do I have to like him?” Not-Frank asked, turning to Gerard, “Did Frank like him?”
“They got along pretty well actually…” Gerard mused, “But like I explained before, there’s bound to be some variation in personality and interests. It’s fine with me if you don’t like him.”
“I don’t like you,” Not-Frank informed Mikey.
“It’s astounding to me that Frank was an asshole on a cellular level,” Mikey commented, eyeing the clone defeatedly and re-sealing his med kit.
Mikey left shortly after that. The clinic had pinged him back in to deal with a high volume of unruly intake cases. They all walked back to Gerard’s living space together but parted ways at the door.
“Call me if anything… weird happens,” Mikey said, “I’ll come as soon as I can.”
“Of course,” Gerard nodded.
Mikey said his goodbyes to Gerard, giving Not-Frank one firm nod and a squeeze on the shoulder, before wandering off down the hallway.
Not-Frank wanted to follow him. He was curious to go out into the city to see what else he remembered. He knew things would feel more familiar once he was free to explore the city’s boundaries.
Stepping into the living space the second time was less comfortable than it had been the first time. First, Not-Frank was suddenly feeling restless. And second, now that he’d touched Gerard, felt the spark, his curiosity was burning brighter.
“Still walking fine on your own. Come with me. There’s something I want to show you,” Gerard said as soon as the main door slid shut behind them. He beckoned for Not-Frank to follow him. There was another door beside the small kitchen space. Gerard held his hand up to the touchpad on the wall to open the door and took a step back so that Not-Frank could walk in first.
The room was larger than the main living space. A computing unit and stacks of messy calculation paper were crowded onto a desk. The desk itself was maybe the only white thing in the room. The parts of the walls that were visible had been painted a deep, dark red. The red was mostly covered by floor-to-ceiling shelves, pieced together out of scrap metal. They were lined with books. Not just the BLi-sanctioned learning literatures but… actual pre-apocalyptic books.
Not-Frank remembered them. He was the one who had collected them. Trading and bartering and going out into the zones to explore on his own... He reached out and ran his fingertips delicately over their spines.
This was his old bedroom. Their bedroom. Not-Frank turned to glance at Gerard, who was busy making sure the door slid back into place behind them.
Not-Frank turned again to take in the rest of the room. He pulled a random book off of the nearest shelf. The Boy Scout Handbook. Gingerly, he cracked it open, flipping to a random page. There were small illustrations, depicting how to start fires. He closed the book and put it back on the shelf carefully.
Their bed was still in the far corner. Not-Frank remembered tinkering with the mechanics of the lighting system to get the one over their bed to shine evacuation-alarm-red instead of white like the rest of them.
“See?” Gerard spoke from somewhere behind him, “I kept some of the color…”
Not-Frank couldn’t keep this up any longer. The dragging sadness, the weight of Gerard’s eyes on him. It was all too weird.
“What happened to me?” Not-Frank demanded quietly.
“What do you mean?” Gerard asked.
“What happened to Frank? ” Not-Frank clarified, spinning around to glare at Gerard because Gerard totally knew exactly what he was asking.
Gerard ran a hand through his hair and dropped his gaze to the floor, sighing heavily as he searched for the explanation. Up until this moment, Gerard had no problem coming up with things to say, off-script. This, he had no words for. Not easy ones.
Not-Frank thought he knew the answer already, though.
“Where is he?” Not-Frank asked. The look on Gerard’s face when he brought his gaze back up to meet Not-Frank’s eyes sent a chill down his spine.
“He’s dead,” Gerard said, fighting to keep his voice even, “Legally. Technically.”
“What do you mean ‘technically?’” Not-Frank asked.
“He went out into the zones and just… never came back,” Gerard said quietly, “His body was never recovered. He left no signal when he burned out. Nothing.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s dead,” Not-Frank pointed out, trying to aim at reassuring, “People disappear out there all the time. The dracs. The killjoys. The rebellion… Maybe he just-”
“The administration declares a citizen to be dead if they’ve gone unregistered in Batt City for over five years,” Gerard interrupted pointedly, "In Absentia."
“Oh,” Not-Frank mumbled.
Five years was an awful long time to be out in the zones without any sort of attempt at contact.
“Yeah...” Gerard said, looking pale in the face, “‘Oh.’ is right.”
