[Delicacy - that's not something he'd appreciate if he heard. And sure it could be a little machismo (Texas, Dad who was a cop, Army) but mostly just him being the baby of the family and touchy about it. Anyway, doesn't matter does it? She doesn't say it, just nods like he's part of crew and gives him enough of a smile to show slightly crooked teeth and make his heart do its best damn imitation of a hooked fish.
Tommy glides through the night on one helluva delusional cloud, but hey. A man's gotta eat. Besides it's Joel who pulls all the chicks - whether he wants em or not - so it's nice to maintain a fantasy for a little while, even if he knows it's going nowhere, not even sitting on the damn tracks.
When someone yells, different than the directions being tossed back and forth or the jocular calls of people getting things done together, Tommy knows it's wrong in a way that stands the hair up on the back of his neck. He's a vet and his head won't ever be so far in the clouds or up his ass that he doesn't react fast, and react right. Means he turns quick enough to see one of the brawny guys up in the top scaffolding go down, hard, onto the small catwalk with his legs flailing over the side but safe; another guy's already grabbed him and is hauling him to his feet. Tommy's damn heart feels jacked on adrenaline. The rest of the crew on the ground are just starting to look up, still trying to locate the problem that's already over.
The second Tommy hears the high scream of metal he's moving. It's not PTSD, not like that; just muscle-memory wired so damn far down into his bones that even though his brain's done all the math, he's acting on what he knows before he realizes he knows it. As the fresnal light the crewguy kicked in his fall shears off its mount and sends up a blinding shower of sparks Tommy's hauling heavy boots across the stage. He saw the light, knows where it's hanging - or was hanging - knows how damn heavy it is, knows where it's going. And he's already there, shoulder-first into Eddie, bowling her down like he's still in high school football.
They don't hit the stage easy and for one blaring heartbeat he's looking down at her and nothing he expected is happening, just a crazed silence and her big fucking dark eyes below his and Tommy draws breath to say all the apologies he knows because he's such a fucking idiot when the light hits the stage just behind them with enough force to shatter, blowing the lens out and twisting the metal canister.]
[ Eddie surrounds herself with loud noises. She kind of has to, in this line of work, and when she's up on stage, she's got a little speaker tucked in one ear and the other stoppered up with a custom-molded earplug so she can keep what's left of her natural hearing. She's used to noise, is what she means, very much used to the general hum of working men going around doing their thing.
The tenor of the shouts this evening are different.
The rain has made everything slippery, as Eddie can attest to from when she nearly brained herself on stage not even twenty minutes ago, and the scaffolding is not exempt from that.
Everything happens so fast. The shout, a thump of something hitting the scaffolding. Silence. A godawful screech that she can't quite place. The sound of boots hitting the stage. The brief second of seeing that new guy much closer to her than before. The realization he's going to run into her just before he actually does it, the way he tucks his shoulder like he's doing one of those sports moves that Stevie has tried (and failed) to teach her. The impact of his body into hers. The swoop in her belly when she realizes she's no longer in control of her own gravity. The impact of her body against the stage.
She doesn't even have time to shout, just gets knocked right off her feet, skidding a few feet back along the wet stage and hitting her head in the process, stars exploding behind her eyes as her lungs let go of all their air. The sparkles in her vision might also be from the fact that a fucking light has broken free, sparks lighting up the darkening sky like a firework, and then there's the sound of the whole unit hitting the stage, just a few scant feet away from where she's lying with the new guy still hovering over her.
She flinches, hard. Her legs draw up, or they would have if he wasn't lying across them, and her arms lift to protect her head, her body trying to curl up to protect itself in a way that drags her wet shirt even higher up her back, displaying the spread of silvery-pink scars that spread across her middle.
There's silence, after, just long enough for her to twist her head a little and peek up at the man still hovering over her, pieces of his hair having escaped their tie and hanging around his face to drip down onto hers, his eyes huge and dark and scared, his face pale beneath its tan. She's just opening her mouth to say something — probably what the fuck? because she's nothing if not predictable — when the rest of the world comes rushing back in to fill the buzzing silence in her ears and the shouting of the crew comes back into focus. ]
[To Tommy, the reaction to protect her beneath him from the small, if not controlled, shrapnel, is just as knee-jerk as the move to bowl her out of harm's way. (You don't pull people in danger, the body's instinct is to say no so you make yourself as much of a force as what's coming for them.) It leaves him rucked up around Eddie against the stage, a human shield, noses inches from each other when it's over and people start yelling, his hand splayed against her exposed side having drawn her in close. His nerves are all firing in the right way as he stares down at her for few forever heartbeats it takes for other hands to reach down and pull them to their feet, but once he's standing he starts feeling like there's a one-man pyrotechnics show underneath his skin. Something warmer than the rain dribbles down the back of his neck and Tommy kinda wishes it hurt because it would help him focus.
