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Ritchie had always been a fan of change.
The concept excited him. Trying new ventures, meeting new people. He loved to shake things up, no matter what would end up coming out of these changes. That's why Ritchie was thrilled when the band made the decision to travel to a whole new country to record their next record.
Montreux is a beautiful town. Quiet, isolated, and peaceful. Ritchie fell in love the moment the band arrived. He had almost been sad that they planned to show up, record, and promptly leave once their album was finished. However, while his desires to stay had been fulfilled, he wasn't sure if he was happy about the reason why.
The fire was devastating. The band had been planning to record in the casino in the town, since it had a beautiful concert area. Frank Zappa was the last concert of the season there, and the band had been invited. Ritchie had been having a wonderful time. He found himself coming out of his shy and cold shell, dancing and chatting with other concertgoers. That is, until a bright burst of light on the ceiling tore his attention away from the performance.
He hadn't thought it was that bad at first. As it spread, though, he began to fear for his life. He remembers someone, one of his bandmates, dragging him out after he began to panic. By the time the band had made it back to the safety of their hotel, the entire casino was up in flames, with the smoke visible over Lake Geneva as the building came down. That was a sight Ritchie will never forget, especially considering that the casino didn't exist when he awoke after a slumber that was plagued with nightmares of being burned alive.
The band had holed up in a pavilion the next day, but had only managed to squeak out a soundcheck jam before the town police busted the doors down and kicked them out over noise complaints. Now, the band had nowhere to record. They were stuck.
Ritchie found himself feeling worried. They were running out of time. The world felt like it was crashing down upon him and his bandmates. They were struggling to find a place to record in. The idea of what could happen if the band didn't find a place soon was weighing heavily on his shoulders. Even as he lay silently in his hotel bed, he couldn't bring his mind to more calming endeavors than the thoughts of ruin and loss plaguing his mind.
A gentle chill breezed against Ritchie's face as he lay still, pondering the many ways the band could fall apart right now. He found himself slightly annoyed at the sensation. Why did he open the window in the middle of a Swiss winter? Frustrated by his own misstep, Ritchie crawled out of bed, hobbling to the window to pull it shut.
He mindlessly shoved the curtains aside as he reached up, pulling the window downwards and closing it with a soft thud. As he fiddled with the lock, muttering curses while struggling to click it into place, something caught his eye. Rather, someone. From his cramped room on the top floor, Ritchie could see a person nearby the front lot, standing on the rickety wooden walk bridge that crossed a river along a trail.
He stared at this mysterious figure for a moment. Who could this be? Why did it matter? Why did Ritchie care about this random person, who was probably just taking an afternoon stroll? He tried to scoff it off and back away, but something kept his eyes glued to this figure, mentally taking in details. Suddenly, it clicked.
Gillan. Ritchie could recognize that brunette mane of hair from a mile away, even from behind. He stood there on that bridge, his twig-like arms resting against the wooden railing. He seemed to be staring into the frozen river and, although Ritchie couldn't see his icy blue eyes, he could imagine the gaze within them. Distant. Empty. Broken.
Ian had been taking this situation the hardest. Whoever had caused that fire had shot the flares right over the poor lad's shoulders, which scared the life out of him. He's been in a bit of a downward spiral ever since, which has been difficult for Ritchie to watch.
He used to make fun of Ian for being a softie. The man is a giant teddy bear; a swell of emotions just waiting to burst at the slightest provocation. Ritchie, the more reserved and introverted type, usually found Ian's emotional moments annoying or bothersome. Yet, he can't help but recognize the fact that he truly feels the same way deep down. He's just better at controlling his outbursts when they come. Why, Ritchie doesn't know. He just is.
He's feeling drawn to Ian. Something is telling him to go downstairs and check in on him. Why? He's just standing there, relaxing on the bridge. Perhaps his room was too cramped for his tall self. That doesn't explain why he's outside in the dead of winter, wearing only a tight tank top and trousers. It also doesn't explain why he's rocking against the railing, as if testing the wood's durability against his body weight.
