Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

When they submitted the video for the auditions, Billy believed that they had no chance of getting accepted. They still had a lot to improve, and more times than not, they sounded like a band made up of kids who took music as a hobby and not as a profound job.

Except for Karen, Billy is sure that no one sees this as an actual job they have to work hard for. They don't see it as something they must work and sweat and cry for to get somewhere.

When Chuck dropped out of the group, it was a reality check for everyone – this could turn out to be nothing more than a stupid teenage hobby, with no future for any of them, but Billy was not going to allow it.

Music was not a hobby for him. Music was the oxygen that ran through his veins, the one thing he needed to live. He knows he will be able to dedicate his life to it, at any cost.

He doesn’t care if he has to correct Eddie a thousand times or teach Graham how to get through a certain section of the song, he will do it If that guarantees they will make it big someday.

Of course, if he had to blame someone for their failure in the contest, he would blame Eddie, because his bass didn't sound quite right in the video and it was more than obvious that it ruined the vibe of the band, but Eddie hadn't been able to improve his initial performance, so they had had to keep it as it was if they wanted to present the video on time.

But, by some miracle, they had been selected for the official televised auditions. They hadn't found unforgivable fault with Eddie's bass, Karen's keys, or Graham's guitar. They were far from perfect, but they had something. Something good enough to have them on a show, something good enough to give them a chance.

Entering a national TV music contest is a big step. It just might be the step that will take your career to the next level. If they do it well enough, they can capture someone's interest, they can have a career, and get a record deal.

If they win, they'll get not just a check – which they certainly need, because they don't know how much longer they can live on leftovers— but a chance to make their debut album. They will be able to fulfill their dreams, and then it will all be worth it.

They’ve risked way too much coming to Los Angeles just following a fantasy, with the little money they all had for a university they were never attending.

Camila dropped out of college despite her parents trying to talk her out of it just to follow them around and support them – or, in reality, just to support him and keep him close.

Camila is great. She’s a great supporter, and even though she’s not in the band, she’s part of the family. She always listens to him play the guitar for hours and doesn’t complain about it like any other girl would if their boyfriend spent more time with music than with them. If anything, Camila loves him more for wanting to be a singer. She takes pictures and videos with her camera and makes everyone lunch and dinner because they can’t cook without burning the house down. Most of all, she believes in each of them and says she wouldn’t have followed them through the country if she didn’t.

Billy thinks all of them rely way too much on him, on the way he is so sure they will make it and become something big. He can’t let them see that he’s also afraid sometimes, that he isn’t always sure they will make it. He knows they do great music, but he doesn’t think they’re quite there. It feels like there’s always something missing in the lyrics, but he can’t figure out what it is or how to fix it on time.

He doesn’t ask for anyone’s input on it, so he wouldn’t know what’s not working on his own.

When they all sit together for dinner –they call dinner to leftover pizza from yesterday— Billy announces the news.

“We have been called to audition.” He says, and suddenly there’s silence followed by a loud gasp that he thinks comes from Warren.

In a moment, everyone is clapping and shouting, celebrating this first real opportunity in the months they have been here. He wishes he could share their enthusiasm, but he’s too into his head to enjoy the moment. He doesn’t want this to be a moment, he wants it to be forever.

“This is good news, right?” Camila asks, softly, pressing their lips together for a sweet kiss. He wonders if she can see the clouds in his mind and how he’s growing more concerned every minute.

He thinks she can’t because, as thoughtful as Camila is, she can’t read minds just yet. Billy nods.

“I just want this to work,” he admits, and Camila looks at him with so much comprehension and love he almost feels unworthy of her.

“It will work, babe. Trust me.”

People would say working is hard for someone like Margaret Jones, that has received everything she wanted without ever being asked anything in exchange; but that’s the same people that don’t know her at all, that call her Margaret when she now goes by the name Daisy Jones.

She has never had to work for anything, but it’s not like she ever asked not to. Her parents weren’t around enough to know what she wanted and didn’t want, and his father at least would try to fill his absence with gifts, dolls, and everything money could buy.

Working at a restaurant it’s not her definition of a perfect job atmosphere, but it’s better than nothing, and it helps her pay the rent. Ever since she moved in with Simone with the condition to help pay the rent and the food –not with cooking, she can’t cook at all—, she’s had to take hours at the restaurant, but she isn’t unhappy.

She loves working in a place where she gets to talk to people constantly and smile at customers, sometimes even giving recommendations. Tourists come often and she talks to them in their native language, a gift from her mother that insisted on her knowing every important language in the world if she was to become a model someday.

Some people recognize her when they come in –sometimes as the daughter of, other times because of the modeling jobs she did command by her mother—, and they all probably wonder why she ended up here when she had a life full of accommodations in which she didn’t have to move a finger for anything. Others, simply, do not care about who she is.

