[Does Tommy whisper a little prayer for salvation? Maybe. Habit's a comforting bitch.]
Good luck, señorita.
[He finishes his beer and smacks the bottle onto the dressing table. Scrawls Joel a note, just in case, though he seriously doubts he'll see him before morning - gone to watch the show - and heads out, clapping the door shut behind him.]
[ Stevie's pissed about playing in the rain, but Eddie can tell it's the kind of pissed that's not that serious, that won't have lasting consequences, that's really more for appearances' sake than anything else. Chrissy shrugs into a poncho just like Eddie thought she would, and then they're traipsing up towards the stage, and Eddie lets herself sink into the familiar anticipatory buzz that's filled her veins every single time she gets up in front of a crowd, all the way from when she was playing to a handful of drunks at the Hideout on a Tuesday night.
It's Saturday, now, and there's more than a handful of people waiting for them to get on stage, but they're probably more than a little drunk. It's close enough.
Riding the wave, Eddie steps up to her mic and bellows a greeting into it, her grin splitting wide at the wave of cheers that comes rolling back towards her. She plays a chord or two, just to feel the vibration sizzle up through her, and her mouth keeps moving totally divorced from her brain, buoying her along through her typical pre-show patter until she gets the signal from the girls that they're ready.
Holding up both hands towards the crowd, ignoring the rain pelting down on her and turning her shirt translucent, Eddie waits a few breaths until things are silent enough for her to start. ]
Why can't you look at me in the eye, my friend, [ she starts, just her scratchy voice to start, before she brings her guitar in beneath to support her, ] you're staring at your feet, aiming at my head. Don't got the decency to say it with your chest... you're staring at your feet, aiming at my head, aiming at my head—
[ Stevie comes in beneath her then, the drums thumping so eagerly Eddie finds herself bouncing on her toes in time, and then Chrissy joins and they're off.
It's a rough show, with some of the equipment dying out for a few seconds, just long enough for Eddie to scream at the crowd to sing along — at the do, belting out her own lyrics back at her loud enough that she hardly misses the speakers at all until they come back on — and she slips on the stage and nearly gives herself a concussion at one point, but they manage to pull it off nonetheless. ]
[It's pissing rain, but that doesn't stop Eddie and the Dead Girls from playing and it sure as hell doesn't stop Tommy from watching. And while the crowd starts out smaller than the band deserves, by the time the amassed wet souls are yelling lyrics back at the stage to fill the void left by the speakers (how does she take that so in-stride? when the guitars peel back out across the field it feels like it was maybe intentional, like maybe they all standing there were complicit-) the act has drawn more bodies to fill the open patches where grass has become mud and they're getting closer to each other's shoulders as everyone moves to the heavy rhythm that carries the girls through their set.
Tommy had never heard of E&tDG before he and Joel got pulled onto this particular circuit late, about two months ago, to fill in for some pop bluegrass act that dropped out over "creative differences" that apparently included a keg dropped onto the drummer's foot. He'd caught the set the first time entirely by accident and had stood there watching, pulled by the crowd and the vocals of the lead singer, into being almost an hour late for a dinner he had to catch up with a few Ironside buddies.
He's listened to everything since then. The records. The shows. Some bootlegs that had surfaced - and not been subdued, it seemed - of videos from concerts taped back when the band were still openers that had started to draw crowds bigger than the acts they were fronting.
She's like a goddamned avenging angel up there.
By the time the set's over and the girls have vacated the stage and left the dark field vibrating in the aftermath of heavy bass and raw vocals, Tommy's drenched but happy, his nerves buzzing pleasantly under his skin. The crowd loses it's focus and begins to straggle toward the exits as the pole lights pop on with heavy thunks, signalling the end of the night. No more encores, no more show. The vendors and food trucks that had fought against the rain begin to pull down signs and shutters. One more tour date struck through the list. Tommy doesn't have the black tshirt that designates crew, but pushes his muddy boots up toward the stage and security lets him through with a flash of his lanyard. He swaps a fist-bump with Terry, who manages most of the sets - including The Miller Brothers - and gets put to work.
