Reinforcements (Panik/Tokio Hotel, no pairing, PG)
Title: Reinforcements (MMoM #2)
Pairing: None
Rating: PG, I guess, for strong language
Summary: Sometimes, advice and friendships come from the most unexpected places.
Notes: My first published attempt at Panik; lots of discrepancies, therefore, in characterization especially, between this and most of my other Panikfic. I'm leaving it as originally written, however, except a small change for factual accuracy re: the Nevada-Tan-to-Panik change.
Date: 5/2/2008
It was battle of the wills, and for the first time in a long time Georg was not sure Bill was going to win this one.
The singer was miserable. Physically he was right wreck, tired-looking and wan. He could barely talk past his sore throat and he looked like he hadn't slept properly in a week (he probably hadn't, between jet lag, worry, and sickness). Emotionally he was even worse off. He'd been beating himself up nonstop about the canceled tour dates since before they'd even properly canceled. It had taken David, Georg, Gustav, and Saki to get Bill on the plane back to Germany; they'd had to all but pry him off the terminal door (and, more importantly, his brother). The time he'd spent away from Tom had not helped matters. Bill was a big boy, and an infinitely capable human being, but even he had limits to his endurance, and he'd hit them about a month ago.
Not that you'd know from talking to this douchebag in the pinstripes with the well-oiled hair. From the way he was carrying on, with the heavy put-upon sighing and the "I-just-don't-know"s and "well-I-suppose"s you would think Bill was just another starlet throwing a tantrum about a broken nail. The tension was palpable on the band's side of the highly-polished table, and Georg was making internal bets with himself about which of the three of them--he, Tom, or Gustav--was gonna make a lunge for the suit's throat first.
It was a cold, damp morning and the three of them had literally just toppled off the plane in Berlin only to be chucked into waiting company cars and shuttled straight to the Universal Music Germany building, where they found Bill waiting for them, looking nervous. They had a meeting with their rep and then Bill was going straight to see another specialist this afternoon to confirm the diagnosis he'd already heard from two doctors--surgery. He and Tom had barely spoken two words to each other but they hadn't stopped touching all morning; at all times at least their elbows had been brushing against each other. Right now Georg knew Tom had Bill's hand under the table, as much to stop himself from saying or doing something stupid as to comfort his twin.
Part of Georg wished he had someone's hand to hold, too. Or something small and destructible to crush. From the minute the rep had shaken their hands and told them how sorry he was to have to call them all in here so early, this really won't take long, Georg had known it was a lie and that they had a rough morning ahead of them. Now they sat here all staring at each other like prizefighters across a ring, Bill and the suit deep into an argument, with the rep ever-so-subtly able to talk over Bill's hoarse, pale voice and be excused because, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were still talking." Bill was livid, it was clear, but he couldn't very well say all the myriad and eloquent things Georg could see that he wanted to say because they all had to be on their best behavior. Losing this tour was a huge deal. They couldn't afford to fuck it up any worse now if they wanted to tour again ever. David was trying his best to field the suit's demands but this was one of those assholes who thought of producers as nuisances with titles and preferred to deal directly with the band, usually with the excuse that he "wanted to make sure he was hearing the band's wishes, and not the producer's" when really Georg suspected he simply thought he could manipulate the band more easily than he could David.
And normally Bill would have walked all up and down his Armani pinstripes, but this morning the singer just wasn't on form (hell, he was hardly more than a zombie) and this suit's blatant excesses and arrogances were causing a spiral of furious irritation to wind tighter and tighter in Georg's chest. He could feel that he was clenching the arms of his chair tighter and tighter but he couldn't remember how to make himself stop.
"Now we will need to talk about replacement venue dates just as soon as possible," the suit glided. Georg had never heard a voice so unctuous in his life. "I've talked to your specialists and they said that the earliest you could be back on stage was late April..." Here he made a tsking sound as if disappointed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bill wince guiltily and Gustav bristle in response. The suit took no notice. "So, since you will have to be in America at the end of the first week of May for the album release, we thought a mini-tour back across Europe the last week of April and first few days of May would be a good kickoff for the restarted tour."