She doesn’t want anyone to know about her family. It’s a burden too heavy to carry most days, and if she could, she would just leave them behind and never look back.

“Daisy, there’s a table in section four. Can you please go?” his boss asks her. It’s not like she can say no, so she just nods and takes the notebook.

It’s a loud table, impossible not to notice their presence even if it is only because of the noise they make.

She has always analyzed from a distance before approaching someone, trying to catch their energy right away so she can match it with her own. It’s a weird habit she has developed over the years after feeling like an outsider at most parties she has gone to.

There are two girls and between three and four boys at the table, she can’t really see. They seem to be discussing something, judging by the tone and the shouting.

“We are not singing that.” One of them says, voice raspy and low. Something about it makes Daisy’s body reply immediately, and she is kind of embarrassed someone could have noticed it, but no one seems to be paying attention.

“Why not, Billy? It’s a good song.” There’s another voice this time, a girl’s voice.

Daisy arrives at the table before the complaining guy –she thinks his name is Billy because she just heard it— gets to reply. She smiles at them and examines some more.

The girl complaining has blonde hair, wears jeans, and has an overall cool style. She has her arm around the shoulders of a boy with curly hair, who looks at her as if she had the moon in her hands. Daisy gets a feeling the guy would never go against any of her opinions, even if he didn’t agree with any of them.

There are two more guys, one with curly black hair and a joint in his mouth, even though he’s not smoking because it is strictly forbidden inside the restaurant. She thinks it’s probably part of his aesthetic or something, and she likes it.

The other one has straight hair and looks slightly annoyed like he couldn't stand being present.

Then, there’s the complaining guy. He is sitting next to a black-haired girl that has a smile so bright she could light up the entire restaurant. He looks exasperated and like he would rather be anywhere than listen to whatever they’re trying to tell him.

There’s something about him – Daisy doesn’t know how to explain it. Something about him feels familiar to her. Like she knows him from somewhere. She tries to remember if maybe he has been at some event she attended, or if he's the son or someone that has come to her house.

She doesn't think that's the case. It's a different kind of familiarity, the one she feels coming from him, but she wouldn't know how to explain it. Doesn't think she can explain it without sounding a little crazy.

“Excuse me, do I know you from somewhere?” she asks, looking directly at him. It takes him a minute to realize she’s talking to him, but when he does, she could swear he looks half-curious about her.

Now he’s the one analyzing her. Takes what feels like a whole minute to look at her face, her blue eyes, the paleness of her skin. Daisy wonders if he’s trying to memorize her. He's been stared at her whole life, but never quite, like this – like he's not looking at her body, but at her soul.

“Do I look familiar to you?” he asks, tone harsh. She supposes he’s being rude because he’s upset and, honestly, looks stressed, but she isn’t about to give him a pass. If there’s something she has learned about men is that if you give them a pass for their shitty behavior, they will feel entitled to keep repeating it over and over. And she is not the one to tolerate disrespect.

“Yeah, you did, but now that you’ve proven to be a shithead, I don’t think I know you from anywhere. I don't usually hang around jerks.” She replies back, a little cocky smile only for him.

She looks around just in case her boss is there. If he is, she’s fired, and she does truly need the job. She’s not always rude to clients, except when she feels some of them need a reality check, which happens quite often when there are men at the table. It’s not her fault, really, that men are inconsiderate.

The entire table shuts up like they’re impressed someone is speaking to him like that, probably because no one ever does. She doesn’t know who this guy is, but these people clearly respect him too much and have an entirely too high concept of him. She wants to tell them there’s nothing to be afraid of, that they can speak their mind if they want to.

Complaining guy number one looks at her like he’s ready to start a fight, and, honestly, Daisy is waiting for it. That is until the black-haired girl says, “I would like some kind of salad. Can you recommend me anything?”

Daisy smiles at her while she nods. She knows when it's time to pick out a fight, and when it is not.

“Yeah, I actually have some recommendations.”

She takes note and, before leaving the table, looks one last time at the complaining guy. It surprises her that he’s still looking as well.

There are things meant to be, and there are things that aren’t. And the ones that are not meant to be, no matter how hard you try, will never fit just right. Daisy knows that too well.

The music feels meant to be for her. It was her one true companion throughout her entire childhood, in the endless afternoons she spent alone in her house. She would put on some record and move to the music, feeling some sense of belonging to the world through the lyrics.

Even as a kid, she found it marvelous how one could feel the lyrics of someone that wrote them in a completely different circumstance. She thought it had to be some kind of power, the fact you can relate to someone’s experience as if they were your own.

When she was eight, she got her father to buy her a guitar, and then she convinced her mother to get her a piano.

