Chapter Text
Daisy
6/28/1982
He's producing. He always did know exactly what buttons to push to make me sing.
Like a phantom of all my yesterdays
Alive in nothing but the page
Here I bleed you into words
A thousand symphonies unheard
February 1983
Paris
Her tour manager is waiting for her when she steps off stage and she can tell from the look on his face that something isn't right. There are precious few things that she can think of that would put that look on his face and none of them are good. All of them make her skin crawl and that urge to find something unhealthy to drown in rise in her.
“I'm sorry. Teddy Price is-”
Not Billy then. But still... Teddy. Fuck. Not Teddy.
“No,” she cuts him off because it can't be true.
If he says the words that makes it true and she can't hear them.
She didn't even want to go on this fucking tour because she knew she'd be a goddamn world away if anything happened. She isn't blind, she knew he was pushing himself too damn hard. He fucking knew she didn't feel like she was ready to throw caution to the wind and surround herself with temptation a fucking continent away from her support system. He knew she wanted to stay in the states. Somehow he made her believe she could do it, and should do it. He turned her head with everything she wanted to achieve laid out in front of her.
Now he's...
“I'm sorry,” her manager tells her from a goddamn world away.
I'm sorry. Like it changes anything. Like it makes the glass in her lungs go away or the chill in her veins suddenly warm. Like it takes the sting out of the truth.
She doesn't want to hear his apology unless it brings him back. He can't be sorry and not fix it. Sorry is a damn stupid word to use when someone is... She hates him for it.
She doesn't know what to do now. What do you do when you're a fucking world away from everything and this happens? She needs a flight back, needs to get out of this costume. Does she go back to her dressing room and change and then book a flight? She has performances to cancel, should she do that first? How does she do that? Does she call someone? Who? She'd call Teddy but he's...
I'm sorry.
Her manager puts his hand on her shoulder and she shakes it off violently. Why do men always think they can fucking touch? Shoots him a look that tells him exactly what she'll do if he tries that shit ever again. She's not a fucking damsel in distress waiting to be saved. She doesn't need any of them. She never has.
She's never felt so alone before though.
It feels like everyone backstage is looking at her. Watching her stand there trying to remember how to move. She needs to get out of here. Where?
“Daisy?” he asks.
She knows she needs to answer him but the words are locked behind the Teddy sized lump that lives in her throat. She looks around at all the people waiting for her. Waiting to see what she's going to do. How she's going to react. If she'll break. Someone here has something to help with that, there is always someone. Something to help her collapse in on herself and give in to that raging need to make all of this just disappear.
Always waiting. Their eyes always on her, a million little judgments hurtled against her skin with their fucking eyes. It makes her skin crawl. Makes her demons scream and beg and her stomach turn.
They know she knows exactly how to make it all go away. It feels like they've been fucking waiting for her to fuck it all up again the entire tour. Now she has a damn good reason to.
“Fuck off,” she tells him and locks herself in her dressing room.
Billy
7/30/1981
Daisy released another album. I don't know how she does it. I can't write one lyric without her in it somewhere but she's put out two albums without a fucking trace... Cami wanted to listen to it together, I told her I didn't want to hear it. It's amazing. I know it is. I just don't want to think about her when we're finally in a good place. I don't want her here with us. I hate these stupid journals, but Cami thinks they're helping and I don't want to have another fight about it.
February 1983
Los Angeles
“What?” Billy asks and Cami hands him the phone without a word, just that pale scared look on her face like she knows the world has just ended and she's terrified of what it all means.
“Hello?” he demands his mind instantly going into protection mode. He doesn't like that anyone could put that look on her face over the phone.
“Billy?” he doesn't recognize the voice.
“Yeah?” he asks and Cami puts her hand on his shoulder like she wants him to know she's not leaving. Like she knows he's going to need it.
Fuck. There is only...
“Your name is on a list of emergency contacts for a Mr. Teddy Price?”
He knows. He knew one day this call was going to come, but he doesn't want today to be that day.
“Is he okay?” he demands and Cami chokes back a little sob.
No. No. Fuck no. Not now.
“I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this. As I was just telling your wife, he was found a few hours ago-”
“Who the fuck are you?” he interrupts.
Who would have the fucking nerve to just call him and tell him like a damn robot that Teddy was... It's cruel. Fucking impersonal and mean spirited and...
Cami wraps her arms around him from behind and squeezes him to her. He knows she's trying to help. Trying to hold him close so he can lean on her, but fuck does he wish she'd let go. It's too much.
“I'm sorry, I work for Mr. Price's lawyer. I'm calling to tell you that Mr. Price is-” the voice tries again but he's still not having it.
He is not going to let who ever this fucking asshole is tell him that Teddy is gone.
“No. He isn't,” Billy objects like he can change it if he denies it hard enough. Like it will just go away. He can hang up the phone and pretend it didn't happen.
It can't happen. Not when he still needs him.
“Billy,” Cami says softly. She's accepted it, he can hear it in her tone. He hates her a little for just accepting it, even if it is completely rational. Even if he knows she's right and he has to accept it too. Even if he loves her and wishes she could make it go away.
“He can't be,” he begs her like she has the power to make it untrue. Someone has to. Cami is good at fixing things, she can fix this too.
“Oh, baby,” she sighs and wipes at the tear that tumbles free.
“He passed this morning or some time last night. We don't have all the information yet.”
He swallows and nods.
“How?” he asks softly. He knows how. Doing the thing he loved that no one could talk him out of.
“It's unclear at this time, but they think it had something to do with his heart.”
There was nothing wrong with Teddy's heart except that maybe he let too many selfish people break it. Him. Daisy.
Fuck, Daisy.
He wonders where she is. If someone is holding her. If the same asshole who so carelessly ripped his world apart did the same to hers.
He hands the phone to Cami and leaves her standing surprised in the kitchen. He can't do it. Can't listen to anymore. Can't stand in Cami's embrace and worry about where she is. Not if he doesn't want to find the bottom of a bottle.
He knows he should tell Cami he's leaving. Knows she's going to worry and be pissed (even if she won't tell him she is) at him when he comes home, but he can't stand in this house anymore. She'll understand when he doesn't come home drunk or worse. Morose about Daisy Fucking Jones.
He picks up his keys and finds a meeting.
It doesn't feel like enough.