Bill blinked, looking like he wanted nothing more than to say yes and knowing with conviction that he just couldn't. "I...we weren't thinking to restart the tour. I think it would be best if we just kicked off a whole new tour after the American Scream release. That way we wouldn't have to interrupt the tour again to go to America and then come back and try to continue it. Since," he added, a bit drily, "You already nixed the idea of keeping the same tour name for our American dates."
"Well, now, I did give my reasons, that name just isn't marketable to Americans. But it's still perfectly valid here in Europe. It would be a shame to throw out the whole set design and have to start from scratch for just a few dates in late April and early May before the festival season." The emphasis he put on the word "shame" was almost enough to make it a threat, and David perked sharply.
"As I believe we already mentioned, Bill may still be finishing rehab the last week of April. I think we should really shoot for the American dates as our first real public engagements after the surgery." Bill flinched at the word. Georg saw the subtle movement of Tom's hand tightening under the table.
The suit eyed David like he might have been an insect. "Well, I really think that's up to Bill, don't you? He wouldn't want to give up such precious time just to lay around eating ice cream." His bleached smile flashed unpleasantly. "Now I really think that a few German dates, two French dates, and a Spanish date would be just the ticket to get your name back out, get your music recirculating on the airwaves--"
"May," Tom said, suddenly and with strange finality for a single word. Georg looked over at him cautiously. Tom was losing his composure. Bill was glancing at his twin from under his eyelashes. No one said anything else for a moment until their rep regained himself.
"I beg your pardon, Tom?"
"May is the earliest we go back on stage. It's too risky. I think I speak for all of us when I say that we'd rather spend a little extra time 'laying around' than run the risk of Bill losing his voice again." Gustav and Georg were already nodding. Bill sat a little straighter in his chair. Georg hurt to see how much his friend had just needed reassuring. He wished he was close enough to pat Bill on the back.
The suit looked stunned. He knew what workaholics Tokio Hotel were. He hadn't been prepared for the boys themselves to say no to new engagements. "Well, I'd like to say that you can wait that whole time, but I just don't know if it's feasible. Bill should really get back out there just as soon as he can and--"
"Feasible?" Gustav picked up his word choice like a falcon swooping on a mouse. "What do you mean, 'feasible'? When we first started this meeting you said that the time frame we were looking at was the end of April to the beginning of May, and that our first crucial deadline was the album release date."
The rep backpedaled. "Well, while that is true, it doesn't take into account all the vagaries of the European market. You really can't afford to stay out of the public eye for too long, and if you appear in public without Bill it will just raise unnecessary fears."
"What we really can't afford," Gustav murmured, sounding murderous, "is our singer doing permanent damage to his vocal cords."
Suddenly the suit's face twisted and he was no longer an obliging moron. He looked dangerous and angry. "Are you suggesting I don't have Bill's best interests at heart? And you do?"
The spring in Georg's chest snapped. He stood up like a jack-in-the-box and all eyes swiveled to him.
He gripped the side of the table tightly, staring down into the woodgrain as he tried to breathe calmly and keep the hot rage in his chest from boiling over. He felt it clawing at him like an animal and he knew if he stayed here much longer he was going to lose his cool entirely.
"Georg?" David's voice was concerned. Georg thought concern was probably healthy at this point; he was ready to tear something in half. Like a man in a pinstripe suit.
"I...excuse me," he mumbled, shooting Gustav a quick, I'm fine, just need a minute look. His friend nodded and turned his penetrating gaze back to the rep. Georg heard the sounds of the argument resuming as he left.
He swept blindly down the hall, fists clenching and unclenching as he struggled to stop the yell of frustration trapped in his chest. He could see aides and staff looking at him suspiciously as he wandered around, all of them wondering what was wrong with him. Georg felt like hiding from them all. He ducked into the first men's restroom he came upon.
The cool tile room and pure florescent lighting instantly calmed Georg down a little. He stood just inside the door, steadying his hastened breath, leaning his forehead against the cold wall. Fuckers. Why did all label reps have to be such utter fuckers? Liars and cheats and manipulators. Georg hated them all. No one in this place had Bill's "best interests at heart" and if Georg was honest with himself most of their own staff probably didn't even. Jost probably didn't even. He had too much invested in Tokio Hotel to be objective about their professional schedules. The only people in this entire fucking building who really gave a shit about Bill and what he was going through were he, Gustav, and Tom, and yet, out of everyone in this building, they were probably the weakest three.
