Work Text:
13th of February 2009. Catalonia.
Down in the hotel bar ...
Liam’s there when he comes in, with Gem. Oh, God. But it’s not the end of the world, he decides. He’s damned if he’s going to turn around and leave.
They sit down in a quieter corner, and try to ignore the rowdiness at the bar. Talking general.
He’s been so distracted lately. He starts telling Gem how good 22 Dreams was, over-zealously even - having completely forgotten that Gem had played on the damn album as well, and therefore didn’t need convincing.
Noel sighs when he realises his mistake.
“Right, sorry. Don’t know whether I’m coming or going, these days, or who I’m talking to.”
“Been on the road a while,” Gem says, trying to reassure him.
Noel doesn’t reply. It's been a year. They’d frozen their way through a North American winter tour. It’s February, now, they’re in Spain. Everyone’s fed up with each other. He won’t get home to see his little boy for Easter. He misses Sara badly, worse than he thought he was capable of missing anyone. He misses sweet England and his house in the countryside.
“I won’t even tell Weller you forgot who he is,” Gem says, teasing kindly.
Noel gives an empty defeated laugh. He’s exhausted.
“I dunno if I can do another tour like this,” Noel confesses. “I just don’t know.”
“You sit down, alright,” says Gem, “And I’ll get the drinks. What’re you having?”
He shouldn’t, really, but then, why’d he come down at all, then?
“Maybe a whiskey and coke?” he says. “Thanks … ”
Gem’s a real peacekeeper.
.
Liam has a sixth sense, though. Probably a seventh and eighth one too. He must have spied Gem across the bar and decided that Noel was in tow somewhere.
Sure enough, he turns his head, a flash of light catching his sunglasses. He catches sight of his brother immediately.
“Dark stuff goin’ down today,” Liam says mirthlessly, and sits down across from him.
Noel startles. He hadn’t seen him coming over.
“It’s Friday the 13th."
Noel makes a silent grimace of acknowledgement. The less he says, the less chance of a massive row.
“You know, the Golden Dawn crowd reckoned the world was going to end next year?” Liam says.
Noel’s face betrays a worry. Golden Dawn? The Greek ultra-nationalists?
“Who?” he says.
“The, fuckin’, Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn?” Liam says, as if it’s obvious. “Aleister Crowley’s lot?”
Noel groans. He’s been reading about Jimmy Page again.
“Alright,” he says.
“Twenty-ten,” breathes Liam, with a sinister air of satisfaction. “All over.”
Mh-hm.
Liam leans in - his breath smells of the near-black Rum Manhattans he’s been drinking on tap.
“That’s why we wrote an album about Armageddon, isn’t it?” he asks. “Very fuckin’ clever.”
He sprawls back.
“Called it.”
.
'We' wrote an album. Funny.
There isn’t an Oasis anymore. There’s a complicated labyrinth of relations instead, where Oasis used to be. Who talks to who. Who can be trusted to do an interview together. Who can put up with who on a bus for a few hours, and who needs a separate ride.
There’s no sharing of songs. Noel arrives with them ready. He leaves, and the band put it together on their own. He comes back, and fixes it up. It works fine. It’s just less comradely.
It’s not easy to find a producer, these days, who dares to give Noel his honest opinion. Harder still to get Liam and Noel to speak to each other directly. Noel won’t listen to him. Liam won’t play Noel any songs. He’ll talk furtively to Andy, disappear with a strange hard-done-by look, and come back with an idea. Then it’s Gem who knows exactly how to play it when Noel just-happens to be there (which isn’t too often), and casually answer, when asked - Oh, that’s one of Liam’s. Want to work on it?
It’s getting awfully complicated.
There is no ‘us’.
.
Noel wants to leave, and call Sara.
He’s not in the mood for Liam’s paranoid ravings tonight, for enduring his brother’s sullen, barbed remarks. Or spending the night trying not to get into a fight that’ll only end in him getting hurt.
Liam’s acquired a surprising heft of physical strength - and a willingness to use it on him. A habit of rolling on the floor and slapping each other had turned into punches with weight behind them, and frequent black eyes.
Noel avoids him as much as he can. At the same time, he doesn’t really complain. It’s only between themselves, and between themselves, there’s too much to explain to an outsider.
.
Gem comes and sits down, with two others alongside. He’s that kind of person - amicable. He’d found some mates from the touring crew at the bar. He glances at Liam, sat where he’d been, but doesn’t look annoyed: he just says hi.
Noel looks up in relief. A drink, and some company to diffuse Liam’s presence.
“You’ll never guess what my missus said last night on the phone,” Noel begins.
“She’s not your missus, though, is she?” says Liam, bluntly. “Not bein’ married to you.”
His tone. Noel can tell they’re veering dangerously close to another, What you doin’ with a bird anyway? I know you don’t- conversation.
Noel glances down at Liam’s hand. His wedding ring is in place. Whatever about the vows behind it.
He wouldn’t mind, so much, Liam sneering at his sexuality, per se. He just wishes Liam would leave his Sara out of it.
