His Midnight Muse.

Gerard stared at concept sketches and scrawled notes through blurring vision. How long he had been at his desk, he wasn't sure anymore; Lindsey was asleep in the next room over,  and he really should've been sleeping too, but his vivid reveries were running wild, relentlessly captivating him, keeping him from sleep. Skeletons in olive green military uniforms with shiny brass buttons marched across the top of his paper, and a dozen gold and crimson balloons floated away into a half-shaded silver and blue city skyline. A cacophony of colors screamed at him from rows of sharpened pencils, pinks and violets and oranges and yellows begging to join in this mysterious landscape.
He couldn't handle it, not anymore.
Gerard sighed and rubbed at his tired, bloodshot eyes, pulling himself away from the overwhelming ideas and emotions. He shut his eyes...darkness. Peaceful, cold, hollow darkness. In this moment, it was better than the overwhelming flood of colors and thoughts.
"...Babe, it's almost two in the morning...why don't you get some sleep?" Lindsey yawned from the doorway. She was wearing a large skeleton onesie, one that Gerard had given her as a keepsake while he and the band were on tour.  She pulled the warm fabric snugly around her and walked over to her husband, moving some papers aside before sitting on the edge of his desk.
Gerard smiled weakly up at her. "Sleep sounds fantastic, but I gotta finish all of this first...."
Lindsey nodded. "May I?" She motioned to the various papers, and Gerard lazily waved her on, giving her permission to look over his work.
The young woman glanced over his notes and sketches carefully, then looked up a few minutes later. "These are wonderful, but...you really don't have a fuckin' clue what you're creating, do you?" She grinned, and Gerard sighed in surrender.
"The guys have been wanting a new concept for a while now, and I got this idea, kinda..." He gently took the papers from his wife. "...Where there's a young boy, and his father, and they see this parade..." He motioned to the colorful balloons. "...And it's such an innocent and beautiful time for this kid, ya know...he's happy with his life, and who he is...but once he's older, his father dies, and he begins to see all of his personal flaws, and a deep self-loathing grows within him..." Gerard searched through the papers, stopping when he found his marching skeletons, which he showed to his wife. "...And then, he might have a dream, or vision, in which he sees this parade, like the one he saw with his father, but it's distorted...a dark, broken version of the comforting memory he used to know."
Lindsey was quiet for a moment, picturing the story which Gerard had described for her. As she thought, her husband smiled; she had the cutest habit of playing with her hair when she was deep in thought, spinning silky raven strands between her fingertips absentmindedly.
"...Color."
"Huh?" Gerard frowned, confused by his Lindsey's response. "What about it?"
"...I love the vivid use of color, but...well, I dunno." She looked into Gerard's eyes. "Color is great, but something like this, it needs one solid, dark theme...."
"Like what, black?"
Lindsey grinned slightly. "Why not? It's a pretty great color, and with all that brokenness and self-loathing, it seems fitting."
Gerard took up a black pencil, but Lindsey stopped him gently, her hand landing softly upon his. "Tomorrow, angel," she murmured, leaning forward to kiss Gerard's lips. "You gotta sleep now...."
Gerard smiled as her lips brushed against his, her tenderness bringing him to peacefully accept resignation, at least for tonight.
The two made there way back to the bedroom, Lindsey leading her husband along, her slender fingers intertwined with his. Then, with a final kiss, the two became settled, Lindsey curled up at her husband's side.
Gerard, however, stared up into the darkness, even after sleep took his wife. Her soft breathing resonated through the stillness as his mind wandered, linking and connecting thoughts and words and stale, bitter emotions from healing memories.
...Hate...self-hatred...breaking...broken...the broken...the fallen...darkness...dark...black...parade...the Black Parade.
Gerard smiled gently, throwing a glance at Lindsey. How strange it was that she seemed to be smiling too, even in sleep.
"Thanks, Lindsey," he murmured, kissing his wife's forehead softly before surrendering to his dreams.