How was that fair?
Georg sighed heavily, straightening from the wall and turning the corner into the bathroom proper to go put some cool water on his face. He drew up short when he saw there was another person in the room, but his back was turned as he inspected his eye in a mirror.
For a second the person didn't register in Georg's mind as anyone particular, just another young man in jeans and a nice black button-down, and Georg ignored him as he went to the nearest sink and turned on the tap. It was a long few seconds of staring into rushing, bubbling water and letting his mind wander before Georg placed the thin, wan face and long, dark hair. He turned his head, surprised, and found the boy looking back at him, blinking in equal surprise.
"Oh!" the boy said, seeming taken aback. "H...hello."
Georg nodded, not feeling terribly sociable, and slid his hands under the rushing water. "Hello."
He was content to let that be the end of it, finished washing his hands (he hadn't come in here to wash his hands, why was he letting this guy's presence throw off his composure?), and dried them on a paper towel. But then the young man's pleasant voice asked, "Are you alright? You look upset."
Georg looked at him, trying to judge his motives, but he saw nothing in those big blue eyes but genuine question and concern. Georg shrugged. "Contract negotiations. You know." He thought of trying to muster a half-hearted comradely smile but couldn't force himself.
The boy nodded solemnly as if he understood perfectly. "You all just had to cancel some dates, didn't you?"
Feeling himself bristle, Georg said coolly, "You know, I should probably get back..." And pray to god someone's killed that bastard already, or I will.
"Oh! Alright. But I was just going to say," he seemed to be rushing to get his words out as he sensed Georg trying to leave, "Well...good luck. And I'm sorry things have taken a turn for you. I hope your singer feels a hundred percent again soon; you all must be worried about him. Is he okay?"
Georg hadn't been expecting the guy to actually care, so he was surprised at the total lack of sarcasm he heard in his words. Either he was a damn good schmoozer or he really did want to know.
Georg replied cautiously, "He's pretty sick. The doctors say he has a cyst on his vocal cords." Georg wondered if he should have said that. What if he went and leaked it to the press and it turned out not to be true? David would eat Georg for lunch. But then, two separate doctors had already confirmed that diagnosis, so...
The boy winced visibly. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry."
Frowning, Georg said, "He's not dying, you know."
The boy looked at him seriously. "If the surgery to remove it is not successful he could lose his voice. That would be worse than dying."
Georg blinked. What was up with this kid? "You seem to know a lot about it."
He shrugged his skinny shoulders. "It's happened to several famous singers that I've liked. Usually the surgery works well, though--it's actually pretty rare for it to go badly." A soft smile lifted his lips. "So don't worry. I'm sure Bill will be fine."
For some reason, hearing the boy say "don't worry" calmed Georg a bit. He nodded slowly. "Thanks."
"Sure. I'm David Bonk, by the way. I don't think we've met." He held out one slender hand and Georg took it automatically, surprised at how strong that pale grip was.
"No, I don't think so...Georg Listing."
The lips quirked again. "Ja, I know. Hard not to know, really. Never thought I'd actually meet you, though."
Georg frowned a little and said, only half-kidding. "You're not gonna ask for my autograph now, are you?"
"Nah, I forgot my album insert at home, so you'd have nothing to sign," David grinned. Georg grinned back and relaxed. Equals, then. That made him feel loads better.
"So negotiations not going well?" David asked sympathetically, leaning against a sink and crossing his arms conversationally. Georg shook his head.
"Like trying to shark-wrestle," he grumbled, then jerked his chin at David. "What are you in for?"
"Same. Still trying to settle everything from the fallout of losing our contract."
Georg looked puzzled. David laughed lightly.
"No, I guess that wouldn't have been in the news as much as Bill losing his voice. We jettisoned our entire production team and lost our contract. Had to change labels, too. That's why we changed our name back to Panik."