Something feels wrong. Despite Ritchie's desire to go back to bed and continue his mental breakdown over the band's predicaments, he finds himself putting on his coat and shoes, preparing to head downstairs to check on Ian. The two sometimes argue, rather fiercely. Yet, Ritchie can't deny the instincts for detecting funny business that he has within him. More annoyingly on his part, he also can't deny the deep seeded desire he feels to protect Ian, to keep him safe and happy. There's something special about that singer. He opened up his door, locking it up tight and tucking his key into the pocket of his long, heavy black coat as he trotted towards the stairs.
Upon reaching the ground floor, Ritchie could feel the icy cold chill of the winter weather before he even went outside. The gusts made him shudder as he stepped outside, stinging his skin and immediately flushing his cheeks a rosy red. How in the world was Gillan out here without a coat on, or any sleeves at all, for that matter? Ritchie knew the singer had his lapses in judgment, but surely he would've thought that at least bringing a coat along for a walk would be wise, right?
Ritchie walked briskly over to the trail that led onto the bridge, something in him telling him to hurry up and get over to Ian as soon as possible. His shoes clicked on the wooden beams as he stepped onto the bridge, the sound louder than normal in the silent afternoon air. Ian, though, didn't react to the noise, despite him being someone who always looked in Ritchie's direction when he approached.
A bubble of concern began to form in Ritchie's heart as he stopped right beside Ian. His skin was reddish-blue, with goosebumps prickling everywhere that his skin was exposed. He had been out here for a while. His eyes gazed distantly into the frozen river, glazing over the chunks of ice and the frigid water below with an empty look. He shivered slightly, but he seemed to be counteracting this by rocking against the railing of the bridge with an intensity that concerned Ritchie, given the apparent age and wear of the structure.
Ritchie stepped closer to Ian, leaning on the rail beside him while gazing into the river as well, seeing what Ian saw. He glanced at the taller man, eventually mustering the voice to speak to him.
“Uhh… a bit cold out, isn't it?” he muttered, unsure of his own words.
Ian merely hummed in response, not giving a clear yes or no. Ritchie tried again, wanting a verbal response from the singer.
“Maybe you ought to grab your coat next time, Gillan,” he tried.
Ian again gave nothing but a meek hum. Ritchie decided to be a bit more blunt, using his typical approach when he wanted something to go his way.
“Talk to me, Gillan.”
Ian dropped his head, sighing a bit. He finally spoke up, but his voice, meager and strained, worried Ritchie greatly.
“Leave me alone, Blackmore.”
Ritchie was a bit taken aback. He had heard this come out of Ian's mouth before, mainly whenever he would tease him, but he had never heard it in this tone before. Something told Ritchie he needed to press on. Something wasn’t right here.
“I will not,” he replied, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. “Not until you give me an answer as to why the bloody hell you're out here in nothing in this freezing weather.”
Ian shivered a bit, as if mentioning the cold aloud reminded him of its existence. His eyes remained locked onto the water below.
“There's something… peaceful about this,” he spoke, a strange distance in his voice.
“What do you mean?”
“I like feeling numb,” Ian said, the tension in Ian's voice becoming stronger, as if someone was pulling a rope taut around his throat.
Ritchie chuckled, as if Ian was joking.
“Hush, you old git. You've never been a fan of the cold.”
Ritchie tried to step a bit closer to Ian, wanting to press his warm coat against his freezing skin. Ian stepped away, shooting Ritchie a stern glare.
“Go away. Leave me be,” he said, his voice carrying an uncomfortable edge.
Ritchie, beginning to grow worried, found himself starting to plead with Ian.
“Either you come inside and grab your coat,” he said firmly. “or I'm going up to get it for you. You shouldn't be outside in this cold, not for as long as it looks like you've been.”
Ian stood there for a moment, contemplating. His voice seemed to become more strained with every word he spoke.
“I can get out of this.”
“W-what?”
“I'll get out of this.”
Ian began to rock the railing a bit more intensely than before. He started wrapping his legs around the posts, as if he was trying to climb over them.
“What in the name of- what are you doing?” Ritchie questioned, a slight panic overtaking him.
“Getting rid of what no longer matters,” Ian uttered casually as the wood began to crack beneath his body weight.
