And That Makes You Dangerous 6b/8
Title: And That Makes You Dangerous
Rating: R overall (NC-17...a little)
Pairing: John/Keith (implied Pete/John throughout)
Era: Lifehouse sessions (late ‘70 - early 1971)
Warnings: alcoholism, bad!drug use, swearing, sex, and soap!angst, level 5...heh heh
Summary: Pete notices a change in John’s behavior when Keith is around. John sees it too. When both begin to question why, soul searching ensues.
Disclaimer: Of course, this didn't occur, but it makes for a good story. Oh, and I don't make money from this. Man, that would rock.
Author's Notes: So, here's the second half. The rest is pretty much ready too, so hopefully I'll be able to move on to another story in the series soon. Previous chapters are here... One| Two| Three| Four| Five| Six'a'
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Pete ran one hand nervously through his hair while he nibbled anxiously at the fingers of the other. He again thanked God that he had decided to check on John last night instead of waiting until this morning. If he hadn't...
The guitarist halted his agitated steps, fidgeting around in his pockets until he had both cigarette and matches in hand. He quickly lit up and recommenced his pacing, glancing nervously every few seconds at the door and wishing he had something stronger for his shaky nerves.
Suddenly the knob turned quietly, and a nurse appeared in the doorframe before stepping aside and allowing the two men behind her to enter. She closed the door after them, shutting out the world beyond the "quiet room," and offering what little privacy one could expect in hospital.
Roger looked nothing if not spooked, and for a moment Pete found himself feeling sorry for the singer, who was so clearly being dragged along through this whole mess. But he quickly became unconcerned with anything else once he saw Keith. He looked surprisingly coherent, and his eyes were shimmering in concern and fear. He opened his mouth to speak, but Pete would not allow it.
"What's this!?" he shouted at the wide-eyed drummer, producing a small bag of pills and literally shoving it at Moon's face. Pete's eyes had a crazy look; he was seeing red.
Keith recoiled from the fuming guitarist. He tried to recover, recognizing his pills, but was again cut off before he could answer.
"These are your fucking pills!" Pete shouted, waving them as he shook with emotion. "What's left of them!" He barked out a harsh laugh. "Why look, John left all the bright, colorful ones for you! Typical."
Keith swallowed, eyeing the bag as Pete tossed it to Roger, who could only stare at it, dumbfounded. The drummer looked quite shocked; he didn't know the exact contents of that pill bag, but he knew the were quite a few missing. Brown eyes gazed up at Pete, pleading, and the guitarist managed to keep his mouth shut for a few moments.
"Pete, please," he whimpered, "is he going to be alright?" Keith's face was open, his emotions at the surface, and he looked as though his very life hinged on the answer to his question.
It was enough to calm Pete a bit, and he took a few deep breaths before answering in a bitter tone.
"If you mean will he live, let's hope so."
The ambiguous response sent Keith even closer to the edge, but he stood his ground, daring to continue.
"What happened?" Keith's voice sounded sincerely confused, "Why did he..?"
"For fuck's sake, Moonie!" Pete shouted, slapping his hand across the drummer's head, his anger flaring up again. "John is in love with you!"
Keith's mouth fell open and he gaped for a moment, his gazed fixed into the raging blue eyes that stared him down.
"God only knows why," Pete finished more quietly, shaking his head.
Keith started to shake, his breath hitching and eyes roaming frantically in search of nothing. He struggled to process this new information, but it refused to sink in for him. He shot a look first at Roger, who seemed just as stunned, but remained speechless, before returning his attention to Pete. He couldn't meet the incriminating expression there.
"He...he never said anything..." the drummer stammered, panic creeping in on him. "I don't understand, what..?" His voice died when he brought his hand to his face to rub at the painful bruise on his cheek. Memories from the previous day began to emerge from the fog of intoxication they had been lost in.
Pete could feel most of his anger begin to seep away as he watched the change on Keith's face. His lower lip trembled, eyes beginning to water, as he started wringing his hands together anxiously. He began to hyperventilate, his face turning an unhealthy color. His sudden helpless appearance made the guitarist nearly regret his initial rage, and he wondered idly how Keith managed to always defuse his anger as easily as he started it.
"Pete, I swear I didn't know," Keith finally blurted out, eyes begging forgiveness as his tears began to fall. "God, what am I...what if he...what do I do?" he gasped out at last.
Pete sighed, grabbing the small arms and leaning in to meet the huge, terrified brown eyes.
"Calm down, Moonie!" he called out, giving the drummer a mild shake to get through to him. "Breathe, alright? We don't need another casualty."
After a few slower breaths, the red in his face began to subside, and eventually Pete nodded in approval.