"Oh!" Georg was stunned. He didn't even know it was possible, beyond pure theory, to fire and replace an entire production crew. He also hadn't really noticed the name change. He felt a bit chagrined. "Sorry to hear that."
"Don't be!" David said brightly, grinning again and uncrossing his arms to lean on his hands. "Our new producers are great guys and don't treat us like we're just there to crank out the music they tell us to play, like tape recorders. It's a nice feeling, being a human being again."
Georg smiled. That he understood. "I know what you mean. I hate it that Bill's sick and it's a pain in the ass to have to wrangle with the suits over the tour cancellations, but not working for a while--just having nothing to do--I've finally started remembering what having a normal life is like. Well," he amended wryly, "normal for us anyway."
David looked at him. His eyes were penetrating and Georg found himself willing to answer any questions he asked. "How do you deal with it all?" he said in an almost hushed voice. "I mean, we're just now getting a taste of it, and sometimes I think I'd rather go join a monastery somewhere."
Georg grinned. "Trust me, that feeling never goes away. You have to just keep yourself to yourself. You have to learn pretty quick who your friends are and tell everyone else to fuck off. It's the only way to stay sane. Most people in this business are not your friends."
David sighed, looking thoughtful. "That's a shame. I've met so many interesting people by being in this band. It's taken me farther already than I ever thought I'd go in my whole life." He looked over at Georg, searchingly. "Is it worth it? All this?"
Georg didn't answer for a long moment, just stared into those blue eyes across the room and searched his memories. It was a long, hard, painful search. Examining yourself is always painful.
But, after a time, Georg nodded. "Yeah," he whispered. Seemed like he'd momentarily lost his voice, too; there was a lump in his throat and he wondered if this was how Bill felt all the time. "Yeah, it really, really is."
David held his eyes for what seemed just long enough to confirm Georg's sincerity. Then his face split in a brilliant smile and he nodded emphatically. "Good. Cause I'd hate to have to give it up now."
Georg opened his mouth to reply but just then the soft creak of hinges signaled the bathroom door opening.
"David, are you jerking yourself off or what? You've been in here for--oh." A shorter, more angular boy with dark eyes and a baseball cap on stopped abruptly as he turned to come into the bathroom. His eyes flicked from David to Georg and back again. Something happened between him and David then that reminded Georg achingly of the twins.
"Sorry, Timo, got to talking. Miss me?" David batted his long eyelashes and Timo snorted.
"Wasting away in my grief," he said, lips pursing. "They sent me after you because they were afraid you'd died or fallen in or something. You better come on back or next they're gonna send the rest of the band in after us and I don't think they could stop Linke from fishing out that Horn of Gonorrhea or whatever-it-is he's carrying around in his bookbag."
Georg felt his eyes get big and he couldn't stop himself. He doubled over laughing.
"Something funny, precious?" Timo growled, crossing his arms and elevating a narrow eyebrow at Georg.
The bassist tried to get control of his hysterical giggling. He wiped tears out of his eyes and looked over at David to see that he, too, was trying to stifle laughter with his hand. His blue eyes gleamed with mischief.
"Gondor," Georg finally choked out. "Horn of Gondor. Is that what you meant?"
"Hell if I know," Timo muttered. "Big ugly-ass plastic replica from Lord of the Rings. One of the staffers here gave it to him as a present, and why are we still standing here when they're waiting for us?" This last he directed at David, glaring at him as he tried to swallow back his snickering.
"Alright, alright, come on then. Mustn't keep the Captain waiting." David winked at Georg once Timo's back was turned, then put out his hand again politely.
"It was really nice meeting you, Georg. Good luck. With everything."
Georg's handshake this time was much warmer and he smiled sincerely at the younger man. "Yeah, you too!"
Then David and Timo were gone, the latter griping at David about talking to strangers in bathrooms as the door closed behind them. Georg grinned, then threw back his head and laughed.
He remembered then that he'd abandoned his own friends in that god-forsaken conference room and, glancing once at himself in the mirror to see his own grin gleaming back, he walked out to go wade back into the fray. If they hung together, they'd get through this.