Thoughts of the text-chain on the phone in his pocket aren't even on his mind as he ties wet curls back into a small tail and starts unplugging equipment. Not sure he'd deny having a school-boy crush on the lead singer if asked but tonight? Ain't nothin' but work to be done. Acts don't stick around to break-down; there's no dumb hopes sitting on his chest of a few sent messages meaning anything more. He's a fan but he's also a musician himself and the shine of brushing elbows gets worn down pretty quick. Eddie doesn't know anything about him beside an unlisted number. Tommy trades jokes with guys as he coils wire with sharp, fast strokes. The rain's lightened to a tossing spit that looks like snow in the hard overhead lights and they're in good spirits.]
[ It's maybe not their most inspired set, maybe not their most successful, but Eddie and the Dead Girls is an Indiana homebrew band, and even out here in the sticks of her shitty, awful homestate, the misfits and the outcasts turn up for them.
And she was right: playing in the rain made for some excellent moments, and she knows the photos from this set will be bother hilariously bad and incredibly awesome, depending on the lighting and the angle. She knows there will be dozens of shots where she's looking like a drowned poodle, but hopefully there will be just as many where she looks like some sort of avenging Amazon with her wet hair streaming around her and her guitar gleaming in the rain.
For a long time, Eddie had staunchly declared that she didn't care how she looked. And then she met Stevie and Chrissy, and somehow got herself bullied into taking care of her hair and wearing a bra that actually fits, and now here she is. She refuses a hair and makeup team for her shows, though. She can smear eyeliner on better than anyone else can do it for her.
She can also pile her hair on top of her head and lash it into place with a scrunchie borrowed from Chrissy — who's staying in the green room now that their set is over, her injuries from high school that never completely left her still act up when the weather's bad — and troop back up to the state so she can help break down. It's not the first time she's done this, so there isn't much of a reaction from the crew when she slips onto the stage and starts hoisting things up into her arms. There's a little more work to be done than normal with half the crew missing, but there's also some new bodies milling around she doesn't recognize, so she's confident they'll be done in no time. ]
¿Qué carajo está haciendo ella aquí? [Tommy hisses at one of the guys he knows when he realizes - with a feeling that is unnervingly like getting kicked in the chest by a horse - that Eddie's not just back on stage but helping lug equipment with her hair piled up and her shirt sticking to her skin. He makes sure his face is down on his work but... right, she doesn't know it anyway. Christ, she doesn't really have his number saved in her phone, does she?
Trent tells him that it's just something she does every now and then. First time on this tour they thought she was just precious about her guitars but nah. Just helps out. It's cool.
Tommy and Joel always help break down their own sets, but it's not cool, it's necessary because they're small fish, and Joel is definitely precious about his guitars. But it's not necessary for Eddie and yet, christ. Tommy buries himself in some speakers to reach a handful of tricky wiring when she walks by him, almost close enough to brush arms.]
[ Eddie knows the crew well enough to pick them out of a crowd, but she's never been great with names. Surprisingly, for someone who was able to pick out the most obscure demon or magical being from the D&D guidebook, when it came to regular people, names tended to slip through her fingers like sand.
She doesn't need to know people's names to recognize them, though. Which means it doesn't take her long to suss out the new guy in the group, broad shoulders draped in gray cotton that's gone dark in the rain, sharp features glistening in the mist and the floodlights, hair that looks as curly as hers tucked behind his ears and into a low ponytail. He looks familiar, but she can't quite place him. Most of the guys on her crew are babyfaced college kids or seasoned professionals with big shovel beards like they think they're in ZZ Top or something, so the delicacy in his face stands out.