Someone's hand is on his shoulder, fighting for his attention, and Tommy knocks it away a little too hard before apologizing and shaking his head. He's fine. Fine. He looks at the scattered remains of the fresnal on the ground, a few feet away. Up to the scaffold, where a couple sets of wide eyes stare back. His hand forms an A-OK without his brain's conscious consent.
She'd been jokingly cavalier about the danger of performing in the parking lot, but here they are, and...] Chica? [Tommy moves away from the touch of someone saying something about the back of his neck and finds Eddie still close, surrounded by a small crush of bearded men, Terry doing his best to move people back and give them space while confirming that everything else up top is locked down tight. Tommy steps in slow, like she might bolt from him.] Hey - you good?
[ The tremors starting to shimmy through her are impossible to suppress; Eddie's heart is thundering in her chest, louder and stronger than it does even when she's performing, and she feels like she can feel all the muscle fibers between her ribs, how tightly they've locked together, how difficult it is to convince them to stretch and relax so she can breathe, the knot her diaphragm has twisted itself into reluctant to release. Being knocked to the ground and a light falling on the stage is not very much like the terror of Spring Break her final senior year at all, except for how it absolutely flooded her system with adrenaline, and she feels a little bit like she was just discovered in Rick's boathouse beneath that tarp, her hands shaking as she tried to light a cigarette with Stevie Harrington staring at her with blood on her neck from Eddie's panicked attempt to fight back.
Stevie is safe in their green room with Chrissy. The only person with blood on their neck is the guy who tackled her.
It's the detail she focuses on first as she looks over the heads of the men crowding around her, checking her over, asking her if she's okay. Her rescuer is similarly dealing with a small crowd of concerned roadies. He shakes his head, but she can't hear what he says. They're probably asking him if he's okay, too.
Her head is still reeling, her brain feeling like it's sloshing around in her skull, so by a doctor's definition she probably isn't okay, but by her own skewed metrics, she's fine. She says so, actually, knocking away the solicitous hands trying to soothe her, her shoulders lifting defensively as she tries to regain her equilibrium.
He's stepped into the circle around her, resolutely ignoring Terry just as much as she is, and at first she smiles reflexively at him as he carefully sidles in close, but then the fact that he called her chica filters through her muddled-up thoughts and her eyes sharpen. ] Papi?
Tommy's wheeze of a laugh is confused and edged with adrenaline and he shakes his head before nodding.] Tommy. [The second laugh is less of a punched-out sound as his own ribs remember how to work properly, the bottled-up stress bottoming out and leaving him momentarily exhausted.] Tommy Miller. Christ, don't - don't call me that but, yeah. I'm that idiot. Are you okay? I -
[Fucking pile-drove her into the stage.]
Uh. Just acted. Should have... listen, you should see the medics. Think you knocked your head pretty good. Sorry. [At his side, Tommy's thumb slides against the outer edge of his index finger. He's breathing more regularly but his head's still half on autopilot as he reaches out with the intention of dragging the wet, stuck folds of Eddie's bunched up shirt down her side again.]
The name sounds familiar to her, but she's having a hard time getting her brain to cooperate with her right now and the little wisp of recognition are impossible to hang on to. She'll remember why she should know him later, probably after he's left and she'll never see him again.
Thinking of him as papi is easier. ]
Hey, hi. I'm Eddie. [ Wow. Real smooth, Munson. The Stevie in her head is judging her, hard, but Eddie resolutely ignores her and tries to focus on something other than the fact that the guy she'd been idly flirting with over text this afternoon actually turned out to be hot. And, apparently, made of fucking rock or something. She's pretty sure she's going to get a bruise on her sternum from where he collided with her. Which is great, because she's definitely going to get a bruise all down her back to go along with the lump on the back of her head from where she impacted into the stage. ] No, you don't—
[ She takes a deep breath, visibly trying to center herself before she tries again. ] Don't apologize, please. I think you saved my life.
[ Maybe that's a little hyperbolic, but those lights are fucking huge, and the shrapnel radius is impressively wide. It hit the deck hard. She'd have a lot worse than a little bump if he hadn't tackled her.
His hand reaches in for her, going for her waist, and for a second she doesn't realize what's happening, her own hand lifting, and then she realizes what he's doing and an embarrassed flush stains her face. The scars on her waist are a sort of well-known secret among the fans, something that's impossible to hide thanks to how much Eddie jumps around and contorts herself as she plays, but she refuses to talk about them in interviews and the girls have backed her up on that stance. Stevie has them too, but she doesn't even bother trying to hide them, wearing cropped shirts in the summer when they play like she doesn't even notice the marks on her skin. Tommy Miller reaches in like he's about to touch them, and she almost flinches, but then his fingers are plucking at her wet shirt instead, and her hand settles on his forearm. ]
I'm fine. Because of you. [ Her hand tightens, fingertips pressing into firm muscle beneath warm skin. ] Thank you.