"Why don't you go in and sit with him?" he said as he began to steer the lost looking drummer to the door. "If you're annoying enough, I'm sure he'll wake up just to tell you to shut it, right?"
Keith attempted a nod, which ended more as a shiver, and allowed himself to be led out into the hall, his tenuous grip on composure making him unusually subdued. He turned when he felt the hold on his arm disappear, and saw that Pete was flagging down a nurse. A helpless gaze passed between them on his return, and Pete could feel his throat closing up a bit, his own fears threatening to well up and overflow if he allowed them.
"Just follow her, I need to talk to Rog." Pete could see Moon's hesitancy, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Go ahead, Keith. It'll be okay."
Pete sighed as he watched the drummer shuffle away, his very posture radiating defeat. He scrubbed his face vigorously with his hands, attempting to clear up the residual effects of his earlier drinking and encroaching exhaustion, and turned, making his way back into the dimly lit waiting room and shutting the door again behind him.
Roger, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, sat down heavily, watching as Pete lit another smoke and began to pace in front of him, looking much as he had minutes ago when they'd arrived.
"So, what you told Moonie...is it really that bad?" Roger finally asked, his voice steady but his tone hesitant.
"The doctor I spoke with isn't sure yet," Pete answered quietly. He stopped for a moment, staring off. "He better fucking live, because I'm going to kill him," he growled out.
Roger dropped his head, worrying the bag he still held in hand. When he spoke again, his voice betrayed the confusion and frustration that Pete knew to expect.
"What happened Pete? I take it you gave Moon that bruise yesterday, and I'm guessing he deserved it, but what's all that got to do with this?" The singer gazed back up at Pete. "Let me in on what's going on, Pete."
"I was right, you know," the guitarist began. "Last time we were here, John told me how he felt about Keith." Pete finally sank down into a seat next to Roger, sighing heavily. "He said he wasn't going to pursue it, but..."
"But it's John," Roger finished, nodding.
Pete explained what happened in the studio the previous day, sparing little in detail, his anger at the drummer smoldering again as he relayed how he would have strangled him had he not wanted to check on the bassist instead. Roger listened intently, processing the story as he attempted to make sense of what was going on with his bandmates.
"When I left, I went home. After a few drinks, I just couldn't get the sinking feeling in my stomach to go away, so I decided to go to John's place and check on him." Pete paused, drawing in a long breath, steadying himself against the memory. "That's when I found him," he finished unsteadily.
Pete told Roger all the essential information, but he left out the initial apprehension he felt when a nervous Hamish met him at the door, and the mess he found when he discovered the shattered whiskey bottle, and he didn't describe the sudden fear that gripped him when he climbed the steps and saw the half-open bedroom door at the end of the hall, when the only answer to his calls was the worried whining of Jason, who looked up anxiously from the foot of the bed.
And Pete didn't tell Roger the panic he felt when he found his best friend laying there, barely breathing, or the pain he'd felt as he pulled the crumpled picture from the box on the nightstand, and finally came face to face with the reality of the situation.
"You don't think he was trying-?" Roger asked, breaking Pete's thoughts and the uncomfortable silence, but the guitarist shook his head before he could even complete his sentence.
"No, it's just not his style. Besides, he asked me to come over this morning," Pete sighed. "And anyway, he didn't take all of them."
He knew John was only running, only trying to numb his pain. Pete knew from experience. In fact, at this very moment, he was considering doing a bit of running of his own, eyeing the bag that Roger still held. He shifted his thoughts away when the singer's tired eyes met his again.
"You think Keith's telling the truth? You think he really didn't know?"
Pete huffed a sour laugh, standing again and beginning another circuit around the room.
"Honestly, this time, I think so. I mean, I think part of him knew, but I don't think he realized it." Pete tilted his head back, stretching out his tired neck. "Maybe he was in denial or something. You know how Keith is, so devious yet so oblivious."
There was a much longer pause, the silence closing around them, until Roger spoke up once again.
"You think Moonie feels the same way?"
Pete closed his eyes, seeing an endless stream of images behind his lids; countless moments of seemingly innocent affection passing between his two friends, of warm smiles and raucous laughter. He found he had difficulty picturing them apart anymore, and he wondered idly why he hadn't suspected anything much earlier.
He thought back to the crushed photo...
"That might be the only thing I am certain about," Pete answered sadly, averting his face from Roger to hide the struggle there.
The singer sighed and hung his head, realizing suddenly that he'd been kneading and crushing the bag in his hands so tightly he'd destroyed most of its contents. He tossed the bag on the floor, giving it a good stomp with his foot to vent a bit of his frustration, and finally leaned back in his chair, preparing himself for a wait.
Pete joined him, and the two sat in silence.