He's cute. She digs the little goatee. But Eddie doesn't shit where she sleeps, and hitting on someone who's on her payroll is a real scumbag move, so when they bump elbows as they pass, she just gives him a little up-nod and a welcoming smile. There isn't time to chit-chat right now, anyway. She'll buy him a beer in thanks later, once they're broken down and dry. ]
[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.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2025-05-23 02:28 am (UTC)Good luck, señorita.
[He finishes his beer and smacks the bottle onto the dressing table. Scrawls Joel a note, just in case, though he seriously doubts he'll see him before morning - gone to watch the show - and heads out, clapping the door shut behind him.]
no subject
Date: 2025-05-23 02:39 am (UTC)It's Saturday, now, and there's more than a handful of people waiting for them to get on stage, but they're probably more than a little drunk. It's close enough.
Riding the wave, Eddie steps up to her mic and bellows a greeting into it, her grin splitting wide at the wave of cheers that comes rolling back towards her. She plays a chord or two, just to feel the vibration sizzle up through her, and her mouth keeps moving totally divorced from her brain, buoying her along through her typical pre-show patter until she gets the signal from the girls that they're ready.
Holding up both hands towards the crowd, ignoring the rain pelting down on her and turning her shirt translucent, Eddie waits a few breaths until things are silent enough for her to start. ]
Why can't you look at me in the eye, my friend, [ she starts, just her scratchy voice to start, before she brings her guitar in beneath to support her, ] you're staring at your feet, aiming at my head. Don't got the decency to say it with your chest... you're staring at your feet, aiming at my head, aiming at my head—
[ Stevie comes in beneath her then, the drums thumping so eagerly Eddie finds herself bouncing on her toes in time, and then Chrissy joins and they're off.
It's a rough show, with some of the equipment dying out for a few seconds, just long enough for Eddie to scream at the crowd to sing along — at the do, belting out her own lyrics back at her loud enough that she hardly misses the speakers at all until they come back on — and she slips on the stage and nearly gives herself a concussion at one point, but they manage to pull it off nonetheless. ]
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Date: 2025-05-23 11:40 am (UTC)Tommy had never heard of E&tDG before he and Joel got pulled onto this particular circuit late, about two months ago, to fill in for some pop bluegrass act that dropped out over "creative differences" that apparently included a keg dropped onto the drummer's foot. He'd caught the set the first time entirely by accident and had stood there watching, pulled by the crowd and the vocals of the lead singer, into being almost an hour late for a dinner he had to catch up with a few Ironside buddies.
He's listened to everything since then. The records. The shows. Some bootlegs that had surfaced - and not been subdued, it seemed - of videos from concerts taped back when the band were still openers that had started to draw crowds bigger than the acts they were fronting.
She's like a goddamned avenging angel up there.
By the time the set's over and the girls have vacated the stage and left the dark field vibrating in the aftermath of heavy bass and raw vocals, Tommy's drenched but happy, his nerves buzzing pleasantly under his skin. The crowd loses it's focus and begins to straggle toward the exits as the pole lights pop on with heavy thunks, signalling the end of the night. No more encores, no more show. The vendors and food trucks that had fought against the rain begin to pull down signs and shutters. One more tour date struck through the list. Tommy doesn't have the black tshirt that designates crew, but pushes his muddy boots up toward the stage and security lets him through with a flash of his lanyard. He swaps a fist-bump with Terry, who manages most of the sets - including The Miller Brothers - and gets put to work.
Thoughts of the text-chain on the phone in his pocket aren't even on his mind as he ties wet curls back into a small tail and starts unplugging equipment. Not sure he'd deny having a school-boy crush on the lead singer if asked but tonight? Ain't nothin' but work to be done. Acts don't stick around to break-down; there's no dumb hopes sitting on his chest of a few sent messages meaning anything more. He's a fan but he's also a musician himself and the shine of brushing elbows gets worn down pretty quick. Eddie doesn't know anything about him beside an unlisted number. Tommy trades jokes with guys as he coils wire with sharp, fast strokes. The rain's lightened to a tossing spit that looks like snow in the hard overhead lights and they're in good spirits.]