And if that suit had anything to say about it, Georg thought he knew some friends he could call in for reinforcements.
Pairing: None
Rating: PG, I guess, for strong language
Summary: Sometimes, advice and friendships come from the most unexpected places.
Notes: My first published attempt at Panik; lots of discrepancies, therefore, in characterization especially, between this and most of my other Panikfic. I'm leaving it as originally written, however, except a small change for factual accuracy re: the Nevada-Tan-to-Panik change.
Date: 5/2/2008
It was battle of the wills, and for the first time in a long time Georg was not sure Bill was going to win this one.
The singer was miserable. Physically he was right wreck, tired-looking and wan. He could barely talk past his sore throat and he looked like he hadn't slept properly in a week (he probably hadn't, between jet lag, worry, and sickness). Emotionally he was even worse off. He'd been beating himself up nonstop about the canceled tour dates since before they'd even properly canceled. It had taken David, Georg, Gustav, and Saki to get Bill on the plane back to Germany; they'd had to all but pry him off the terminal door (and, more importantly, his brother). The time he'd spent away from Tom had not helped matters. Bill was a big boy, and an infinitely capable human being, but even he had limits to his endurance, and he'd hit them about a month ago.
Not that you'd know from talking to this douchebag in the pinstripes with the well-oiled hair. From the way he was carrying on, with the heavy put-upon sighing and the "I-just-don't-know"s and "well-I-suppose"s you would think Bill was just another starlet throwing a tantrum about a broken nail. The tension was palpable on the band's side of the highly-polished table, and Georg was making internal bets with himself about which of the three of them--he, Tom, or Gustav--was gonna make a lunge for the suit's throat first.
It was a cold, damp morning and the three of them had literally just toppled off the plane in Berlin only to be chucked into waiting company cars and shuttled straight to the Universal Music Germany building, where they found Bill waiting for them, looking nervous. They had a meeting with their rep and then Bill was going straight to see another specialist this afternoon to confirm the diagnosis he'd already heard from two doctors--surgery. He and Tom had barely spoken two words to each other but they hadn't stopped touching all morning; at all times at least their elbows had been brushing against each other. Right now Georg knew Tom had Bill's hand under the table, as much to stop himself from saying or doing something stupid as to comfort his twin.
Part of Georg wished he had someone's hand to hold, too. Or something small and destructible to crush. From the minute the rep had shaken their hands and told them how sorry he was to have to call them all in here so early, this really won't take long, Georg had known it was a lie and that they had a rough morning ahead of them. Now they sat here all staring at each other like prizefighters across a ring, Bill and the suit deep into an argument, with the rep ever-so-subtly able to talk over Bill's hoarse, pale voice and be excused because, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were still talking." Bill was livid, it was clear, but he couldn't very well say all the myriad and eloquent things Georg could see that he wanted to say because they all had to be on their best behavior. Losing this tour was a huge deal. They couldn't afford to fuck it up any worse now if they wanted to tour again ever. David was trying his best to field the suit's demands but this was one of those assholes who thought of producers as nuisances with titles and preferred to deal directly with the band, usually with the excuse that he "wanted to make sure he was hearing the band's wishes, and not the producer's" when really Georg suspected he simply thought he could manipulate the band more easily than he could David.
And normally Bill would have walked all up and down his Armani pinstripes, but this morning the singer just wasn't on form (hell, he was hardly more than a zombie) and this suit's blatant excesses and arrogances were causing a spiral of furious irritation to wind tighter and tighter in Georg's chest. He could feel that he was clenching the arms of his chair tighter and tighter but he couldn't remember how to make himself stop.
"Now we will need to talk about replacement venue dates just as soon as possible," the suit glided. Georg had never heard a voice so unctuous in his life. "I've talked to your specialists and they said that the earliest you could be back on stage was late April..." Here he made a tsking sound as if disappointed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bill wince guiltily and Gustav bristle in response. The suit took no notice. "So, since you will have to be in America at the end of the first week of May for the album release, we thought a mini-tour back across Europe the last week of April and first few days of May would be a good kickoff for the restarted tour."
