Long time no see!
Title: Put Me on a Train
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Mick/Keith (Kind of one-sided on Mick's part)
Word Count: 1,681
Summary: Just a little something while I work on my other stories. Hope you enjoy! Comments and criticism welcome.
Disclaimer: They absolutely did meet on a train. Everything else is pure fiction.
It was definitely him. No question about it. Yes, this was Keith Richards-here on this train in Kent, off all places-and the blue eyed teen couldn’t help but grin as memories of playgrounds and silly childhood games flooded his mind. Shy, though, he made no move to approach his dark haired old playmate, instead settling for glancing at him from a distance. Mick went back to staring idly out the window until a gruff voice caught his attention.
“Oy, is that his new one?” Keith piped up, suddenly beside him, indicating Mick’s Muddy Waters album. The older boy blinked in surprise.
“Oh! Yeah. Just got it today,” Mick smiled and eagerly met the other boy’s chocolate eyes, but saw no signs of recognition. He doesn’t know me, Mick thought, amused and just a little sad. But why should he? It’s been nearly ten years.
“Mick Jagger,” he said, casually holding out his hand. When Keith raised his gaze up from the albums tucked under Mick’s arm, he did a double take and frowned as he appeared to scan the other’s face. Something like surprise flickered in his eyes, and his face broke into another wide grin.
“Jagger? Michael Jagger? He chuckled then, revealing clean but slightly crooked teeth. Mick lowered his arm and Keith explained. “Sorry, mate; see, you prolly don’t remember me, but we went to school together for a bit. I’m-
“Keith! Keith Richards! Bloody hell, I knew it was you!” The boys came in for a quick embrace, and when they separated Keith nodded again toward the records. “Pretty cool stuff, yeah?” The grin had yet to leave Mick’s face as he responded. The teens found a seat and talked enthusiastically; about their lives since parting several years earlier; about school; but most of all, they talked about music-blues, to be specific. They dared to dream of maybe getting a little band together. The train rolled on, and their futures stretched out before them as they laughed carelessly. They told jokes and goofed around loudly while other passengers shot them dirty looks. They felt elated. They felt silly.
Here on this train, for a moment, they were eight years old again.
…
Fifteen years later, and Mick couldn’t recognize that kid anymore. Had they really been those bright eyed, dream filled boys at one time? It seemed so distant now; like a hazy memory, or something that had happened to someone else. The singer rubbed his eyes wearily. The past few years had been rough; they’d lost Brian, and as if that wasn’t soul-crushing enough, Keith had begun a frightening and dizzying downward spiral into a place he didn’t seem to want to be pulled from, but which Mick wasn’t sure he could follow.
Mick got up from his sitting position on the edge of the bed and walked over to a mirror, sighing as he summed himself up. Wavy, sienna colored locks framed a porcelain face accentuated by rosy, plush lips and deep blue eyes-one of his best features, he’d often been told-and Mick smirked dryly. The same ocean depths that plead with Keith on a regular basis are now blood-shot and listless. But the singer knows he should be thankful; hadn’t they gotten everything they’d asked for? Hadn’t they worked hard, poured their hearts, sweat, and tears into it, and experienced success beyond their wildest imaginations?
Yes. But, Lord, look what it had cost them.
Mick flopped back on the hotel bed and closed his eyes. Soon, he let himself drift off; off to a place far away and long ago. He was a little kid again, free and hopeful. The singer was running down the path to his childhood home when the sound of the door opening shattered the image and roused him from his light slumber.
“You could knock, you know,” the older man grumbled, yawning. Keith shrugged and Mick studied the guitarist. Tiny lines around his friend’s mouth were starting to give away the strain of his lifestyle, and dark circles under his eyes revealed a lack of sleep due to certain vices. But those earthy brown orbs-bordered by dark lashes-were still as solid and sure as ever; his longish, jet black mane fell down to a slender but firm jawline and framed a face shadowed by a light stubble that suited him well. Mick smiled softly in quiet admiration. Somehow, the man still managed to be quite handsome. He was still cool-as-fuck Keith Richards. The guitarist noticed the strange look on the singer’s face and raised his eyebrows.
“What?” he asked.
Mick shook his head. “Nothin’.”