“So I’m here because…” Not-Frank trailed off.
Gerard took another deep breath as he considered how to answer.
“There are several reasons I felt this was necessary,” Gerard offered, “First of all-”
Not-Frank was pretty sure he knew some of the reasons already. He closed the distance between them, framing Gerard’s face with his palms. Getting all up in Gerard’s space felt natural. He felt Gerard freeze up, hesitating as Not-Frank moved into his space. Their faces were inches apart. Not-Frank searched Gerard’s eyes for any sign this was how things were supposed to go. He leaned forward a few more centimeters when he didn’t get any protests.
“Please don’t,” Gerard whispered.
“Why not?” Not-Frank asked softly, pulling his face back a few inches, “Isn’t this why I’m here?”
“No. Do you really think I'd do something like that?” Gerard asked, lip quivering, fighting the tears threatening to well up in his eyes, “Look, Subject Zero Ze-”
“Don’t call me that anymore,” Not-Frank insisted. He couldn't make himself stop touching Gerard like this. It had been the first thing Frank had ever done that felt real, honest...
“What am I supposed to call you?” Gerard asked, eyes flitting down to Not-Frank’s lips, “I can’t call you ‘Frank.’ You’re not-”
“Call me ‘Zero,’ then,” Not-Frank insisted, “Or, how about ‘Zee’ for short?”
“Zee...” Gerard repeated thoughtfully, “Alright, Zee… I have big plans for you.”
He couldn’t help but notice Gerard had made no motion to move away from him when they’d been touching. It was off limits, but only sort of off limits. 'Technically' off limits in the same way Frank was 'technically' dead.
Gerard looked so sad. Something inside Zero told him to get back in Gerard’s space and hold him until he wasn’t frowning like that anymore. Frank had been so in love with Gerard. There was no doubt about it. Zero could feel it in his chest. The ache of it was agonizing - on a cellular level, as Mikey had put it.
He tried again, slipping a hand behind Gerard’s neck to pull him closer.
“I told you,” Gerard insisted, “I don’t want-”
“I won't,” Zee interrupted, wrapping his arms around Gerard and hugging him tightly. Gerard let his arms hang loosely at his sides but rested his head against Zero’s shoulder weakly.
“Have you ever just let anyone hug you and tell you they’re fucking sorry for your loss?” Zee asked softly, petting Gerard’s hair gently.
"No," Gerard lamented, "Because that would mean he’s really gone...”
Zero hummed sympathetically, carding his fingers through Gerard's hair.
"Funny it should come from you," Gerard added.
“You were the one who showed me Rocky Horror Picture Show, ” Zee pointed out gently, aiming at lightening the mood, “You can’t be mad I just assumed you were making a man, with blonde hair and tan… ”
“That’s not funny,” Gerard said, voice wavering, laughing anyway. Zee could hear the hurt in Gerard’s voice.
“You’re way prettier than Dr. Frank N Furter…” Zero said, trying to pull him out of it, “And I know big muscles aren’t your type, anyway.”
“Please, shut up, Zero,” Gerard insisted, bringing an arm around to hug Zee back.
When they eventually pulled apart. The tension in Gerard had visibly withered away.
"Dr. Frankenstein didn't fuck his monster," Gerard added, "Frank loved that fucking book."
"Touché," Zero said, frowning in consideration.
“We could always go look for him?” Zero suggested lightly, “You could use that BLi leverage you were always bragging about to get us out to the zones…”
“You say that like I haven’t tried it already,” Gerard shrugged.
“So what are we gonna do?” Zero asked, spinning around to look at the room again, “You said you had big plans."
He crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, looking at his arms under the red lighting. It was still so weird to look down and not see… anything . The memories of the designs were getting clearer. A star at the crease of his elbow. Letters on his knuckles...
“Last week I got two pings from upper management,” Gerard explained, “The first was a reminder that Frank and I need to renew our domestic partnership if we want to keep this place. The second contained a file attachment with the guidelines for declaring a Batt Citizen legally dead, as well as all the paperwork I’d need… They’d filled it out for me. Just needed my signature.”
“That’s fucked up,” Zero commented, “Like, really fucked up. They have to know how fucked up that is.”
“Do you expect any less?" Gerard asked.
“So what are we gonna do about it?” Zero repeated.