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Date: 2025-05-23 12:44 pm (UTC)And she was right: playing in the rain made for some excellent moments, and she knows the photos from this set will be bother hilariously bad and incredibly awesome, depending on the lighting and the angle. She knows there will be dozens of shots where she's looking like a drowned poodle, but hopefully there will be just as many where she looks like some sort of avenging Amazon with her wet hair streaming around her and her guitar gleaming in the rain.
For a long time, Eddie had staunchly declared that she didn't care how she looked. And then she met Stevie and Chrissy, and somehow got herself bullied into taking care of her hair and wearing a bra that actually fits, and now here she is. She refuses a hair and makeup team for her shows, though. She can smear eyeliner on better than anyone else can do it for her.
She can also pile her hair on top of her head and lash it into place with a scrunchie borrowed from Chrissy — who's staying in the green room now that their set is over, her injuries from high school that never completely left her still act up when the weather's bad — and troop back up to the state so she can help break down. It's not the first time she's done this, so there isn't much of a reaction from the crew when she slips onto the stage and starts hoisting things up into her arms. There's a little more work to be done than normal with half the crew missing, but there's also some new bodies milling around she doesn't recognize, so she's confident they'll be done in no time. ]
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Date: 2025-05-23 12:58 pm (UTC)Trent tells him that it's just something she does every now and then. First time on this tour they thought she was just precious about her guitars but nah. Just helps out. It's cool.
Tommy and Joel always help break down their own sets, but it's not cool, it's necessary because they're small fish, and Joel is definitely precious about his guitars. But it's not necessary for Eddie and yet, christ. Tommy buries himself in some speakers to reach a handful of tricky wiring when she walks by him, almost close enough to brush arms.]
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Date: 2025-05-23 01:52 pm (UTC)She doesn't need to know people's names to recognize them, though. Which means it doesn't take her long to suss out the new guy in the group, broad shoulders draped in gray cotton that's gone dark in the rain, sharp features glistening in the mist and the floodlights, hair that looks as curly as hers tucked behind his ears and into a low ponytail. He looks familiar, but she can't quite place him. Most of the guys on her crew are babyfaced college kids or seasoned professionals with big shovel beards like they think they're in ZZ Top or something, so the delicacy in his face stands out.
He's cute. She digs the little goatee. But Eddie doesn't shit where she sleeps, and hitting on someone who's on her payroll is a real scumbag move, so when they bump elbows as they pass, she just gives him a little up-nod and a welcoming smile. There isn't time to chit-chat right now, anyway. She'll buy him a beer in thanks later, once they're broken down and dry. ]
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Date: 2025-05-23 02:39 pm (UTC)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.]
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Date: 2025-05-23 03:10 pm (UTC)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. ]
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Date: 2025-05-23 03:35 pm (UTC)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?
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Date: 2025-05-23 04:16 pm (UTC)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?
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Date: 2025-05-23 04:31 pm (UTC)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.]
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Date: 2025-05-23 04:42 pm (UTC)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.
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Date: 2025-05-23 05:04 pm (UTC)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.]
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Date: 2025-05-23 05:24 pm (UTC)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.
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Date: 2025-05-23 06:29 pm (UTC)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.]
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Date: 2025-05-23 06:50 pm (UTC)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?
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Date: 2025-05-23 06:57 pm (UTC)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.
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Date: 2025-05-23 07:12 pm (UTC)[ 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.
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Date: 2025-05-23 07:45 pm (UTC)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.
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Date: 2025-05-23 07:52 pm (UTC)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.
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Date: 2025-05-23 08:06 pm (UTC)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.]
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Date: 2025-05-23 08:24 pm (UTC)[ 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?
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Date: 2025-05-23 08:43 pm (UTC)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.
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Date: 2025-05-23 08:49 pm (UTC)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.
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Date: 2025-05-23 09:09 pm (UTC)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.
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