[He's heard some of the fan-scuttle about the scars but never really paid attention. Now Tommy's seen them for himself but with the events leading up to it he won't think about how they looked until later; right now he's not trying to cover them up, he's trying to put her back together, to convince both of them that everything's fine. It's fine. His fingers pause, having pulled soaked cotton together with denim when Eddie puts her hand on him and the contact is the thing that causes his brain to register her words. Fine. There's no more danger and they're both safe.
Now, for Tommy, the rest of the world rushes back in. His arm falls away.]
I'm glad. Just doing [but it's not his job, or his duty] what I can. [He finally hears the Tommy, estás sangrando from behind him and reaches up to touch his neck; his fingers come away red with blood.] Guess we both need the medic. [Though he'd rather crawl into that bottle of tequila they were talking about earlier until his nerves cut the racket.]
[ Her heart is still pounding, hard enough that she's sure he can see it, her pale skin doing nothing to hide the rush of blood through her body and her ribs throbbing in time.
She can't stop staring at him. He's got freckles on his nose just like she does, an incongruous detail that sticks out more than it should, something she stays stuck on for far longer than she should, especially when he drops his hand from her waist and reaches up to touch his neck, his fingers coming away red with the blood she'd already seen dribbling down his skin to stain the neck of his shirt even darker than the rain.
She's just opening her mouth to say something else to him when the stage door slams open. ]
Eddie, I swear to god! [ The cavalry has arrived.
Stevie Harrington, her hair freshly blowdried back to bouncy shampoo-commercial levels, storms up the stairs with her hands on her hips, looking every bit the angry babysitter Eddie came to know so well back in high school. It helps snap her back into her own body, and even while Stevie's bitching at her about needing to go to the medic, Eddie's talking over her too, insisting she's fine, that she's dealt with worse, that she was saved by—
Here is where she reaches out and grabs for Tommy almost blindly, wrapping her long fingers around his wrist again and hauling him into the conversation like she can use him as another human shield. His appearance derails Stevie's rant a little, stopping her in her tracks so she can stare down her nose at this new person in her orbit while Eddie makes hasty introductions. ]
Stevie, this is Tommy. He was helping break down our set and pushed me out of the way of the fresnel falling.
[ Stevie, who isn't currently battling a concussion, gives him an assessing once-over, and then sniffs. It's as much approval as they're going to get at this stage, and Tommy can probably feel how Eddie relaxes through her grip on his arm alone. Stevie's always been good at snap judgements, especially when it comes to people. Eddie trusts her judgement. ]
You both look a mess. Medical already knows about this. Go.
[ Eddie turns to Tommy and gives him a conspiratorial grin, seemingly much more back on-kilter now that some of her band is here. ] You heard her. We gotta go.
[Without a steady foundation of his own, Eddie's moods shiver through Tommy as she wheels through them because she's not an anchor, she's been through the same mess, and he needs to find a dim room and a bottle-
And that's not going to happen, as he's pulled and lurches sideways just slightly enough to be put in the firing line of the drummer, who's looking almost impossibly as she's just stepped off a glossy Vogue cover and into the middle of a bunch of drowned rats posing as Hell's Angels. Her energy, though, yeah, that fits. Tommy raises his eyebrows at her and maybe would have said something before he's internally knocked back by the grin that Eddie throws at him, like it's theirs alone. It helps him find his footing even as his stomach does a line dance.] Sure do, [he hears himself say. And what else is there?
Nothing, apparently, as Eddie hauls him away by the grip still on his arm, out of the crush of concern that surrounds them and down the stairs back onto the squelching field.]
You're some kind of hard-ass, you know that? [It's a compliment. His neck has started to burn and it's not the relief he was looking for a few moments ago. He wipes the blood from his free hand onto his jeans.]
[ The field is, objectively, gross. Eddie doesn't seem to notice how their steps squish, her own heavy boots more than enough protection for her as they walk over to the first aid tent, her hand still absently curled around Tommy's wrist until he says something to her and she registers his presence again.
She squeezes his arm apologetically before letting him go, wringing her hands together instead, fiddling with the rings she wears and the bracelets that circle her own wrists. ]
I just know better than to say no to Stevie when she's in Mom Mode. [ She lifts her hand to absently touch the back of her head, wincing when her fingers make contact. Yep. That'll definitely be a nice goose egg in no time. ] She's had, like, eight concussions. She doesn't mess around with head injuries.
[ She turns to look at him, squinting a little against the misting rain, and eyes his neck. ] You good?
Don't know. [Can't see it.] I'm still walking, so I'm sure it's not that bad. [To say nothing of his nerves, but Tommy knows how to dial them down until he can get himself straight. Eight concussion, what the hell. Did that girl play high school football?
He glances over at Eddie, her hair drooping ringlets from it's pile and mist collecting to slide down her cheeks like tears. Fuck him, she's gorgeous. And he's the idiot who possibly concussed her.] Really am sorry about the way I tackled you. My response times are a little keyed-up.