Bill blinked, looking like he wanted nothing more than to say yes and knowing with conviction that he just couldn't. "I...we weren't thinking to restart the tour. I think it would be best if we just kicked off a whole new tour after the American Scream release. That way we wouldn't have to interrupt the tour again to go to America and then come back and try to continue it. Since," he added, a bit drily, "You already nixed the idea of keeping the same tour name for our American dates."
"Well, now, I did give my reasons, that name just isn't marketable to Americans. But it's still perfectly valid here in Europe. It would be a shame to throw out the whole set design and have to start from scratch for just a few dates in late April and early May before the festival season." The emphasis he put on the word "shame" was almost enough to make it a threat, and David perked sharply.
"As I believe we already mentioned, Bill may still be finishing rehab the last week of April. I think we should really shoot for the American dates as our first real public engagements after the surgery." Bill flinched at the word. Georg saw the subtle movement of Tom's hand tightening under the table.
The suit eyed David like he might have been an insect. "Well, I really think that's up to Bill, don't you? He wouldn't want to give up such precious time just to lay around eating ice cream." His bleached smile flashed unpleasantly. "Now I really think that a few German dates, two French dates, and a Spanish date would be just the ticket to get your name back out, get your music recirculating on the airwaves--"
"May," Tom said, suddenly and with strange finality for a single word. Georg looked over at him cautiously. Tom was losing his composure. Bill was glancing at his twin from under his eyelashes. No one said anything else for a moment until their rep regained himself.
"I beg your pardon, Tom?"
"May is the earliest we go back on stage. It's too risky. I think I speak for all of us when I say that we'd rather spend a little extra time 'laying around' than run the risk of Bill losing his voice again." Gustav and Georg were already nodding. Bill sat a little straighter in his chair. Georg hurt to see how much his friend had just needed reassuring. He wished he was close enough to pat Bill on the back.
The suit looked stunned. He knew what workaholics Tokio Hotel were. He hadn't been prepared for the boys themselves to say no to new engagements. "Well, I'd like to say that you can wait that whole time, but I just don't know if it's feasible. Bill should really get back out there just as soon as he can and--"
"Feasible?" Gustav picked up his word choice like a falcon swooping on a mouse. "What do you mean, 'feasible'? When we first started this meeting you said that the time frame we were looking at was the end of April to the beginning of May, and that our first crucial deadline was the album release date."
The rep backpedaled. "Well, while that is true, it doesn't take into account all the vagaries of the European market. You really can't afford to stay out of the public eye for too long, and if you appear in public without Bill it will just raise unnecessary fears."
"What we really can't afford," Gustav murmured, sounding murderous, "is our singer doing permanent damage to his vocal cords."
Suddenly the suit's face twisted and he was no longer an obliging moron. He looked dangerous and angry. "Are you suggesting I don't have Bill's best interests at heart? And you do?"
The spring in Georg's chest snapped. He stood up like a jack-in-the-box and all eyes swiveled to him.
He gripped the side of the table tightly, staring down into the woodgrain as he tried to breathe calmly and keep the hot rage in his chest from boiling over. He felt it clawing at him like an animal and he knew if he stayed here much longer he was going to lose his cool entirely.
"Georg?" David's voice was concerned. Georg thought concern was probably healthy at this point; he was ready to tear something in half. Like a man in a pinstripe suit.
"I...excuse me," he mumbled, shooting Gustav a quick, I'm fine, just need a minute look. His friend nodded and turned his penetrating gaze back to the rep. Georg heard the sounds of the argument resuming as he left.
He swept blindly down the hall, fists clenching and unclenching as he struggled to stop the yell of frustration trapped in his chest. He could see aides and staff looking at him suspiciously as he wandered around, all of them wondering what was wrong with him. Georg felt like hiding from them all. He ducked into the first men's restroom he came upon.
The cool tile room and pure florescent lighting instantly calmed Georg down a little. He stood just inside the door, steadying his hastened breath, leaning his forehead against the cold wall. Fuckers. Why did all label reps have to be such utter fuckers? Liars and cheats and manipulators. Georg hated them all. No one in this place had Bill's "best interests at heart" and if Georg was honest with himself most of their own staff probably didn't even. Jost probably didn't even. He had too much invested in Tokio Hotel to be objective about their professional schedules. The only people in this entire fucking building who really gave a shit about Bill and what he was going through were he, Gustav, and Tom, and yet, out of everyone in this building, they were probably the weakest three.