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Thanks for all the comments, and keep up the writing! I know many of you will be on holidays soon...time to write/draw! 8)
Rating: R overall (NC-17...a little)
Pairing: John/Keith (implied Pete/John throughout)
Era: Lifehouse sessions (late ‘70 - early 1971)
Warnings: alcoholism, bad!drug use, swearing, sex, and soap!angst, level 5...heh heh
Summary: Pete notices a change in John’s behavior when Keith is around. John sees it too. When both begin to question why, soul searching ensues.
Disclaimer: Of course, this didn't occur, but it makes for a good story. Oh, and I don't make money from this. Man, that would rock.
Author's Notes: So, here's the second half. The rest is pretty much ready too, so hopefully I'll be able to move on to another story in the series soon. Previous chapters are here... One| Two| Three| Four| Five| Six'a'
************
Pete ran one hand nervously through his hair while he nibbled anxiously at the fingers of the other. He again thanked God that he had decided to check on John last night instead of waiting until this morning. If he hadn't...
The guitarist halted his agitated steps, fidgeting around in his pockets until he had both cigarette and matches in hand. He quickly lit up and recommenced his pacing, glancing nervously every few seconds at the door and wishing he had something stronger for his shaky nerves.
Suddenly the knob turned quietly, and a nurse appeared in the doorframe before stepping aside and allowing the two men behind her to enter. She closed the door after them, shutting out the world beyond the "quiet room," and offering what little privacy one could expect in hospital.
Roger looked nothing if not spooked, and for a moment Pete found himself feeling sorry for the singer, who was so clearly being dragged along through this whole mess. But he quickly became unconcerned with anything else once he saw Keith. He looked surprisingly coherent, and his eyes were shimmering in concern and fear. He opened his mouth to speak, but Pete would not allow it.
"What's this!?" he shouted at the wide-eyed drummer, producing a small bag of pills and literally shoving it at Moon's face. Pete's eyes had a crazy look; he was seeing red.
Keith recoiled from the fuming guitarist. He tried to recover, recognizing his pills, but was again cut off before he could answer.
"These are your fucking pills!" Pete shouted, waving them as he shook with emotion. "What's left of them!" He barked out a harsh laugh. "Why look, John left all the bright, colorful ones for you! Typical."
Keith swallowed, eyeing the bag as Pete tossed it to Roger, who could only stare at it, dumbfounded. The drummer looked quite shocked; he didn't know the exact contents of that pill bag, but he knew the were quite a few missing. Brown eyes gazed up at Pete, pleading, and the guitarist managed to keep his mouth shut for a few moments.
"Pete, please," he whimpered, "is he going to be alright?" Keith's face was open, his emotions at the surface, and he looked as though his very life hinged on the answer to his question.
It was enough to calm Pete a bit, and he took a few deep breaths before answering in a bitter tone.
"If you mean will he live, let's hope so."
The ambiguous response sent Keith even closer to the edge, but he stood his ground, daring to continue.
"What happened?" Keith's voice sounded sincerely confused, "Why did he..?"
"For fuck's sake, Moonie!" Pete shouted, slapping his hand across the drummer's head, his anger flaring up again. "John is in love with you!"
Keith's mouth fell open and he gaped for a moment, his gazed fixed into the raging blue eyes that stared him down.
"God only knows why," Pete finished more quietly, shaking his head.
Keith started to shake, his breath hitching and eyes roaming frantically in search of nothing. He struggled to process this new information, but it refused to sink in for him. He shot a look first at Roger, who seemed just as stunned, but remained speechless, before returning his attention to Pete. He couldn't meet the incriminating expression there.
"He...he never said anything..." the drummer stammered, panic creeping in on him. "I don't understand, what..?" His voice died when he brought his hand to his face to rub at the painful bruise on his cheek. Memories from the previous day began to emerge from the fog of intoxication they had been lost in.
Pete could feel most of his anger begin to seep away as he watched the change on Keith's face. His lower lip trembled, eyes beginning to water, as he started wringing his hands together anxiously. He began to hyperventilate, his face turning an unhealthy color. His sudden helpless appearance made the guitarist nearly regret his initial rage, and he wondered idly how Keith managed to always defuse his anger as easily as he started it.
"Pete, I swear I didn't know," Keith finally blurted out, eyes begging forgiveness as his tears began to fall. "God, what am I...what if he...what do I do?" he gasped out at last.
Pete sighed, grabbing the small arms and leaning in to meet the huge, terrified brown eyes.
"Calm down, Moonie!" he called out, giving the drummer a mild shake to get through to him. "Breathe, alright? We don't need another casualty."
After a few slower breaths, the red in his face began to subside, and eventually Pete nodded in approval.
"Why don't you go in and sit with him?" he said as he began to steer the lost looking drummer to the door. "If you're annoying enough, I'm sure he'll wake up just to tell you to shut it, right?"