Her mother wasn’t on board at first, nor did Daisy expect her to be. She didn’t want a musician in the family –said something along the lines of musicians being broken dolls and lost bullets in the world, just trying to survive through the music while losing themselves and ending up dead—, but she changed her mind when she realized Daisy could play beautiful pieces at the many parties they did at home, and that she could shine through her daughter’s abilities, so she allowed her to learn the piano, with the one condition of Daisy not taking it too seriously, not making it her passion.

Her mom had a plan set for her, and music wasn’t about to become a part of it.

Soon enough, people realized she was gifted. She played the piano effortlessly and learned the pieces so quickly and easily most people were impressed with her capacity. She started composing her own pieces and would play them at parties.

She was good, but she was going to do nothing with it, her mother would never allow it. Until she stopped asking for her permission.

It’s not like her parents were ever present enough to notice she was going out at night, visiting places she shouldn’t, trying to feel some kind of connection and get as closer to music as possible. She didn’t have a responsible adult taking care of her, telling her to be careful, advising her that she didn’t have to take that road so early on. The hard lessons, she learned on her own.

Her parents didn’t even realize the moment she took a bag with a few clothes and moved in with Simone. Didn’t care, either, or to be honest they were better off this way. If Daisy tried to pursue a career in music, her parents would thank her for running as far away from them as possible.

It was Simone that suggested signing up for the contest, try her luck. Simone was moving around L.A., making the right contacts, trying to make a name for herself in music. It was hard for her, but she was already halfway through, and she didn't have the time to try, but she thought Daisy could benefit from it.

Daisy didn’t know if she wanted that. She wanted music, but every producer she had met at the bars wanted to “mold” her. Wanted a girl they could take and transform into what they wanted in the industry. And Daisy could never be that for them.

She wanted her music to feel authentic, and create records people would play over and over again until they break them. She wanted to create music so good it would be remembered a thousand years after she released it.

But the contest seemed inoffensive, a nice way to try her luck, see if her voice was worth something. Despite all the confidence in her songs and in her moves, Daisy was insecure at heart. When she was alone, she could still feel the voice of her mother telling her singing was not enough, that she had to offer more, and that no one would want to listen to her sing.

And when they accepted her in the auditions, she knew it was her chance. And she was about to take it.

He won’t ever admit it out loud, but he’s feeling nervous. Nauseous, even. He has Camila holding his hand, keeping him steady, but all he wants to do is drink. He has hidden Tequila in his bag and can’t wait to take a sip. He’s been doing that, constantly, always when no one is looking.

He doesn’t really know why he’s hiding, doesn’t think anyone would care. But he still hides anyways.

The band is nervous. Graham is sweating, and Warren is smoking his third or fourth joint –he doesn’t really know which one it is, but he has looked four times and he always has a fresh new joint in his mouth—. Karen is keeping it cool, but her hands are slightly shaking. Eddie is somewhere, but he doesn’t know and doesn’t care either.

He has enough on his plate calming his own anxiety before he can calm the rest of the band. Camila will help, though. She always does.

There’s a little commotion backstage when a red hair girl, dressed in a man’s T-shirt, wearing no pants just comes backstage running like her life depends on it. Billy can’t help but look at her, if only because of all the noise she’s making. He’s not the only one looking – everyone has turned to look at her.

“Isn’t that the girl from the diner?” Camila asks, pointing at her like he wasn’t already looking.

He pays more attention. The red hair and the big earring hoops make it difficult to not recognize her.

“She is,” Billy says.

“Wow, she`s hot.” Warren points out, whistling.

“You think anyone with long legs and a cunt is hot.” Karen points out.

Billy doesn’t care. He is still looking at her, moving through the place like she’s a hurricane. He doesn’t even know her name and thinks he shouldn’t want to know. But his eyes are still following her when she sits, and when she asks someone if there’s somewhere she can change clothes.

Then they are called to get on stage, and she’s gone.

Daisy has never had a thing for time management. She sleeps through her alarms often, and that’s a fucking problem, especially when you have an audition you really need to get on fucking time if you want to be given a chance.

Maybe, if she had slept at home with Simone, she wouldn’t have this problem now. But she was nervous, and she doesn’t have the best coping mechanism for anxiety. So, she took pills, drank, and slept with a guy she doesn’t remember the name of because, well, that’s what she does.

And when she comes to the audition in a man’s shirt, clearly in a rush, her hair a mess, she doesn’t allow herself to be embarrassed – this might be the walk of shame, but she isn’t going to let anyone’s judgment alter her.

She gets ready in record time, and she’s proud of her outfit choice. Her hair is a loss case anyways, but it helps with the messy vibe she hopes to bring to the stage.