How was that fair?
Georg sighed heavily, straightening from the wall and turning the corner into the bathroom proper to go put some cool water on his face. He drew up short when he saw there was another person in the room, but his back was turned as he inspected his eye in a mirror.
For a second the person didn't register in Georg's mind as anyone particular, just another young man in jeans and a nice black button-down, and Georg ignored him as he went to the nearest sink and turned on the tap. It was a long few seconds of staring into rushing, bubbling water and letting his mind wander before Georg placed the thin, wan face and long, dark hair. He turned his head, surprised, and found the boy looking back at him, blinking in equal surprise.
"Oh!" the boy said, seeming taken aback. "H...hello."
Georg nodded, not feeling terribly sociable, and slid his hands under the rushing water. "Hello."
He was content to let that be the end of it, finished washing his hands (he hadn't come in here to wash his hands, why was he letting this guy's presence throw off his composure?), and dried them on a paper towel. But then the young man's pleasant voice asked, "Are you alright? You look upset."
Georg looked at him, trying to judge his motives, but he saw nothing in those big blue eyes but genuine question and concern. Georg shrugged. "Contract negotiations. You know." He thought of trying to muster a half-hearted comradely smile but couldn't force himself.
The boy nodded solemnly as if he understood perfectly. "You all just had to cancel some dates, didn't you?"
Feeling himself bristle, Georg said coolly, "You know, I should probably get back..." And pray to god someone's killed that bastard already, or I will.
"Oh! Alright. But I was just going to say," he seemed to be rushing to get his words out as he sensed Georg trying to leave, "Well...good luck. And I'm sorry things have taken a turn for you. I hope your singer feels a hundred percent again soon; you all must be worried about him. Is he okay?"
Georg hadn't been expecting the guy to actually care, so he was surprised at the total lack of sarcasm he heard in his words. Either he was a damn good schmoozer or he really did want to know.
Georg replied cautiously, "He's pretty sick. The doctors say he has a cyst on his vocal cords." Georg wondered if he should have said that. What if he went and leaked it to the press and it turned out not to be true? David would eat Georg for lunch. But then, two separate doctors had already confirmed that diagnosis, so...
The boy winced visibly. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry."
Frowning, Georg said, "He's not dying, you know."
The boy looked at him seriously. "If the surgery to remove it is not successful he could lose his voice. That would be worse than dying."
Georg blinked. What was up with this kid? "You seem to know a lot about it."
He shrugged his skinny shoulders. "It's happened to several famous singers that I've liked. Usually the surgery works well, though--it's actually pretty rare for it to go badly." A soft smile lifted his lips. "So don't worry. I'm sure Bill will be fine."
For some reason, hearing the boy say "don't worry" calmed Georg a bit. He nodded slowly. "Thanks."
"Sure. I'm David Bonk, by the way. I don't think we've met." He held out one slender hand and Georg took it automatically, surprised at how strong that pale grip was.
"No, I don't think so...Georg Listing."
The lips quirked again. "Ja, I know. Hard not to know, really. Never thought I'd actually meet you, though."
Georg frowned a little and said, only half-kidding. "You're not gonna ask for my autograph now, are you?"
"Nah, I forgot my album insert at home, so you'd have nothing to sign," David grinned. Georg grinned back and relaxed. Equals, then. That made him feel loads better.
"So negotiations not going well?" David asked sympathetically, leaning against a sink and crossing his arms conversationally. Georg shook his head.
"Like trying to shark-wrestle," he grumbled, then jerked his chin at David. "What are you in for?"
"Same. Still trying to settle everything from the fallout of losing our contract."
Georg looked puzzled. David laughed lightly.
"No, I guess that wouldn't have been in the news as much as Bill losing his voice. We jettisoned our entire production team and lost our contract. Had to change labels, too. That's why we changed our name back to Panik."