Keith attempted a nod, which ended more as a shiver, and allowed himself to be led out into the hall, his tenuous grip on composure making him unusually subdued. He turned when he felt the hold on his arm disappear, and saw that Pete was flagging down a nurse. A helpless gaze passed between them on his return, and Pete could feel his throat closing up a bit, his own fears threatening to well up and overflow if he allowed them.
"Just follow her, I need to talk to Rog." Pete could see Moon's hesitancy, and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Go ahead, Keith. It'll be okay."
Pete sighed as he watched the drummer shuffle away, his very posture radiating defeat. He scrubbed his face vigorously with his hands, attempting to clear up the residual effects of his earlier drinking and encroaching exhaustion, and turned, making his way back into the dimly lit waiting room and shutting the door again behind him.
Roger, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, sat down heavily, watching as Pete lit another smoke and began to pace in front of him, looking much as he had minutes ago when they'd arrived.
"So, what you told Moonie...is it really that bad?" Roger finally asked, his voice steady but his tone hesitant.
"The doctor I spoke with isn't sure yet," Pete answered quietly. He stopped for a moment, staring off. "He better fucking live, because I'm going to kill him," he growled out.
Roger dropped his head, worrying the bag he still held in hand. When he spoke again, his voice betrayed the confusion and frustration that Pete knew to expect.
"What happened Pete? I take it you gave Moon that bruise yesterday, and I'm guessing he deserved it, but what's all that got to do with this?" The singer gazed back up at Pete. "Let me in on what's going on, Pete."
"I was right, you know," the guitarist began. "Last time we were here, John told me how he felt about Keith." Pete finally sank down into a seat next to Roger, sighing heavily. "He said he wasn't going to pursue it, but..."
"But it's John," Roger finished, nodding.
Pete explained what happened in the studio the previous day, sparing little in detail, his anger at the drummer smoldering again as he relayed how he would have strangled him had he not wanted to check on the bassist instead. Roger listened intently, processing the story as he attempted to make sense of what was going on with his bandmates.
"When I left, I went home. After a few drinks, I just couldn't get the sinking feeling in my stomach to go away, so I decided to go to John's place and check on him." Pete paused, drawing in a long breath, steadying himself against the memory. "That's when I found him," he finished unsteadily.
Pete told Roger all the essential information, but he left out the initial apprehension he felt when a nervous Hamish met him at the door, and the mess he found when he discovered the shattered whiskey bottle, and he didn't describe the sudden fear that gripped him when he climbed the steps and saw the half-open bedroom door at the end of the hall, when the only answer to his calls was the worried whining of Jason, who looked up anxiously from the foot of the bed.
And Pete didn't tell Roger the panic he felt when he found his best friend laying there, barely breathing, or the pain he'd felt as he pulled the crumpled picture from the box on the nightstand, and finally came face to face with the reality of the situation.
"You don't think he was trying-?" Roger asked, breaking Pete's thoughts and the uncomfortable silence, but the guitarist shook his head before he could even complete his sentence.
"No, it's just not his style. Besides, he asked me to come over this morning," Pete sighed. "And anyway, he didn't take all of them."
He knew John was only running, only trying to numb his pain. Pete knew from experience. In fact, at this very moment, he was considering doing a bit of running of his own, eyeing the bag that Roger still held. He shifted his thoughts away when the singer's tired eyes met his again.
"You think Keith's telling the truth? You think he really didn't know?"
Pete huffed a sour laugh, standing again and beginning another circuit around the room.
"Honestly, this time, I think so. I mean, I think part of him knew, but I don't think he realized it." Pete tilted his head back, stretching out his tired neck. "Maybe he was in denial or something. You know how Keith is, so devious yet so oblivious."
There was a much longer pause, the silence closing around them, until Roger spoke up once again.
"You think Moonie feels the same way?"
Pete closed his eyes, seeing an endless stream of images behind his lids; countless moments of seemingly innocent affection passing between his two friends, of warm smiles and raucous laughter. He found he had difficulty picturing them apart anymore, and he wondered idly why he hadn't suspected anything much earlier.
He thought back to the crushed photo...
"That might be the only thing I am certain about," Pete answered sadly, averting his face from Roger to hide the struggle there.
The singer sighed and hung his head, realizing suddenly that he'd been kneading and crushing the bag in his hands so tightly he'd destroyed most of its contents. He tossed the bag on the floor, giving it a good stomp with his foot to vent a bit of his frustration, and finally leaned back in his chair, preparing himself for a wait.
Pete joined him, and the two sat in silence.
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Thanks for all the comments, and keep up the writing! I know many of you will be on holidays soon...time to write/draw! 8)