[ Game recognizes game, after all. Eddie's hair has come a long way from the frizzy shag that she wound up sporting most of her school career, and that is in large part to the company she keeps nowadays. Also because she can afford to go get it cut by someone who know what they're doing. That helps a lot. Tommy's curls, even wet and pulled back, look like the kind of thing he takes pride in, and for good reason.
She lets herself weave a little as they walk, swaying into him so she can bump her shoulder against his. ]
Hey. If the choice is getting brained by a fresnal or getting knocked on my ass, I know which one I'm choosing. [ She restrains herself from calling him papi again, even if she desperately wants to. ] Sorry you got all cut-up because of me.
[The physical contact is accepted; doesn't grate on Tommy like it normal does when he's in his head. Eddie's an intermittent brush of warmth. Course he does check, glances over, to make sure that she's weaving on purpose and not because she can't walk a straight line.]
Probably would have taken a face-full of glass if I hadn't moved, so. [Tommy shrugs.] Guess we both dodged the short stick. So your drummer... she's a lot. Think I understand the earlier death threats.
[ It's a little bit because she's having a hard time keeping in a straight line, but it's mostly because Tommy's warm, and solid, and really fucking attractive, and Eddie's trying to be cool and not make a fool of herself.
Which is easier said than done, especially when Tommy brings up Stevie again.
There's a curl of disappointment that springs to life somewhere in her chest, a little resigned sigh that tries to make itself known in the back of her head, but she tries not to focus on that. People have been lusting after Stevie since well before she and Eddie started hanging out. Their first manager had tried to get her to give up drums to play something more audience-facing so they could capitalize on her long, long legs and movie-star hair, but Stevie had refused. She liked being in the back, liked keeping an eye on everyone. ]
Yeah, she's great. [ To her credit, she doesn't even sound bitter. Stevie is great. She's also a total smokeshow, and Eddie can't fault Tommy for noticing. ] Takes looking out for us really seriously. She's like the big sister I never had, except she's a year younger than me.
[A laugh coughs up his throat. He wasn't exactly thinking the word great when he brought up the death threats.] As a younger brother who's never been anything but the baby, I both can and can't relate. [Tommy's hand reaches out to grab Eddie as she wobbles slightly; he's just there, just has her gently at the elbow, like he's just touching her because he wants to, not because her balance faltered.
He knows a lot of guys who like women shorter than themselves, but for him there's nothing to mind about Eddie being every inch of his own height. Tommy chides himself for thinking about it at a time like this.]
[ She turns a bright grin towards him, her eyes big and warm as she looks him over. There's nothing about this man that screams baby to her, and she lets herself admire him even as they stumble through the mud together. Would she be as blatant about checking him out if she didn't have a possible concussion?
[Goddamnit woman, check that smile. Tommy hears himself think it in Joel's voice and shakes his head, smiling back at her despite himself. How could he not? He's got blood crawling down his neck, she's certainly some degree of concussed, she, Eddie Munson and he's walking with her to medical after a little brush with either death or disfigurement, Tommy's not sure he wants to parse which was closer.]
Just one brother. [He doesn't say it with a sigh, but. Tommy's basically ready at all times for what follows, because it always does. Your brother's so good lookin', Tommy. Even though most of the time Joel refuses, because he's still off-and-on again hung up on his ex-wife. Used to be that Tommy didn't mind when the girls came back after Joel turned them down but that phase of his life didn't last through the army. Now he's disappointed, sure, but he's got more self-worth now.] Year and a half older, as Irish as you can get despite. [He shrugs.] The tan.
[ Considering she has no idea what Tommy's brother looks like, she's not going to follow that question up with anything at all. Though, if pressed, she'd probably say she's sure that the man's handsome, after all, his baby brother looks like that.
She sways into him a little bit again, just to see if he'll tighten his grip on her. Normally she's not super into men laying their hands on her all willy-nilly and shit, but Tommy's earned a little leeway, what with him having just saved her life and all that. ]
Where you boys from? [ she asks, instead of voicing any comments she might make on the Irishness or lack thereof of his complexion. ] You don't sound like you're from Indiana.
[Yeah, leeway, and the fact that she's listing like a sailboat who's gotten the brunt end of bad weather.] Indiana? Nah. [Tommy points through the pop-up tents to where one a few rows back still waves a rather limp red cross on white background.]
Austin. This's our first big major tour; mostly stuck to Texas aside from a poke or two to southern California and circuit around the Four Corners.
[ Eddie's almost disappointed that they've finally forged through enough mud to make it to the medical tent. She'd rather been enjoying the chance to talk to him uninterrupted, and his hand on her arm is really warm.
She's in the process of trying to come up with something to say about how it's a good thing he's not from Indiana, because Indiana is a shithole of a state and she's been trying to get out of it her entire life, when he drops that both he and his brother are on the tour. Finally, enough hints have percolated through her banged-up brain that she's able to grasp at some information she knew she knew that was just out of reach the whole night. ]
Oh! You're, um. You're that duo that replaced what's-their-name. God, they were assholes. The, um, Miller Brothers, right?