"Oh!" Georg was stunned. He didn't even know it was possible, beyond pure theory, to fire and replace an entire production crew. He also hadn't really noticed the name change. He felt a bit chagrined. "Sorry to hear that."
"Don't be!" David said brightly, grinning again and uncrossing his arms to lean on his hands. "Our new producers are great guys and don't treat us like we're just there to crank out the music they tell us to play, like tape recorders. It's a nice feeling, being a human being again."
Georg smiled. That he understood. "I know what you mean. I hate it that Bill's sick and it's a pain in the ass to have to wrangle with the suits over the tour cancellations, but not working for a while--just having nothing to do--I've finally started remembering what having a normal life is like. Well," he amended wryly, "normal for us anyway."
David looked at him. His eyes were penetrating and Georg found himself willing to answer any questions he asked. "How do you deal with it all?" he said in an almost hushed voice. "I mean, we're just now getting a taste of it, and sometimes I think I'd rather go join a monastery somewhere."
Georg grinned. "Trust me, that feeling never goes away. You have to just keep yourself to yourself. You have to learn pretty quick who your friends are and tell everyone else to fuck off. It's the only way to stay sane. Most people in this business are not your friends."
David sighed, looking thoughtful. "That's a shame. I've met so many interesting people by being in this band. It's taken me farther already than I ever thought I'd go in my whole life." He looked over at Georg, searchingly. "Is it worth it? All this?"
Georg didn't answer for a long moment, just stared into those blue eyes across the room and searched his memories. It was a long, hard, painful search. Examining yourself is always painful.
But, after a time, Georg nodded. "Yeah," he whispered. Seemed like he'd momentarily lost his voice, too; there was a lump in his throat and he wondered if this was how Bill felt all the time. "Yeah, it really, really is."
David held his eyes for what seemed just long enough to confirm Georg's sincerity. Then his face split in a brilliant smile and he nodded emphatically. "Good. Cause I'd hate to have to give it up now."
Georg opened his mouth to reply but just then the soft creak of hinges signaled the bathroom door opening.
"David, are you jerking yourself off or what? You've been in here for--oh." A shorter, more angular boy with dark eyes and a baseball cap on stopped abruptly as he turned to come into the bathroom. His eyes flicked from David to Georg and back again. Something happened between him and David then that reminded Georg achingly of the twins.
"Sorry, Timo, got to talking. Miss me?" David batted his long eyelashes and Timo snorted.
"Wasting away in my grief," he said, lips pursing. "They sent me after you because they were afraid you'd died or fallen in or something. You better come on back or next they're gonna send the rest of the band in after us and I don't think they could stop Linke from fishing out that Horn of Gonorrhea or whatever-it-is he's carrying around in his bookbag."
Georg felt his eyes get big and he couldn't stop himself. He doubled over laughing.
"Something funny, precious?" Timo growled, crossing his arms and elevating a narrow eyebrow at Georg.
The bassist tried to get control of his hysterical giggling. He wiped tears out of his eyes and looked over at David to see that he, too, was trying to stifle laughter with his hand. His blue eyes gleamed with mischief.
"Gondor," Georg finally choked out. "Horn of Gondor. Is that what you meant?"
"Hell if I know," Timo muttered. "Big ugly-ass plastic replica from Lord of the Rings. One of the staffers here gave it to him as a present, and why are we still standing here when they're waiting for us?" This last he directed at David, glaring at him as he tried to swallow back his snickering.
"Alright, alright, come on then. Mustn't keep the Captain waiting." David winked at Georg once Timo's back was turned, then put out his hand again politely.
"It was really nice meeting you, Georg. Good luck. With everything."
Georg's handshake this time was much warmer and he smiled sincerely at the younger man. "Yeah, you too!"
Then David and Timo were gone, the latter griping at David about talking to strangers in bathrooms as the door closed behind them. Georg grinned, then threw back his head and laughed.
He remembered then that he'd abandoned his own friends in that god-forsaken conference room and, glancing once at himself in the mirror to see his own grin gleaming back, he walked out to go wade back into the fray. If they hung together, they'd get through this.
And if that suit had anything to say about it, Georg thought he knew some friends he could call in for reinforcements.