“I have something else to show you,” Gerard said meaningfully. He walked toward a break in the book cases, where there was another door in the wall paneling.
“Do you remember this?” Gerard asked.
“Remember what?” Zee asked, staring at the door, “The closet?”
“Fuck,” Gerard breathed, “Just… come here.”
Zero lifted himself off the bed and walked over to the door. Gerard grabbed his hand and pressed it firmly against the access screen beside the handle.
The door lifted open and the lights flickered on, illuminating a small room, filled mostly with computers. A series of pre-apocalyptic guitars were strewn around the room, resting on their stands. As they walked in, Zero could hear the sound of electronics and terminals booting to life.
“This was Frank’s private room. I don’t know if you recognize it at all. He soundproofed it so that he could play guitar in here without anyone ever hearing,” Gerard explained, "It's not on the floorplans for this place."
Zero ran his fingertips over the fretboard of a pretty, white, electric guitar sitting on a stand by the door. He felt something in him ignite at the prospect of playing it. He hadn’t been in this room before but he knew the guitar under his fingers.
“I haven’t been able to get in here since he disappeared. The door only opens with his handprint,” Gerard added, “Your handprint.”
“You cloned me for my fucking handprint?” Zero asked, feigning offense.
“Partially,” Gerard nodded, “But that’s just the tip of the fucking ice berg. Zero… do you remember anything about the safe house?”
“Safe house?” Zee repeated, “No.”
Zero crossed the room and sat on the work stool in front of the main computer system. He could feel Gerard’s eyes on him again. He dropped his hand onto the access screen to bring the computer to life. The screen flickered on, flashing the operating system welcome message. The OS immediately started loading up.
“That’s a good sign, right?” Zero pointed out, turning to smile at Gerard.
“Probably,” Gerard agreed neutrally. “So listen, Frank was building something out in the zones. It was underground. A place we could go if we ever wanted to escape our lives in the city. I haven’t been able to find it on my own. The directions to it are on this computer somewhere. Locked up tight so no one else could find them.”
“Not even you?” Zee asked.
“Well, he meant to come back,” Gerard defended immediately, then softened, "I think. He wanted to show it to me. He offered so many times... But I always chickened out.”
“Sounds about right,” Zero noted.
“You don’t remember anything about this place?” Gerard asked.
Zero turned to fully face Gerard as he considered. He remembered all the stories about the zones. He remembered his first run. He remembered helping people run. He remembered helping people come back. But a safehouse?
Zero shook his head. “Sorry,” he said quietly, "No."
“No. There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Gerard insisted.
“...But you have another idea, don’t you?” Zero observed.
Gerard nodded.
“It’s completely insane, and requires your complete and utter adherence,” Gerard said, “But I think I can get us there… To the safe house.”
“Where do I sign up?” Zero asked.
“I haven’t thought this through very hard, so I’m sure there’s holes in my plan, but just… just hear me out…” Gerard said, “As soon as I got those pings I sat down and ran the cloning prototype. I didn’t wait for clearance from upper management. I needed you here with me as soon as possible. So first things first, I just need to get their hands off my place here in Batt City. As soon as you’re ready, I want to take you down to the licensing department. The tellers are all droids, so all we have to do is convince them you’re Frank, get our hands scanned, and get the hell out of there. It’ll take them awhile to process everything, but just re-filing should be enough to get Frank’s name off their lists. I know that won’t be the end of it but it should buy us some time.”
Gerard paused to sit on the floor, next to one of the guitars. Zero almost wanted to offer Gerard his chair, realizing it was the only chair in the space. Then he realized Gerard wanted to be down there. He gently ran his fingers over the guitar closest to him, brushing off the flecks of dust that had collected on the guitar’s body.
“It’s obvious to me that they don’t think Frank is actually dead,” Gerard explained, “He’s got one hell of a criminal record, so they probably think he’s just been avoiding the system all this time. They probably think I know where he is, and I want to give the illusion that I do know where he is. You following so far?”
Zero nodded once, firmly, lifting a hand up to bite at his fingernails as he listened.
“In the meantime, we need to find directions to the safe house,” Gerard continued, “I already got clearance to go out to the zones in a few days to look for plant samples to improve that green stuff you hated so much.”
“What? It’s uncomfortable after it dries,” Zero defended.