Keith grumbled something and lit up a cigarette. Mick sighed. It was not unusual for them to barge into each other’s rooms for no reason and just bum around. In fact, it used to happen quite often, and Mick remembered a time when these silences were comfortable, with no need for words. But now the singer feared they were losing that; lately, the visits had been restricted to band matters and other more businesslike things, as Keith was spending most of his time with his dangerous new crowd. Anxiety formed a knot in Mick’s chest at the ever-present threat of the younger man not making it back from one of these escapades. The singer pursed his lips and walked back to the window, arms crossed, staring out without really seeing. It was late evening; the sun was setting over the buildings in the distance, and a train whistle signaled at the nearby station. Mick blinked as the sound hit his ear, and a slow smile spread across his face. He whipped around to face Keith.
“Hey. I’ve got an idea.”
The guitarist noticed the impish look in his friend’s sharp blue eyes and eyed him back suspiciously.
“And what might that be?” he retorted impatiently. Mick simply ignored him and started for the door. “Come on. Follow me.”
Keith snorted. “C’mon, Mick. I’m tired.” He turned away and Mick swallowed hard. I was like the life was being sucked from their relationship, and the singer was desperate.
“Keith…just this once, for a little while, and then I’ll leave you alone. Please?”
“I said fucking no!” Keith snapped, and then cringed a little at how harsh his own tone sounded to him. The guitarist was aware that lately, his witty, playful remarks were getting nastier-hell, he could be downright cruel sometimes. He saw the deflated look on the older boy’s face and rolled his eyes.
“Fine. What’re we doin’?”
The excitement immediately returned to the singer’s face, and he opened the door. “Just come on.” He walked quickly down the hall, down the stairs; Keith followed, curious now.
When the guitarist saw that they were heading out of the hotel, he mentally kicked himself for agreeing to this. What did Mick have in mind this time? He had his answer soon enough as they neared the train station. He stopped, puzzled when his friend went up to the booth and bought two tickets. Mick turned and impatiently motioned for him to follow. Keith sighed.
“Where are we going?”
Mick turned to him, a wild look in his eyes. “I don’t know. I asked for two tickets to the next stop. Didn’t want to know where or how far away.” Keith crinkled his nose. “Are you insane?”
Mick shrugged. “Maybe. And don’t be such a killjoy; it can’t be that far, and besides, we’ve got the next few days off.”
The younger man looked incredulously back at the hotel, and then back at Mick. He seemed lost in thought, and Mick bit his lip, sensing his spur of the moment plan falling apart. The guitarist finally met the other one’s eyes and nodded once, curtly. “Kay. You’re on.”
Mick wasted no time, grabbing Keith by the arm and guiding him to the gate and onto the train. When they got a seat in the back of a nearly empty car, Keith seemed to pick up a bit of Mick’s giddiness. He chuckled.
“Can’t believe I let you talk me into this. “You really have no idea where we’re going?” The singer shook his head, jittery with the rush of impulsiveness. The guitarist’s eyes shone, making him look years younger as he watched the scenery pass by, slowly at first as the train picked up speed. Mick watched him, a bittersweet feeling blossoming inside him. He had no idea what the future held. He didn’t know where their lives were going, where Keith’s new path would take him-maybe he’d go alone. Or maybe Mick could be there with him. But for now, none of that mattered. For now, he relished this moment with the “old Keith” that rarely showed anymore; for now, he was happy to be here with his friend and preserve this moment.
Outside, the orange and pink sunset gave way to deep purple, and then finally to black as the train raced on and smoke bellowed from its’ top.
But inside, time stopped for two men. Inside, they weren’t struggling to hold onto something. Drugs and booze and obligations and money had no meaning here. Mick and Keith talked-about everything; about things that mattered and things that were mundane. They were serious and immature. They talked about old times; they joked about their ragged, horrible first apartment; they reminisced about the time there with Brian, and they spoke softly about their lost friend, laughing and tearing up at old, fond memories; they were silly and their eyes sparkled as they tried to imagine where this train was going to take them. Maybe nowhere. Maybe they’d just keep going forever. They felt rejuvenated; they felt intoxicated; they felt like they’d been flung back in time, back to Dartmouth.
Here on this train, for a moment, they were sixteen again.
Thanks for reading!:)