[ She's back to grinning at him again, her eyes crinkling a little at the corners. ] I can't believe we've not run into each other yet, I'm so sorry, you must think I'm such a fucking diva I can't even introduce myself to the other acts.
[ She sticks her hand out at him like they're not already acquainted, dimpling at him in the misting rain. ] Welcome to the tour, papi.
Tommy opens his mouth once to say the Miller Brothers were assholes? but instead just nods as she goes on and then he opens his mouth to say there's twelve bands here and it's not like we drive together why would I think you're a diva? but instead gets hit smack in the face with papi. Fuckin' papi.
Ignoring the outstretched hand, Tommy faces Eddie and very seriously takes both of her shoulders in hand.] Thanks. Don't call me that.
[ Eddie's already half-laughing as he steps around her and plonks both his hands on her shoulders, giving her a serious look that she can't quite tell if is just a cover or not.
His hands are very warm. ]
Does it really bother you? [ To her credit, despite the laugh tucked in the corner of her mouth, she does seem sincere as she looks at him through spiky lashes and tries to get her expression under control. Her hands lift to circle his wrists, holding onto him right back. ] I'm sorry, I'll stop.
[He shouldn't want to kiss her. Stop wanting to kiss her, you idiot.]
Yeah, I'm a Miller brother, no, you're not a diva - that I know of - and it doesn't bother me as much as might embarrass you, papi is... [Tommy lifts a hand from her shoulder to make a broad but absent gesture.] Y'know. Kinda sexual.
[Is he blushing? Of course not. And if he were, well. A tan hides all sins. Right?]
[ Eddie's expression melts — she can feel it happening, her stupid expressive face is such a burden and a curse — as he explains his reluctance to let her keep calling him papi. She even goes so far as to bite her bottom lip, just for a moment, just until she can get herself under control.
The laugh still bubbles up in her voice as she responds, though. ]
Tommy. I know that. [ She grins at him, her eyebrows quirking under her wet bangs. ] I may have failed high school Spanish multiple times in a row, but even I know that papi means daddy.
[ She'd been under the impression that it was slightly less charged in Spanish versus in English, just from pop culture osmosis, but it's not like it was a secret as to what the word meant. She stands by her initial joke, though. One look at Tommy Miller all wet and heroic and she knew she'd picked the right nickname for him. ]
[Cultural charges don't really come into play when a slightly younger, unrelated by blood female is calling an older male daddy. But goddamn that laugh. Tommy snorts and shoves Eddie backward, lightly, playful. (Ready to grab her.)] Don't treasure it, but as long as you know what people around you are gonna think when they hear it, go with God. Chica.
[He points toward the medical tent.] But go with first-aid, first.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Tommy glides through the night on one helluva delusional cloud, but hey. A man's gotta eat. Besides it's Joel who pulls all the chicks - whether he wants em or not - so it's nice to maintain a fantasy for a little while, even if he knows it's going nowhere, not even sitting on the damn tracks.
When someone yells, different than the directions being tossed back and forth or the jocular calls of people getting things done together, Tommy knows it's wrong in a way that stands the hair up on the back of his neck. He's a vet and his head won't ever be so far in the clouds or up his ass that he doesn't react fast, and react right. Means he turns quick enough to see one of the brawny guys up in the top scaffolding go down, hard, onto the small catwalk with his legs flailing over the side but safe; another guy's already grabbed him and is hauling him to his feet. Tommy's damn heart feels jacked on adrenaline. The rest of the crew on the ground are just starting to look up, still trying to locate the problem that's already over.
The second Tommy hears the high scream of metal he's moving. It's not PTSD, not like that; just muscle-memory wired so damn far down into his bones that even though his brain's done all the math, he's acting on what he knows before he realizes he knows it. As the fresnal light the crewguy kicked in his fall shears off its mount and sends up a blinding shower of sparks Tommy's hauling heavy boots across the stage. He saw the light, knows where it's hanging - or was hanging - knows how damn heavy it is, knows where it's going. And he's already there, shoulder-first into Eddie, bowling her down like he's still in high school football.
They don't hit the stage easy and for one blaring heartbeat he's looking down at her and nothing he expected is happening, just a crazed silence and her big fucking dark eyes below his and Tommy draws breath to say all the apologies he knows because he's such a fucking idiot when the light hits the stage just behind them with enough force to shatter, blowing the lens out and twisting the metal canister.]
no subject
The tenor of the shouts this evening are different.
The rain has made everything slippery, as Eddie can attest to from when she nearly brained herself on stage not even twenty minutes ago, and the scaffolding is not exempt from that.
Everything happens so fast. The shout, a thump of something hitting the scaffolding. Silence. A godawful screech that she can't quite place. The sound of boots hitting the stage. The brief second of seeing that new guy much closer to her than before. The realization he's going to run into her just before he actually does it, the way he tucks his shoulder like he's doing one of those sports moves that Stevie has tried (and failed) to teach her. The impact of his body into hers. The swoop in her belly when she realizes she's no longer in control of her own gravity. The impact of her body against the stage.