*****

The next day was a busy one. Gerard shared his ideas with the others, who asked for more details and sketches; this brought Gerard to his desk once more, scribbling and sketching into the early hours of the morning.
Around 1:45 a.m., Lindsey entered the office, carrying a mug in her hands and setting it down next to Gerard. "A freshly brewed coffee for the starving artist," she stated with a wink, causing her weary husband to smile. He patted at an empty spot on the desk, motioning for her to join him once more, and she did so, quickly settling upon the faded oak surface, her legs swinging as they hung over the edge.
"So how's it going?" She asked him, glancing down at his papers. He had added a few more sketches; some black balloons floated along the top of the page, and two women with midnight hair in matching pleated skirts and marching band inspired tops stood side by side, labeled "Fear" and "Regret". Every detail about them was black and white, from their colorless skin to their darkhued clothing. Ebony gloves stretched up their arms, and their starless eyes gazed up from the paper; these women were both intriguing and intimidating at once, captivating even in their cold appearance.
"It's going alright...I have a few more ideas." He motioned to the two women. "These are Fear and Regret, daughters of Death..." He flipped to another page, to a drawing of a woman with long, bushy hair, a gas mask strapped to her face, and her clothes tattered and worn. A metal, cage-like hoopskirt hung from her frame, skimming the shaded, soot-colored ground that lay beneath her feet.
"This is Death, or Mother War. She's the one who started this march in the afterlife, the Black Parade."
Lindsey smiled and nodded. "Mother War, huh?" She gently took the drawing from Gerard. "When did all of this happen? Death, Fear, Regret...what epiphany did you have that you're not telling me?" She grinned.
Gerard smiled at his wife's expression. "The Parade isn't gonna be a dream...it's gonna be...well. let me try to explain. " He flipped to yet another page, and Lindsey looked down at this next drawing, even more intrigued than before. This sketch was almost saddening, possibly the most chilling image that Lindsey had seen from her husband yet.
There was a man with hollow eyes, his skin yellowing and his hair completely gone. A large, faded white hospital gown hung from his bent, skeletal body, and attached to his arm was an IV and a blood bag; whether the crimson lifesource was being drained from him or pumped into his veins, Lindsey wasn't sure.
"...The boy grows up, becoming disillusioned with life, disenchanted by who he has become...later, he learns he has cancer, and it ends up killing him." Gerard flipped to yet another picture. This one was intricate and incredibly detailed, illustrating children and wolves and vultures crawling and stalking and soaring along with skeletons in black marching band uniforms, marching with Fear, Regret, Mother War, and the Patient.
"...And as he's dying, death comes to him in a twisted form of his most treasured memory; the Parade." Gerard looked up at his wife, waiting to receive any criticism or comments.
Lindsey was smiling softly. "This is fantastic..really, it's probably the best thing you've ever created." She glanced down at the drawing again, then looked to Gerard. "...But you know, there's one thing missing."
The man raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?'
Lindsey leaned forward, gently drawing her fingertips through her husband's hair and along the side of his young, tired face, summoning a smile from the artist. "...The Parade needs a leader...a handsome, defiant and wickedly wonderful leader. Someone like you." She leaned close to him, her lips hovering just above his as she murmured softly. "...Think about it."
Gerard nodded, leaning to meet his wife, his lips softly colliding with hers as his arms came to hold her. He knew that without her, this creation would have never existed; she was his inspiration and his confidante, his lover and friend...she was his angel of art, his beautiful, brown-eyed girl, his loving darkness and exalting light, his midnight muse.

*****

Gerard examined his reflection in the mirror, running a hand through his short, recently bleached hair. It was as if he was looking at a stranger, his eyes dark and unblinking, his body encased in the heavy black marching uniform that he had sketched out just a few months ago...his pale face expressed content and intrigue as he surveyed the person he had become, the mysterious man who he had been transformed into. He was no longer Gerard Way; he was the Parade Leader, a harbinger of death, a symbol of hope in agony.
"You look great!" Lindsey, exclaimed, her reflection appearing behind him in the mirror. She wrapped her arms around him, and he chuckled softly, a soft blush coming to his face.
"Y'really think so?" He turned to face his wife.
"Yeah." she replied with a grin, straightening his jacket and flattening a few slight creases that her hug had created. "You're gonna be the best parade leader that there ever was."
"Well, y'know, I couldn't have done it without you." He leaned forward and planted a light kiss on her forehead. "Thanks, Lindsey."
Lindsey glanced down and took his hands in hers, then looked up into his kind hazel eyes. "You don't need to thank me, babe; you're the artist, aftera-"
"-Mr. Way, are you ready for the shoot?" A photographer stepped into the room, interrupting the couple's conversation.
"Ah, yeah, he is...I'll leave you two to work." She kissed her husband one final time, a strand of midnight black hair falling across her face and tickling his cheek. "Love ya."
"Love ya, too."
As she walked away, Gerard watched her, silently promising to himself that no matter where this Parade led him, and no matter what he would go on to create and become, it was his beautiful wife, his midnight muse, who had brought him to this place in space and time, this unforgettable and unregrettable moment. She was the fire that burned within the young Parade leader, the spark of beauty and defiance that carried him on into his unpredictable future.