out on the street for a living, picture's only begun

3. Firehouse

17/09/1975

"How many damn cafés are there around here?" Gene groaned, resting his cheek on his hand. Paul sighed, glancing up at him briefly before turning his attention back to the map of the city that he had somehow acquired. "There's got to be... at least twenty, if I haven't counted wrong," he said tiredly, running a hand through his hair, and Gene couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Who needs that many cafés in such a small area? There's literally no point to having that many," the bassist grumbled, and Paul shrugged before glancing back at the map. "Beats me, honestly," he said, not looking back up, "but it appears that, for some reason, they do."

It quickly turned out that there were twenty-eight cafés in total. Twenty-eight cafés to check one by one, twenty-eight cafés to linger awkwardly outside of, twenty-eight cafés to stare through the windows of, all for the sake of Peter. Gene wasn't quite sure if he would be able to do it, but he would certainly try if it meant that there was even the slightest of chances that he'd have his Catman back before the day was through.

For once, Gene was more than a little glad that he didn't have to wear his platform boots anymore as he walked and walked and walked – but, at the same time, he missed them. He missed the feeling of the boots: their height, their familiar weight on his feet, their tendency to make him stumble on occasion.

When they finally arrived at the first café that they had seen on the map, Gene was filled with a sense of hope, sure he'd find some sign, however small, of his missing bandmate there... but when he asked about Peter, and all he got in response was blank stares and apologies for not knowing anything, a little bit of that hope drained from him: his eyes weren't quite as bright, he wasn't quite smiling as much, his shoulders had slumped just a little. As they checked each successive café on the map, with each one turning up no hint or even knowledge of Peter, more hope drained from the bassist little by little until, eventually, his eyes were dull, his smile nowhere to be found, his shoulders slumped entirely.

Just as the sun began to make its gradual descent through the cloudless sky, painting it in all sorts of colours, they reached the twenty-eighth (and final) café on their list. Gene was coming close to the verge of snapping, so agitated and upset by his inability to find Peter that he was almost angry. "If he's not in here..." the bassist half-growled, trailing off before he finished his sentence, and Paul sighed in exasperation. "Don't get your hopes up, Gene," he said quietly, "it's more than likely that you've just... ended up missing him at one of the other cafés, you know." Gene turned and glared at Paul. "Don't say that," he said lowly, almost snarling, "I don't want to think about that possibility." Paul looked away, shaking his head slightly. As far as he could tell, Gene was just setting himself up for disappointment... and he certainly wasn't looking forward to dealing with the aftermath of that.

Gene closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath before pushing the café door open with a small sigh. "Has anyone here seen a guy in cat makeup come in here at all?" he said, loud enough for everyone inside to hear yet just quiet enough to stop his voice from shaking. There was a moment of silence as they all processed what Gene had said.

And then, without so much as a warning, they all began to laugh at him.

The bassist turned on his heel and started to leave without a word – but before he was able to leave their sight, one man's words reached his ears. "Cat makeup? Who do you think we are," the man yelled, "those KISS freaks that were in town a few days back?" It was intended as a joke and nothing more of course, but to Gene that comment stung more than the man would ever know.

"KISS... freaks?" he murmured as the door closed almost silently behind him, eyes wide, and Paul looked at him in concern. "No luck?" he asked softly, and the bassist shook his head, tears pricking in his eyes. "No luck," he affirmed, voice trembling more than he would have liked it to, "but someone did call me and my bandmates... freaks..." Paul's eyes widened slightly, and he gasped. "I'm guessing the people in there didn't know who you actually were," he said, sounding more than a little horrified, "but that's still an awful, awful thing to say to, well, anyone really."

Gene nodded before wiping at his eyes. "This kind of thing doesn't usually get to me like this," he admitted, "but for some reason it did today, and I don't know why..."

Paul reached up and put a gentle (and hopefully comforting) hand on the bassist's shoulder. "I can only assume it's because of... well... all you've been through these past few days," he said, and Gene made a quiet noise of agreement.

Suddenly, Gene's sadness shifted into anger. "It's not fair," he yelled at nobody in particular, spinning around and punching a nearby wall, "I just want Peter back, is that too damn much to ask? Is it?" Paul winced as he noticed the blood trickling slowly down the bassist's fingers, blood that Gene himself didn't seem to notice.

"I apologise for interrupting," a voice echoed from behind Paul, making both him and Gene jump slightly, "but I, um... saw that your friend there punched the wall just now and I, uh, just wanted to make sure that he was alright, that's all." Paul began to nod, just as Gene's head shot up and the bassist gasped tearfully.

"Peter...?" he breathed, almost in a state of pure and utter disbelief, and the man's gaze snapped straight to the bassist's face, tears in his eyes. "Gene?" he choked out, voice barely above a whisper, "Gene, oh my god, Gene, you're alright..."

Gene couldn't find it in himself to speak; he felt as if he could collapse on the spot at any moment. All the heartache, all the pain he'd felt for every hour, every minute, every second since the fire had finally been dulled a little, finally stopped being so all-consuming, simply because Peter was there in front of him, alive.

The two stared at each other for a little while, unsure of even moving a muscle in case it shattered some kind of illusion, before Peter finally broke, giving in and dashing forwards, barrelling straight into Gene's chest.

Gene felt tears prickle in his eyes before spilling down his face, pulling Peter closer in his arms as the drummer began to shake with unreleased sobs. "I'm so glad I found you..." he whispered into Peter's hair, feeling the Catman's arms wrap around his waist, holding the bassist just as tightly as he himself was holding the drummer.

Peter rested his head gently against Gene's chest, closing his eyes and letting out an incredibly soft, incredibly relieved sigh. Sure, it had been Ace, had been his best friend, his dear Spaceman that he had been hoping to find as he wandered around, but... finding Gene had mended his broken heart just a little.

He didn't want to have to go through losing his Demon, not ever again.