Work Text:
Lister Bird
I’ve barely even gotten my bearings after being thrown outside by the security guard before Jimmy is on his phone trying to call someone.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up, you bastard,” he murmurs. Ah, he’s calling Rowan.
Rowan fails to pick up, apparently, because Jimmy pulls his phone away from his ear and hisses, “Fuck.”
I watch him press ‘Call’ again, then turn to look around. We’re out in the open, outside of a venue in which we’re currently supposed to be performing.
Rowan doesn’t pick up this time, either. As Jimmy tries to call him a third time, I place a hand on his shoulder.
He shrugs me off.
I roll my eyes. “Do you want to be mobbed by fans?”
Jimmy looks at me, alarmed, and - fuck, I guess he hadn’t even thought of that yet. Well done me for fucking this up even more.
I tug on the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Come,” I tell him, and start walking around to the back of the building, where at least we’ll be out of the sight of the masses. It turns us out onto a street that isn’t nearly as empty as I’d hoped, but it’ll have to do.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Jimmy whispers. "Hi, Cecily, we got kicked out."
My throat goes very tight. “Fuck, don’t call Cecily, she’ll kill me!” I say, going to grab his phone from him.
“Who the fuck else would I call?” Jimmy snaps, shoving me away. “Ro isn’t answering.”
“Hey, that’s my nickname for him,” I complain.
He doesn’t laugh. Just continues staring intensely at the ground while he listens to whatever Cecily is saying. Then he brings his phone down from his ear and looks at it, confused. "She hung up on me."
"Yikes."
He tries and fails to call her again. And again.
I can see it making him more anxious by the second. “Jim, it’s okay. It’s fine, we’re gonna be fine.”
“It’s not fucking fine!” Jimmy shouts, pulling his phone away from his ear after yet another unsuccessful call. “Why don’t you care that we just got kicked out of our own fucking gig?”
“I do care!” I insist. “Christ, I’m in the band too!”
“I know. You could start fucking acting like it.”
“Fuck you!”
“Fuck you! This is your fault!”
I mean, I know it’s true, but it really fucking hurts to hear him say it. “Fuck you,” I say again. “Deal with this on your own then.”
‘On your own’ really just means that I walk for about five metres and lean against a wall. I’m not actually gonna leave him. I take out the pack of cigarettes I have in my pocket.
“That’s what I’m fucking doing,” he calls after me, belated. I raise my eyebrows in reply and stick a cigarette between my lips. I light it, and take a long, hard drag from it.
Jimmy rolls his eyes when he sees what I’m doing. I wonder whether part of me wanted to smoke just to piss him off. But that’s not true - if I really wanted to piss him off, I wouldn’t have moved away from him.
We’re gonna miss our show. And it’s all my fault. It is all my fault.
Something like nerves settles into my stomach. I take another drag of the cigarette, and let the smoke out slowly. I run a hand through my hair.
Jimmy moves in my peripheral vision. I look his way, and he’s walking towards me. I drop the cigarette and step on it. Kind of a waste, really.
I expect him to say something. Maybe he expects me to say something. I should probably apologise - I am sorry for dragging him into this mess. The thought of apologising turns my stomach.
“What were you drinking?” Jimmy asks, at last.
It wasn’t what I expected him to say, that’s for sure. “What are you, a cop?”
I take the bottle of vodka out of my pocket. Jimmy takes it from me, wrinkles his nose, and drinks some.
The face he makes is priceless. “Fuck, why didn’t you mix that with anything? Like, at all?” He hands it back to me.
“Gotta be sneaky,” I explain, tapping my nose. I grip the mouth of the bottle, but I think better of it before I take a drink. I think I'd throw up.
"There was Coke in our dressing room," Jimmy continues, "and vending machines round, like, every corner."
I pout at him mockingly. He shakes his head.
"You feel any better?" I ask. He seems to have given up on calling someone, at least.
"Do I feel any better after drinking straight vodka?" Jimmy pretends to think about it. "Dunno."
I laugh. "I mean, I would offer you a cigarette, but…"
Jimmy shakes his head again. He lets out a laugh. "You've heard of elf on the shelf."
"Huh?"
"Nevermind."
He turns to face straight ahead. I watch him, watch the steady rise and fall of his chest. I wish I knew better how to calm him down.
"Hey, I'm sorry about all this," I say. It comes out quietly, and I worry that Jimmy doesn't hear me, but then he looks my way.
He sighs. "We are so, so fucked."
"So fucked," I agree.
Jimmy laughs, almost hysterical. "Before I came to find you, I was shitting myself- "
"Gross."
"Shut up! I was super fucking anxious, and I was like, 'I'd literally give anything to not have to do this performance'."