She doesn't even have time to shout, just gets knocked right off her feet, skidding a few feet back along the wet stage and hitting her head in the process, stars exploding behind her eyes as her lungs let go of all their air. The sparkles in her vision might also be from the fact that a fucking light has broken free, sparks lighting up the darkening sky like a firework, and then there's the sound of the whole unit hitting the stage, just a few scant feet away from where she's lying with the new guy still hovering over her.
She flinches, hard. Her legs draw up, or they would have if he wasn't lying across them, and her arms lift to protect her head, her body trying to curl up to protect itself in a way that drags her wet shirt even higher up her back, displaying the spread of silvery-pink scars that spread across her middle.
There's silence, after, just long enough for her to twist her head a little and peek up at the man still hovering over her, pieces of his hair having escaped their tie and hanging around his face to drip down onto hers, his eyes huge and dark and scared, his face pale beneath its tan. She's just opening her mouth to say something — probably what the fuck? because she's nothing if not predictable — when the rest of the world comes rushing back in to fill the buzzing silence in her ears and the shouting of the crew comes back into focus. ]
no subject
Someone's hand is on his shoulder, fighting for his attention, and Tommy knocks it away a little too hard before apologizing and shaking his head. He's fine. Fine. He looks at the scattered remains of the fresnal on the ground, a few feet away. Up to the scaffold, where a couple sets of wide eyes stare back. His hand forms an A-OK without his brain's conscious consent.
She'd been jokingly cavalier about the danger of performing in the parking lot, but here they are, and...] Chica? [Tommy moves away from the touch of someone saying something about the back of his neck and finds Eddie still close, surrounded by a small crush of bearded men, Terry doing his best to move people back and give them space while confirming that everything else up top is locked down tight. Tommy steps in slow, like she might bolt from him.] Hey - you good?
no subject
Stevie is safe in their green room with Chrissy. The only person with blood on their neck is the guy who tackled her.
It's the detail she focuses on first as she looks over the heads of the men crowding around her, checking her over, asking her if she's okay. Her rescuer is similarly dealing with a small crowd of concerned roadies. He shakes his head, but she can't hear what he says. They're probably asking him if he's okay, too.
Her head is still reeling, her brain feeling like it's sloshing around in her skull, so by a doctor's definition she probably isn't okay, but by her own skewed metrics, she's fine. She says so, actually, knocking away the solicitous hands trying to soothe her, her shoulders lifting defensively as she tries to regain her equilibrium.
He's stepped into the circle around her, resolutely ignoring Terry just as much as she is, and at first she smiles reflexively at him as he carefully sidles in close, but then the fact that he called her chica filters through her muddled-up thoughts and her eyes sharpen. ] Papi?
no subject
Tommy's wheeze of a laugh is confused and edged with adrenaline and he shakes his head before nodding.] Tommy. [The second laugh is less of a punched-out sound as his own ribs remember how to work properly, the bottled-up stress bottoming out and leaving him momentarily exhausted.] Tommy Miller. Christ, don't - don't call me that but, yeah. I'm that idiot. Are you okay? I -
[Fucking pile-drove her into the stage.]
Uh. Just acted. Should have... listen, you should see the medics. Think you knocked your head pretty good. Sorry. [At his side, Tommy's thumb slides against the outer edge of his index finger. He's breathing more regularly but his head's still half on autopilot as he reaches out with the intention of dragging the wet, stuck folds of Eddie's bunched up shirt down her side again.]
no subject
The name sounds familiar to her, but she's having a hard time getting her brain to cooperate with her right now and the little wisp of recognition are impossible to hang on to. She'll remember why she should know him later, probably after he's left and she'll never see him again.
Thinking of him as papi is easier. ]
Hey, hi. I'm Eddie. [ Wow. Real smooth, Munson. The Stevie in her head is judging her, hard, but Eddie resolutely ignores her and tries to focus on something other than the fact that the guy she'd been idly flirting with over text this afternoon actually turned out to be hot. And, apparently, made of fucking rock or something. She's pretty sure she's going to get a bruise on her sternum from where he collided with her. Which is great, because she's definitely going to get a bruise all down her back to go along with the lump on the back of her head from where she impacted into the stage. ] No, you don't—
[ She takes a deep breath, visibly trying to center herself before she tries again. ] Don't apologize, please. I think you saved my life.
[ Maybe that's a little hyperbolic, but those lights are fucking huge, and the shrapnel radius is impressively wide. It hit the deck hard. She'd have a lot worse than a little bump if he hadn't tackled her.
