Work Text:
1973. After the filmed Madison Square Garden gig.
Bang. Bang bang.
Bang bang bang bang.
"Oh, for Christ's sake," grumbled Jonesy (who was already in his jammies and comfortable) and shambled to the door, looked out the peephole, then those dark blue eyes widened. He unlocked the door and sputtered, "How the FUCK did you find me?"
Robbi ignored the question and pushed past him. Comically larger than the petite bassist, he knew she could knee him in the face easily by barely lifting her long, muscled leg, so he groaned and followed her as she scanned the room. "Pagey not here?"
"No! I get a separate, secret room FOR A REASON. Which begs the question as to how you found it."
Still sweaty, wearing a rumpled t-shirt and the jeans she'd performed in, she turned to him. "I'm a woman. I have my ways."
"I'm sure," he spoke in that irritating, clenched teeth monotone that made the singer want to punch him at times. "Why would you think Jimmy would be here? With me?"
Rosette took a page out of the bassist's book and rolled those stormy blue eyes at him. "Any time we fight and the girls ain't around, he shags you."
Jonesy stared at the blonde in stricken silence. "Now wait a min--"
"Oh, stuff it, Jonesy. I only play the stupid blonde thing up."
"Well, this is awkward," the bassist plopped down on the bed helplessly.
"Wait. Are you fighting? What happened?"
"The fuckstick asked me to marry him!"
"I would say congratulations, but something about your tone tells me that's not a great idea."
Robbi paced the room, barefoot, her breasts jiggling beneath the wrinkled t-shirt as she wasn't wearing a bra (no surprise there). "He asked me after a long show we were filmed doing, in the back of a limo, while we're both still sweaty and exhausted. And he don't have a ring! Mr. Moneybags decides on the spur of the moment to casually fling out there that we should get married, without a ring or any sense of reason whatsoever!"
The man sat and digested this a moment. "But...isn't marrying him what you want? You've dropped hints for a long time now, and then when he finally asks you pick a fight?"
"God, you fucking men!" She roared and dropped cross-legged to the floor, boneless as a child. "Where was the romance? The thoughtfulness? The consideration? At least wait till I've rested and cleaned up a bit! Hellfire! I'm not Plain Jane from down the street here!"
"Maybe he didn't go about it the right way, but his heart is in it. He's been thinking about this a while; I know him. He never just does anything without thinking, you should know this by now," John spoke with more kindness and patience than he was actually feeling. "Just think about it, won't you? At least let us finish the tour out before you murder him."
That got a tiny, lopsided grin from the woman, who then asked if she could bum a smoke. They both lit up, with Rob chewing her lower lip thoughtfully. "I don't know where he's gone off to, he stormed off and didn't tell me."
"One of the girls may know, or Richard," Jonesy suggested.
She got to her feet after finishing the cigarette, and decided to check around for her errant guitarist. None of the groupies had seen him for a while, so she roused Richard who had passed out snuggled up to a drag queen, and he told her he'd seen Jimmy talking to some strange types, fellows that were into magic and Crowley and all. Then she went to Peter Grant, who said that Jimmy had ran off the roadies out of the 'extra' room so he could use it.
She got a key and headed to the room to find some of his stuff there, but no Jimmy. This was unlike him to go off without at least one of the roadies for protection. She went back to her room and scrounged around and found some shoes, expecting she'd hit the streets looking for him--she was growing concerned. What if something had happened to him? What if those shady people did something to him, or he had a bad trip and was ODing somewhere? Rob then thought she should tell someone she was leaving, so she went to Bonham's room. After banging like she was the police on the door, it opened.
A sour-faced, berobed drummer let her in, and lo and behold, there was the guitarist sitting in a chair, who seemed surprised to see her. "Jimmy? I've been looking all over for you!" She pulled him up and squeezed him. "You asshole, you stupid asshole," she nearly sobbed.
"I went to the other room since I thought you needed to cool down, but then I came to talk to Bonzo," Jimmy said, while being crushed against Robbi's ample bosom.
"I'm just happy you're ok!" she pulled back to look at him. His eyes were puffy and red as if from crying, and he looked even more exhausted than before.
"I was filling Jim in on how he should handle the Black Country Banshee," the drummer said.
"Oh? What'd you tell him?"
"Take you to a castle and get a big fuckin' ring. And be romantic."
The blonde laughed. "That's a start."
"I'm sorry I didn't give you the romantic proposal you wanted," Jimmy apologised. "Maybe I could try again, with more preparation?"
"You can try. You could get a yes."
"What're my chances?"
"About 65%"
"Aw, fuck off!"