It was so close to being too late when Ritchie realized what Ian was doing. Ian had snapped the railing with weight as he climbed over it. He had jumped, and was tumbling down into the river below. Ritchie grabbed him by his foot as his upper body crashed into the freezing water, shattering the ice and creating a massive splash. With one mighty tug, Ritchie dragged Ian back to the bridge, minding his head as he lay limp with shock from the cold.
“Ian, you bloody bastard, you…”
Ritchie immediately shuffled out of his coat, draping it over Ian's shivering body and drying off the water soaking his hair, face, and shoulders. He remained motionless, so still that Ritchie feared the worst until his eyes began to flicker with life.
Ian began stammering, trying and failing to form a coherent sentence. Ritchie quickly shushed him, placing a hand over his mouth as he slumped his body overtop of his, pinning him still and desperately trying to warm him.
“Hush, Ian, just hush,” he said in a stern tone. “Let me get you inside.”
Ritchie struggled at first, but he managed to hoist Ian up, getting him to his feet and holding him by the hips as he wobbled forward, being walked towards the hotel. Ritchie's jacket lay draped over his body, too small to fit but large enough to do the job it needed to do. Once Ritchie had Ian inside and to the stairs, he lifted him up over his shoulder and cautiously carried him up the many flights of stairs, all the way to Ritchie's room. He fished the key from his coat pocket without taking the coat from Ian, unlocking the door and guiding the singer inside.
“Go lay down,” Ritchie said as he closed and locked the door, his voice leaving no room for questioning. Ian trudged over to Ritchie's bed, toppling over on his back with a groan.
Ritchie walked over after taking his shoes off, wriggling Ian's body under the covers of the bed. He tucked Ian in, feeling a sense of responsibility to care for him. Something else was fluttering in his chest, but he tried to quell his overwhelmingly domestic feelings and focus on Ian's well being.
“Why?” Ian asked after a moment of quiet, a mix of confusion and defeat in his voice.
“Why?” Ritchie echoed, anger threatening to poke through.“Why wouldn't I? What the fuck did you think you were doing there?”
“What did it look like?” Ian replied, completely broken. Ritchie moved over to the other side of the bed, pulling himself under the covers to lay next to Ian, feeling intense emotions threatening to overwhelm him.
“Why would you even think of trying to do such a thing to yourself?” Ritchie couldn't hold back his need to understand this situation at a deeper level.
Ian merely shrugged.
“Words, Gillan. Words. Use them.”
A tear, as soft and fragile as a cloud, rolled down Ian's cheek.
“I just feel completely worthless right now,” he admitted, choking on his words.
“Why is that, mate?” Ritchie's tone softened. He rolled over to gaze at Ian, who was staring at the ceiling with tears in his eyes.
“Look around, Blackers,” Ian sighed. “We're not going to be able to record, we're in this isolated place so far from home, and… I'm scared. I'm scared for us.”
Ritchie understood where Ian was coming from. He was feeling some of these same feelings.
“I just wish you'd have brought this up,” Ritchie admitted. “We could've talked this out before you reached this state. You have so much life ahead of you. You needn't waste it over this.”
“If we don't find a place to make this record soon, I may not have much of a life left,” Ian grumbled. “Things will fall to pieces, we'll all lose everything, and I'll be back on the streets eating dog biscuits and sharing one pair of clothes with Roger in a cubby hole of a flat. I… I can't return to that way of life.”
“You want to keep everything status quo, do you not?”
“Why did we even come here in the first place?” Ian indirectly agreed. “Studios are annoying, and the people in them are two faced twats, but at least there's no risk involved.”
Ritchie sighed. “There's risk in everything, mate. That's life. What's the point of playing this game if we don't take chances now and then?”
“This feels like less of a chance and more of a death sentence,” Ian retorted.
“What the real death sentence is,” Ritchie's tone became stern again. “Is the way you're speaking of yourself, and our situation.”
Ian rolled over on the bed, turning away from Ritchie with a choked sigh as tears continued to stream from his eyes.
“Perhaps I'll see home again if I die right now,” he muttered painfully.
Ritchie promptly moved closer to Ian, resting a firm arm around his body to restrict his movements. He had a moment of realization that the two were cuddling, but he tried to set aside the warm and fuzzy feelings forming in his stomach.