I grin. "Well, there you go! You got what you wanted." I do a sort of bow in front of him. "You're welcome."
Jimmy chuckles. He pushes my head, gentle so he doesn't hurt me. I stand up.
His eyes lock onto mine. Seconds pass, and he goes to say something more, when somebody to the right of me says, "Um, excuse me, are you Lister Bird and Jimmy Kaga-Ricci?"
I turn to look at the fan. "Do I look like a celebrity to you?"
Jimmy, beside me, laughs. The fan looks confused, so Jimmy concedes, "Yeah, that's us."
"Can I get a picture?"
Jimmy grimaces. "Uh…"
"Can we not? Is that okay?" I say. "I'd...rather not right now."
The fan looks upset, but nods. "Yeah. That's fine. I love you guys, have a good day!"
They move past us. Jimmy waits until they're out of earshot before letting out a snort of laughter.
"Shut up," I tell him, laughing.
"'Can I get a picture?' 'Uh, no, thank you though'."
"Fuck off."
"Agh, thank you for doing that. Seriously."
I make finger guns at him in lieu of a reply. Jimmy reaches out and closes his hands around each of mine.
"Careful," he hisses, stepping closer to me. "The public might work out you're bisexual."
"Ugh, tragic."
"What do we do?" he whines, releasing my hands.
I raise an eyebrow. "About what?"
"The fucking show!"
Ah. I pat him on the shoulder awkwardly. "Rejoice now that you don't have to sing in a binder?"
Jimmy nods his head to the side. "Yeah."
I chew the inside of my cheek. "Do we just- go home? Or…"
My stomach lurches. I clamp my mouth shut and cover it with my hand.
"I guess?" Jimmy glances at me. "Oh, shit."
"No, wait-" I hold up a finger. "I'm good."
Jimmy shakes his head. He grabs my arm and pulls me down the street. Oh, god, walking makes it worse. Jimmy drags me into the first alleyway he finds, and it's just in time for me to empty the contents of my stomach onto the floor.
"Ugh, gross," Jimmy complains. He rubs my back. "You done?"
I spit out the mix of bile and saliva in my mouth. I nod.
"Here." Jimmy crouches down in front of me, and brings a crumpled tissue to dab at my mouth.
When I'm sure that I won't accidentally throw up again, I murmur, "Where'd you get that?"
"Pocket."
"S' it been used?"
He hesitates. "Yeah." I move my head away. Jimmy laughs at me. "Oh, come on, your vomit is literally right there." He gestures to the floor.
I pout, but let him pull my face back towards him.
He finishes cleaning me up, and tugs me out of the alleyway.
"I'm taking you home."
"Most people say, 'Can I take you home?' or 'Let me take you home'."
Jimmy glares at me.
I smile. "Buy me a drink first, at least."
He chuckles. "Not tonight, you've had enough."
We walk until Jimmy finds a cab to take us home. Once we get in the back, Jimmy does my seatbelt for me, and tells me, "If you throw up in here, I will leave you by the side of the road."
"Okay." I wrap my hand around his elbow and lean against his shoulder.
A few minutes pass.
Jimmy presses his cheek against my hair. "You smell," he whispers.
I let out a laugh. "So do you."
"Only 'cause of you!"
"No, like- " I lift my head a bit. "You smell really nice."
I should stop talking. It's been driving me crazy since we got in here.
Jimmy pauses. "Oh."
"New aftershave?"
"Yeah," he says quietly.
"It's good."
Jimmy hums. He doesn't reply right away, giving me plenty of time to worry I've made him uncomfortable.
"Thanks," he says at last.
We drive over a speedbump, and I decide to sit up. Don't want to accidentally throw up on Jimmy, if at all.
"Hey," Jimmy says. I look over at him. He's on the phone. "Yeah, no, we're fine. Lister's with me."
I stare out the window, but keep listening to the conversation.
"We couldn't get past the security guard. Yeah. No, he kicked us out."
I can't help but smile.
"We're headed back home. Yeah. See you in a bit."
When we pull onto our road twenty minutes later, I'm nearly asleep. Jimmy rubs my shoulder to get me up again, and pays the taxi driver.
Jimmy wraps an arm round my waist and walks me inside. We get into our apartment.
"Thanks for not telling Rowan it was my fault," I say.
Jimmy hums. I feel his hand come to rest on my hip, then slip into my pocket and take something out.
"Hey!" I protest.
Jimmy steps away from me, bottle of vodka in hand. "Mine now," he says, and begins to walk away. "I'm gonna go mix it with something, like normal people do."
I roll my eyes. I follow him into the kitchen.