His hand reaches in for her, going for her waist, and for a second she doesn't realize what's happening, her own hand lifting, and then she realizes what he's doing and an embarrassed flush stains her face. The scars on her waist are a sort of well-known secret among the fans, something that's impossible to hide thanks to how much Eddie jumps around and contorts herself as she plays, but she refuses to talk about them in interviews and the girls have backed her up on that stance. Stevie has them too, but she doesn't even bother trying to hide them, wearing cropped shirts in the summer when they play like she doesn't even notice the marks on her skin. Tommy Miller reaches in like he's about to touch them, and she almost flinches, but then his fingers are plucking at her wet shirt instead, and her hand settles on his forearm. ]
I'm fine. Because of you. [ Her hand tightens, fingertips pressing into firm muscle beneath warm skin. ] Thank you.
no subject
Now, for Tommy, the rest of the world rushes back in. His arm falls away.]
I'm glad. Just doing [but it's not his job, or his duty] what I can. [He finally hears the Tommy, estás sangrando from behind him and reaches up to touch his neck; his fingers come away red with blood.] Guess we both need the medic. [Though he'd rather crawl into that bottle of tequila they were talking about earlier until his nerves cut the racket.]
no subject
She can't stop staring at him. He's got freckles on his nose just like she does, an incongruous detail that sticks out more than it should, something she stays stuck on for far longer than she should, especially when he drops his hand from her waist and reaches up to touch his neck, his fingers coming away red with the blood she'd already seen dribbling down his skin to stain the neck of his shirt even darker than the rain.
She's just opening her mouth to say something else to him when the stage door slams open. ]
Eddie, I swear to god! [ The cavalry has arrived.
Stevie Harrington, her hair freshly blowdried back to bouncy shampoo-commercial levels, storms up the stairs with her hands on her hips, looking every bit the angry babysitter Eddie came to know so well back in high school. It helps snap her back into her own body, and even while Stevie's bitching at her about needing to go to the medic, Eddie's talking over her too, insisting she's fine, that she's dealt with worse, that she was saved by—
Here is where she reaches out and grabs for Tommy almost blindly, wrapping her long fingers around his wrist again and hauling him into the conversation like she can use him as another human shield. His appearance derails Stevie's rant a little, stopping her in her tracks so she can stare down her nose at this new person in her orbit while Eddie makes hasty introductions. ]
Stevie, this is Tommy. He was helping break down our set and pushed me out of the way of the fresnel falling.
[ Stevie, who isn't currently battling a concussion, gives him an assessing once-over, and then sniffs. It's as much approval as they're going to get at this stage, and Tommy can probably feel how Eddie relaxes through her grip on his arm alone. Stevie's always been good at snap judgements, especially when it comes to people. Eddie trusts her judgement. ]
You both look a mess. Medical already knows about this. Go.
[ Eddie turns to Tommy and gives him a conspiratorial grin, seemingly much more back on-kilter now that some of her band is here. ] You heard her. We gotta go.
no subject
And that's not going to happen, as he's pulled and lurches sideways just slightly enough to be put in the firing line of the drummer, who's looking almost impossibly as she's just stepped off a glossy Vogue cover and into the middle of a bunch of drowned rats posing as Hell's Angels. Her energy, though, yeah, that fits. Tommy raises his eyebrows at her and maybe would have said something before he's internally knocked back by the grin that Eddie throws at him, like it's theirs alone. It helps him find his footing even as his stomach does a line dance.] Sure do, [he hears himself say. And what else is there?
Nothing, apparently, as Eddie hauls him away by the grip still on his arm, out of the crush of concern that surrounds them and down the stairs back onto the squelching field.]
You're some kind of hard-ass, you know that? [It's a compliment. His neck has started to burn and it's not the relief he was looking for a few moments ago. He wipes the blood from his free hand onto his jeans.]
no subject
She squeezes his arm apologetically before letting him go, wringing her hands together instead, fiddling with the rings she wears and the bracelets that circle her own wrists. ]
I just know better than to say no to Stevie when she's in Mom Mode. [ She lifts her hand to absently touch the back of her head, wincing when her fingers make contact. Yep. That'll definitely be a nice goose egg in no time. ] She's had, like, eight concussions. She doesn't mess around with head injuries.
[ She turns to look at him, squinting a little against the misting rain, and eyes his neck. ] You good?
no subject
He glances over at Eddie, her hair drooping ringlets from it's pile and mist collecting to slide down her cheeks like tears. Fuck him, she's gorgeous. And he's the idiot who possibly concussed her.] Really am sorry about the way I tackled you. My response times are a little keyed-up.
no subject
[ Game recognizes game, after all. Eddie's hair has come a long way from the frizzy shag that she wound up sporting most of her school career, and that is in large part to the company she keeps nowadays. Also because she can afford to go get it cut by someone who know what they're doing. That helps a lot. Tommy's curls, even wet and pulled back, look like the kind of thing he takes pride in, and for good reason.