“You will not be dying today, or any day in the near future,” he scolded Ian in a gentle tone, speaking into his ear. “No one is dying any time soon. Even if we don't figure this situation out, that doesn't change anything. We're a band, Ian. We'll sort this out together, no matter what the future holds. That's our job.”
Ian's sobs became more constricted and agonizing, as if his lungs were being squeezed.
“Why do you care so much about me?” he gasped. “I thought you didn't like me.”
Ritchie felt a bit hurt by Ian's assumptions.
“Of course, just because we have our disagreements in the studio suddenly means I hate you, very true,” he replied in a dryly sarcastic tone. “You drive me mad now and then, but that certainly does not mean I wouldn't care if you had died just then. You're my friend, Ian. I care about you. You mean more to me than either of us think.”
Ian went quiet for a while, seemingly pondering this.
“And… and do you not miss home, at all?” he whispered. “Is this not crushing you?”
Ritchie sighed softly, thinking about his response for a moment.
“I do miss home,” he said. “This place is beautiful, but the familiarity of home is something I'm longing for. That doesn't mean I feel like taking my life, though. In fact, it makes me feel like I need to keep going, so I can see home again.”
Ian paused, a thick silence filling the air. His tears began to slow down.
“I want to see home,” he said, a sliver of hope in his voice.
Ritchie was initially worried that he wouldn't be able to keep going. He didn't want Ian to spiral again. He tightened his grip on the singer, his arms resting firmly around his waist. Suddenly, he had an epiphany.
“Are you feeling warm, Ian?” he asked.
“A little bit.”
“Roll over then. I have something to show you.”
Ian sighed playfully as he rolled over, stuffing his hands underneath Ritchie's shoulders. He seemed to be doing a bit better now that he and Ritchie were so close together.
“If you kiss me, I swear to God.”
Ritchie's heart fluttered a bit. He had something else in mind, but the thought of kissing Ian sent a small shiver of excitement down his spine. He kept an arm around Ian, reaching his other hand back towards his nightstand.
“I brought this with me because I had a feeling homesickness would get the best of us all,” Ritchie said, leaning back into Ian's grasp. In his hand, he held a photograph. The band in their early years, dressed in ragged clothing, posing for a photoshoot. Someone had brought along a stock camera and taken a shot in between poses of the band looking much more natural, all smiling as they stood shoulder to shoulder, simply enjoying life at home.
Ritchie gave the picture to Ian, allowing him to look at it.
“Home,” he said softly. “It's home.”
“We are home,” Ritchie affirmed. “Wherever we're all together is our home. Whenever I'm with you, I'm home.”
Ian's eyes lit up. He slumped into Ritchie's arms, keeping the picture close to his chest.
“Oh, I'm a fool,” he muttered. “I'm sorry for causing such a fuss, mate.”
“You hush,” Ritchie said sternly. “Your emotions have their place. Don't make yourself out to be a fool for being human. Highs and lows are part of the journey. Sometimes, you just need a little reminder of what truly matters in life.”
“Like you,” Ian smiled. Something in Ritchie's heart jumped.
“If- if that's… if I'm what you need to stay alive, I'm all yours,” Ritchie managed to say through his shy nervousness.
Without missing a beat, Ian leaned in and kissed Ritchie. Although brief, there was an intense passion to the embrace, with Ian's hands creeping up Ritchie's back and threading into his hair. Ritchie remained still, spellbound, until Ian released him to breathe.
“All mine,” he said in between breaths.
“I…”
“I just wanted to be the first to kiss you,” Ian said, slightly shy. “Couldn't let you beat me to it.”
Ritchie laughed, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders as the reality of the situation set in. His deep seeded feelings for Ian would not go unrequited. Ian loved him back, almost more intensely than he loved him.
“Well,” he said. “You've got your wish.”
“I certainly have,” he retorted proudly. “You've knocked some serious sense into me just now. I had to repay the favor somehow.”
“I appreciate it,” Ritchie chuckled, instinctively pulling closer to Ian so the two men were now chest to chest. “Although, repayment is never required when it comes to saving you. I'd do that for free any day.”
“Because you love me, hm?”
Ritchie smiled.
“Because I love you.”