“Noted,” Gerard smiled, blinking as his train of thought was derailed. He got himself back on track, “I set parameters to where I’m supposed to be collecting. I can get you an assistant badge so no one asks questions. Again, we’d mostly be dealing with droids as they process us out. The only thing is… Frank could rig their cars to adjust the mileage. They’ll never know where we went if you can do that. Do you think you can?”
“I… don’t know,” Zero said honestly.
“That’s not a ‘no’ so it’s good enough for me,” Gerard said.
“So what do we do when we find this place?” Zero asked. The plan was totally crazy, but not impossible. They’d done crazier things before. At least, Zero was relatively sure about that...
“We um…” Gerard faltered, “We… Well, I don’t know?”
Zero's heart sank as he watched Gerard’s face return to a resting frown.
“I guess that depends on the state of the place?” Gerard mused, “If it’s just an empty shell… Maybe we’ll come back to Batt City? I’m sure I’ll have thought of a plan B, by then. But what if it’s not an empty shell, Zero? What if he’s…”
Gerard stopped. He probably knew how unrealistic what he was about to suggest sounded.
“We’ll do it,” Zero promised, regretting having even asked, “We’ll go see.”
“Right,” Gerard nodded.
“Well… I’ll get started on finding the map, then. Or directions?” Zero said, turning back towards the computer. The interface was familiar. The logo in the corner of the screen proudly flashed, ‘encrypted’ to remind Zero that the terminal wasn’t being scanned by BLi's net crawlers.
Zee hastily went for the document files and scrolled through the file names. At least Frank had worked a little bit to hide the safe house’s location. All of the file names were just… long strings of numbers.
“This’ll be fun...” Zero commented, clicking on the first document. He didn’t need to read beyond the first line, something about ‘the entrails of society,’ to know it was a poem. The lines were all in neat stanzas.
“What’s wrong?” Gerard asked, lifting himself off the floor and crossing the small room to stare at the screen over Zero’s shoulder. Zero could feel Gerard right behind him and it made a chill crawl up his spine. He could feel every centimeter between them. It was a shame, honestly, that Gerard didn't want him for messing around. If Frank had been gone for five years, it was one hell of a dry spell.
“Nothing,” Zero sighed, closing the document, “Frank’s just… smarter than I gave him credit for.”
“What do you mean?” Gerard asked.
“There’s just a lot to sift through here. And all the files are numbered, rather than named,” Zero explained, “Kinda like me.”
Zero opened the next document and closed it again without reading the first line. Poem. At the rate he was going, he’d be working his way through Frank’s poetry anthology all fucking night.
“Sorry about the name thing…” Gerard said quietly, “I’d read some literatures about clone theory. Like, what to expect in terms of cognitive abilities, and how to code brain sequencers… the importance of keeping blood sugar up for the first week, but nothing about like, the obvious stuff. ”
“It’s fine,” Zee said, “Really. The joys of parenthood. Clonehood?”
He kept working his way through the documents, most of which were poems. Some appeared to be short stories. Frank had dabbled quite a bit in writing, it seemed. Zero was taking notes on his poetic asshole of a DNA-donor. Or, Co-Creator as Mikey had called him.
“I don’t know if I can look at this stuff...” Gerard sighed after a moment.
“Then don’t,” Zee said, opening another document, “I got this part.”
A gruesome janitorial task.
“You sure?” Gerard asked, “It’s your first day... alive. You don’t have to spend it in my husband's closet.”
“You still call him your husband?” Zero asked absentmindedly, going instead to the photos folder and scrolling through. He felt a little guilty as soon as he had realized what he’d asked, but he skipped out on his apology and went straight to opening the files one by one in hopes that one of them might be a map. If he found a map he wouldn’t have to bother with finding a way to gracefully change the subject. Mostly the photos were just… close-ups of computer guts. Motherboards covered in hand-soldered microchips. Tangles of wires… Fuses and bulbs and barcodes...
Gerard didn’t answer.
“Were you trying to suggest that it’s my birthday?” Zero asked as a subject change, flipping through the photos at a faster pace. He passed one of Gerard and hesitated for a moment before flipping to the next one.
“Yeah,” Gerardsaid. And oh, fucking shit, if he was crying Zero didn’t want to know. He hadn’t meant to make Gerard cry. Fuck.