She lets herself weave a little as they walk, swaying into him so she can bump her shoulder against his. ]
Hey. If the choice is getting brained by a fresnal or getting knocked on my ass, I know which one I'm choosing. [ She restrains herself from calling him papi again, even if she desperately wants to. ] Sorry you got all cut-up because of me.
no subject
Probably would have taken a face-full of glass if I hadn't moved, so. [Tommy shrugs.] Guess we both dodged the short stick. So your drummer... she's a lot. Think I understand the earlier death threats.
no subject
Which is easier said than done, especially when Tommy brings up Stevie again.
There's a curl of disappointment that springs to life somewhere in her chest, a little resigned sigh that tries to make itself known in the back of her head, but she tries not to focus on that. People have been lusting after Stevie since well before she and Eddie started hanging out. Their first manager had tried to get her to give up drums to play something more audience-facing so they could capitalize on her long, long legs and movie-star hair, but Stevie had refused. She liked being in the back, liked keeping an eye on everyone. ]
Yeah, she's great. [ To her credit, she doesn't even sound bitter. Stevie is great. She's also a total smokeshow, and Eddie can't fault Tommy for noticing. ] Takes looking out for us really seriously. She's like the big sister I never had, except she's a year younger than me.
no subject
He knows a lot of guys who like women shorter than themselves, but for him there's nothing to mind about Eddie being every inch of his own height. Tommy chides himself for thinking about it at a time like this.]
no subject
[ She turns a bright grin towards him, her eyes big and warm as she looks him over. There's nothing about this man that screams baby to her, and she lets herself admire him even as they stumble through the mud together. Would she be as blatant about checking him out if she didn't have a possible concussion?
Probably. ]
Brother or sister? Or both?
no subject
Just one brother. [He doesn't say it with a sigh, but. Tommy's basically ready at all times for what follows, because it always does. Your brother's so good lookin', Tommy. Even though most of the time Joel refuses, because he's still off-and-on again hung up on his ex-wife. Used to be that Tommy didn't mind when the girls came back after Joel turned them down but that phase of his life didn't last through the army. Now he's disappointed, sure, but he's got more self-worth now.] Year and a half older, as Irish as you can get despite. [He shrugs.] The tan.
no subject
She sways into him a little bit again, just to see if he'll tighten his grip on her. Normally she's not super into men laying their hands on her all willy-nilly and shit, but Tommy's earned a little leeway, what with him having just saved her life and all that. ]
Where you boys from? [ she asks, instead of voicing any comments she might make on the Irishness or lack thereof of his complexion. ] You don't sound like you're from Indiana.
no subject
Austin. This's our first big major tour; mostly stuck to Texas aside from a poke or two to southern California and circuit around the Four Corners.
no subject
She's in the process of trying to come up with something to say about how it's a good thing he's not from Indiana, because Indiana is a shithole of a state and she's been trying to get out of it her entire life, when he drops that both he and his brother are on the tour. Finally, enough hints have percolated through her banged-up brain that she's able to grasp at some information she knew she knew that was just out of reach the whole night. ]
Oh! You're, um. You're that duo that replaced what's-their-name. God, they were assholes. The, um, Miller Brothers, right?
[ She's back to grinning at him again, her eyes crinkling a little at the corners. ] I can't believe we've not run into each other yet, I'm so sorry, you must think I'm such a fucking diva I can't even introduce myself to the other acts.
[ She sticks her hand out at him like they're not already acquainted, dimpling at him in the misting rain. ] Welcome to the tour, papi.
no subject
Tommy opens his mouth once to say the Miller Brothers were assholes? but instead just nods as she goes on and then he opens his mouth to say there's twelve bands here and it's not like we drive together why would I think you're a diva? but instead gets hit smack in the face with papi. Fuckin' papi.
Ignoring the outstretched hand, Tommy faces Eddie and very seriously takes both of her shoulders in hand.] Thanks. Don't call me that.
no subject
His hands are very warm. ]
Does it really bother you? [ To her credit, despite the laugh tucked in the corner of her mouth, she does seem sincere as she looks at him through spiky lashes and tries to get her expression under control. Her hands lift to circle his wrists, holding onto him right back. ] I'm sorry, I'll stop.
no subject
Yeah, I'm a Miller brother, no, you're not a diva - that I know of - and it doesn't bother me as much as might embarrass you, papi is... [Tommy lifts a hand from her shoulder to make a broad but absent gesture.] Y'know. Kinda sexual.
[Is he blushing? Of course not. And if he were, well. A tan hides all sins. Right?]
no subject
The laugh still bubbles up in her voice as she responds, though. ]
Tommy. I know that. [ She grins at him, her eyebrows quirking under her wet bangs. ] I may have failed high school Spanish multiple times in a row, but even I know that papi means daddy.
[ She'd been under the impression that it was slightly less charged in Spanish versus in English, just from pop culture osmosis, but it's not like it was a secret as to what the word meant. She stands by her initial joke, though. One look at Tommy Miller all wet and heroic and she knew she'd picked the right nickname for him. ]
But I really will stop if you don't like it.
no subject
[He points toward the medical tent.] But go with first-aid, first.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)