When she’s ready, all she can do is stay backstage and wait until it is her turn. She warms up her voice, tries a few words out loud, and then decides it’s better if she just lets it be when she’s on stage. She’s never been fond of technique or voice arrangements and has never had a vocal couch. If it comes naturally to her, then that’s what she goes for. So instead of warming up like the rest of the people around her, she goes to the end of the room to hear whoever is singing right now.

And when she watches the band from the diner, she must say she’s surprised to see them there. Looks at each of them, so clearly polished to make a good impression, and she can’t help but laugh; and then she sees the complaining guy. He’s dressed only in blue denim and his face is so serious Daisy almost feels bad that he can never seem to crack a smile, but it is all forgotten the moment he opens his mouth to speak.

“Hello.” He says to the microphone. Waits for the judges to ask the typical questions before giving an answer. “We are a band from Pittsburg. Our name is The Six.”

For the entirety of what’s left of the audition, Daisy just listens to his voice. He’s the lead singer, and his voice sounds guttural and mysterious like there are things being left unsaid in each word. Daisy can’t help but wonder how she would fill in the gaps, how she would change the rhythm or the key in which he’s singing at some moments.

It seems to her that the complaining guy is all about logic, and that shows in the stiffness of his lyrics, while she’s all about emotion. Thinks maybe in some other world they could benefit from each other’s help.

When they’ve finished, Daisy really thinks they’re going to get the perfect score. There’s no way the judges won’t give them all “Yes.”

They congratulate them on the performance, except for one judge – Marx Rowson is probably the hardest music jury of all time. He has an eye for talent, that’s for sure – Has created and destroyed more successful singers than she can remember— but he’s hard to impress. He looks for excellence and magic, and he rarely finds it.

“I will be honest with you,” he says, speaking into the microphone, and that's never a good sign. “I believe you’re good. Really good. But I feel there’s something missing in your performance. I do not know yet what it is, but I can feel it. And I can tell you this – my gut is never wrong. So, it’s a ‘No’ from me for now.”

It doesn’t matter, because The Six make it into the next round.

And the next turn it’s Daisy’s. When she’s about to go on the stage, their paths cross, and for a second her heart stops. And she knows it then – The Six will be watching her, just like she was watching them.

He thought he would be more upset at the perspective of defeat, but he isn’t. In fact, he’s quite proud of what they have done on stage. He thinks this is the very first time the entire band has been in tune, all getting their notes just right, making the performance of a lifetime.

He doesn’t know what Marx thinks it’s missing in the band, but he is going to prove to him that he’s wrong. That they have everything in them and need nothing else.

When they’re coming off stage, he sees the diner girl. She’s wearing a black tight dress, and no makeup but she doesn’t need it, and her hair is messy. She has a guitar in hand and, unlike them, doesn’t look nervous at all.

They cross their eyes, and she cracks what seems to be an ironic smile that he doesn’t return.

“Can we stay here?” he asks someone from the backstage team. They nod and tell them as long as they don’t make any noise, there shouldn’t be a problem.

“Why in the hell would you want to stay here? I want a cigarette.” Warren complains, looking at him.

“You can go if you want. I will stay.” They all leave, except for Camila. She stays right where she is, close to him. Smiles at him and kisses him on the cheek.

“You’re curious?” she asks, her voice a whisper.

He looks at the diner girl while she gets on stage. She no longer look like a hurricane, but she’s definitely a natural disaster waiting to implode.

“Yeah, I kind of am.” He confesses.

“Well, you stay here.” Camila says, “I will go join the band. I need some fresh air.”

He nods, his eyes still on the diner girl, and if Camila is offended by this, she doesn’t show. There are little things that seem to offend her, as she's always so calm and rational. He doesn't understand how someone like her got the guts to follow them around the country, but that's the fun thing about Camila, she's actually unexpected in a way.

“My name is Daisy Jones.” She speaks. “And I’m here because I want people to connect to my music:”

There’s something about her on stage, something magnetic. She’s doing nothing but you still can’t help but look at her. He’s drawn to her in a way he has never been for anyone before, and wonders if all the people in the audience can feel the same.

When she starts playing the guitar, performing a heartbreaking acoustic version, Billy can’t help but think she was born to be on a stage. He doesn't get emotional often listening to music, but he feels his heart reply to her. He feels the emotion she's putting into the song, the intention which she is singing it with, and he has to give her credit because she's taking him exactly where she wants.

“Wow,” Marx says. That’s an impressive thing for a man like him to say. “That was mesmerizing, Daisy Jones. Truly mesmerizing.”

Daisy Jones ends up her audition with four ‘Yes’ from the judges and a huge smile on her face.

And so does Billy, but he goes before she can find out he stayed backstage to watch her.