“Well I’d say we should do something special… but…” Zero trailed off.
“But?” Gerard prompted, sighing heavily, obviously having gotten his emotions a little more under control.
“But the only thing I want for my birthday is to get us the hell out of here, since I know you won’t smile for me for real until we do,” Zero offered, “So I’m just fine with sitting in your husband’s dark closet on my birthday. You can make it up to me.”
IHe almost turned around when Gerard didn’t say anything right away, but he kept his eyes glued to the screen, dutifully searching.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Gerard sighed after a beat, “I’m going to go lie down on the couch for a bit. Cloning is… exhausting…”
“You’re telling me,” Zero mouthed silently to himself.
“You can take the bed for tonight,” Gerard added, “We’ll figure out something more concrete for tomorrow.”
“Cool,” Zero said. It wasn’t actually cool. It was fucking weird. But Zero couldn't see what was left to accomplish walking on eggshells when they had the administration on their heels.
He was going to fulfill the purpose he’d been created for as quickly as possible so that he could start actually living.
So he said...
As soon as Gerard left the room, Zero flipped back to study that photo of Gerard. He hadn’t allowed himself to really look at Gerard all day. It wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to, he just hadn’t wanted to be caught doing it. Now that he was free to carefully consider every curve, every angle, Zero was totally entranced. In the picture Gerard was in his lab. His white coat hung from his shoulders and his brow was furrowed in concentration as he worked on something. Frank had obviously been the one who snapped the picture. And it had to be digital. The shadows were too soft for the picture to be a film scan.
Zero found dozens upon dozens of other pictures of Gerard, obviously all taken by Frank. He looked at all of them carefully, trying to piece together what their life had been like.
Gerard had used the term ‘selective memory.’ Zero could pull some memories to the forefront of his brain - but not everything. The things he could remember were foggy at best. He could picture Gerard when he was younger and wilder, still full of curiosity about the strict limits set by the city around them. He could picture smoking smuggled cigarettes with Gerard in empty alleyways, always glancing around for patrols every couple of puffs. He could remember collecting the pills BLi distributed to the citizens of Batt City. They’d tried to test their contents in the small lab Gerard had put together in his room. He could even remember holding Gerard’s hand. And he knew he trusted Gerard in some deep, unconditional sort of way, but he couldn’t remember having ever kissed him.
Even though, surely, they must have.
Sighing, Zero went back to sorting through Frank’s files. The sooner he found what they were looking for, the sooner he could get the fuck away from this fucking downer of an impossible love triangle. He wasn’t sure how many hours he sat there, sifting through poem after poem. Sometimes he scrolled to the bottom of the document, just to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.
Eventually he found a map of the zones. It didn’t have the safe house marked on it anywhere, but at least it gave Zee something to compare to when he eventually found what he was looking for.
Zero was practically drooling on the keyboard from boredom when he scrolled past a number in the middle of one of Frank’s poems. He should’ve been paying more attention. The first stanza had just been Gerard’s name over and over, which should’ve sent off alarm bells in his brain. Frank was trying to address Gerard directly. And come to think of it, he’d seen a number in the middle of the last poem, too… He backtracked, opening the previous poem and scrolling down.
- Three.
He held that number in his head and opened the next poem again.
- Six.
Each document down the list started the same, in a stanza that was just Gerard’s name over and over. As Zee opened document after document he collected the numbers in his head.
When the string of numbers got too long to hold in his head, he grabbed a pen and wrote them down on the notepad next to the keyboard. The pen, which had not been used for five years was dry. He just dragged impressions of the numbers into the paper. Zee stared blankly at the numbers, trying to make sense of them. He looked at the map of the zones again, trying to figure out what they might mean. It felt like he was on to something, but there just weren’t as many zones as there were number sequences, no matter how he broke them down.
When he couldn’t sit there any longer, Zero got up. Curious if Gerard wanted to take a guess at what Frank’s numbers might mean, he quietly tiptoed his way to the living room.
He was almost surprised to find Gerard awake, staring blankly at the TV. He’d turned the lights off and thrown a blanket over his lap, but it didn’t look like he’d even tried to consider sleep yet.
“Hey,” Zero said softly, standing in the doorway.
“Hey,” Gerard said back, head shooting up and squinting to try and make Zero out in the dark.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” Zero asked.
“Yeah,” Gerard nodded, “You don’t have to ask permission, Zero. There’s no need to be formal. Not with me.”
“Right,” Zero said, crossing the room and sitting on the couch beside Gerard.
“How come you’re still awake?” Zero asked conversationally, trying to break the awkward tension.
“I’m just not used to sharing my space with another person, I guess?” Gerard shrugged, “I forgot..."
“I don’t. But… I think I sort of get it,” Zero said comfortingly.
“Have you had any luck with the map?” Gerard asked.
Zero tried his best to ignore the hopeful tone to Gerard’s voice.
“I think I found something,” Zee said, “But it’s just a clue… not… not… ”
“Not something simple and obvious and helpful, like the fucking coordinates or something?” Gerard finished sarcastically.
Coordinates.
That was it.
“...Fuck!” Zero gasped.
“What?” Gerard asked worriedly.
“You’re a fucking genius,” Zero beamed, lifting himself off the couch and practically running back to Frank’s computer.
He glanced at the numbers again. Definitely coordinates. There was an even number of numbers, so Zee drew a line right through the middle of them. Longitude. Latitude.
Double-checking that the system was still encrypted, Zero plugged the numbers into the computer’s GPS widget. The map zoomed in on an unassuming patch of desert, somewhere along the old California-Nevada border.
“You think it’s… there? ” Gerard asked, breaking the trance the screen had been holding over Zero.
“Frank left the numbers in the middle of his poems," Zero explained, "We might as well start with that location."
“What if it’s just a coincidence?” Gerard asked.
Subject Zero Zero turned to glare at him.
“Sorry,” Gerard backpedaled, “I know that’s an incredibly unhelpful thing to suggest… it’s just…”
“I’m sure about this,” Zee defended, “Don’t ask me how I know. I just know.”
“Alright,” Gerard sighed, biting his lip.
“If it makes you feel any better I’ll check through the rest of his files,” Zero offered.
“You don’t have to do that,” Gerard said.
“No, I kind of do if we ever wanna find this place,” Zero pointed out, “It’s good to cover all of our bases.”
“Well, maybe…” Gerard admitted, “But you don’t have to do it all tonight. There will be time tomorrow. We can’t go anywhere until your immunizations are settled.”
“Guess so,” Zero frowned. He slid a hand down over the injection sight and pressed a hand against it through the fabric of his pants. Still sore.
“You should read some of his poems, if you haven't,” Zee said, “All of them are about you.”
With that Zero got up to give the computer over to Gerard. Gerard just stared between Zero and the chair in front of the screen, like the clone had suggested something totally unreasonable.
“Or not,” Zero amended.
“Maybe you should read them," Gerard suggested, "They might help with your cognition."
“No thanks,” Zero laughed.
Gerard just blinked at him, clearly not following.
“Frank was sort of fucking…” Zero hesitated, “Dramatic.”
“And you’re not?” Gerard asked, raising a curious eyebrow.
“I didn’t say that, now did I?” Zero said. He stepped past Gerard and out of the small room. “Think I’m gonna try get some sleep." Then, over his shoulder, “You should, too.”
“Yeah, alright,” Gerard agreed quietly, “Well, goodnight.”
“Yeah. Goodnight,” Zero echoed.
Per their earlier agreement, Zero took the bed and Gerard went for the couch. It was weird to sit down on the edge of the bed, eyes cast down against the floor as Gerard left the room and closed the door behind him. The was an air of pretending to their whole situation that made it impossible for Zero to relax.
He slid out of his pants and left them crumpled on the floor, racking his brain to try and remember what Frank would’ve done with his discarded garments. Was there a laundry chute? Cleaning droids?
It was weird to pull the covers up over himself and try to get comfortable. For one, he wasn’t actually tired at all. But it didn’t help that the bed smelled like Gerard in this really comforting, familiar sort of way. He tried to work through how something could be familiar when he’d technically never experienced it before...
Certainly someone had to have written a theory literature on how to manage a situation like this? Frank and Gerard hadn’t been the first people looking to clone human beings, they’d just been the first ones to actually do it. As far as Zero knew, anyway.
Maybe Zero would be the one to write literatures on clone life and theory, since he was the first person to really know what it was like. He dozed off organizing all of his problems into neat little chapters.