Crazy how he feels the need to protect her from Liam when they’re a thousand miles away from each other.
He ignores everything he ought to say to Liam.
“I was tryin’ to tell a story, do you mind?” he asks.
Liam doesn’t say anything, and lights up his cigarette. “Go on, then,” he says dismissively.
.
They’re leaving the bar, and Noel is listening to some long story from Gem’s mates. Liam’s walking ahead of them, talking loudly about the Beatles.
“How our kid can listen to I Wanna Hold Your Hand fifty times a day and turn around and be such a dick, I’ll never understand,” he says to Gem.
“What the fuck did you say?” Liam snaps around.
The hallway falls silent.
He hadn’t meant Liam to hear that.
“You heard. You know you’re a cunt, and dead proud of it. Keep walkin’.”
Liam’s not having it.
“An’ what the fuck did I do to you, tell us?”
“What have you done for me, either? Ever?”
Liam rares up.
“Made you all your fuckin’ dirty money, didn’t I!?”
“With my songs?”
Liam takes a menacing step towards him.
“Our songs, you fuckin’ prick. OUR songs. Lie to the fuckin’ Sun all you want, but don’t fuckin’ try lyin’ to me.”
“I wrote them. Think that makes them mine, don’t it?”
The word free-loader is on his lips, but Noel knows what’s coming - Liam descends on him in a fury, fist raised, and thumps him.
Noel gasps in pain, tries to guard his stomach and chest. Liam pushes into him, and sends him stumbling backwards. There’s three other people standing around them, but nobody’s gonna rescue him, of course. He’s sick of this, of them all. He tries to shove Liam off, and gets another punch for his trouble. It makes him bite his own tongue, which fucking hurts.
“Stop!”
Noel gets a blow on the side of his head that makes his ears ring.
He cries out.
He can hear Gem trying to talk Liam down, but of course, it’s pointless. Liam can’t see or hear anything but Noel right now.
“Liam, STOP it!”
“OURS! OUR FUCKIN’ BAND.”
Liam lands a vicious punch that knocks the air from Noel’s chest.
Gem’s voice, “Liam- I’m sure we all know that- Noel just meant-”
“FUCK OFF, YOU AN’ ALL,” Liam spits, rounding on him. “His best pal. At least I have the balls to tell him when he’s lying.”
Noel takes advantage of the moment's reprieve, and wriggles out from under Liam, stumbles to his feet, and walks off. He knows Liam won’t follow him.
.
Liam spends the next hour pacing back and forth at the top of the staircase. He stares down at the drop.
He hums to himself, irritably, I’m in love with her and I fe-el fine.
It sounds hollow.
Opens his mouth, and sings - growls really - going for the echo in the dark open space.
Snarls it, all Johnny Rotten: “I’m in love with her, and I fe-el FINE.”
Another guest, passing, gives him a disapproving look. He’s being loud, he knows it.
.
Hotel bedroom. Noel checks his eye, but there’s no bruising yet. He feels slightly resentful. It had hurt. Not even his own body was listening to him.
He unbuttons his shirt, gingerly, and there, right enough, he’s black and blue. Anywhere his ribs show when he stretches, there’s a cloudy purple bruising that’s going to get black, and then sickening green, before it fades. He drops his shirt again. He’s got painkillers, plenty of them, but he doesn’t like to take them. This isn’t worth it, anyway. It’s not the end of the world.
Noel wanders back to the bedroom. Checks the international clock on his phone. It’s just gone eleven in the UK.
He calls Sara.
“Hi,” he says softly. “Am I late?”
“No, love. Donovan woke up. I just put him down again.”
So he talks on the phone to Sara. About them.
“I’ll try and run home before we go to Japan,” he promises. “Or you can come to Italy? Can you?”
He hugs himself gently with one arm. Sara, Sara. I miss you …
There’s a heavy knock on the door, then.
No ... Just leave me alone.
Noel sighs. It makes his ribs ache. He could cry, but he refuses to. Fatigued dread settles. Fucking, what now?
“What is it, sweetheart?” says Sara.
“Liam,” he says, under his breath. “He’s at my door.”
Sara says immediately: “Is he drunk?”
“When’s he not drunk?”
“You don’t have to answer it.”
“I do. I’m sorry, Sara. He won’t stop. Listen … I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Alright?”
“Okay. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
“Take care. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Sara,” he says, fondly, despite the sick feeling in his stomach.
I’ll get back to her.
.
“Right,” he says, opening the door just a bit. “Let’s get this over with. What d’you want?”
He stands on the threshold so that Liam can’t get past.
“Let me in.”
“What have you got to say that can’t be said here?” Noel asks. Don’t kid yourself that we have a private relationship, being the implication.
Liam slouches against the doorframe, because he’s dead-drunk. It’s only by accident that it looks suggestive. It’s only if you were observing from afar that it looks like he’s chatting someone up. Up close, it’s frigid hostility and Liam’s heavily-liquored breath.
Noel’s not in the mood.
“It’s nearly one o’clock.”
Liam scowls. Then his mouth twists in a pained frown and he looks away. There’s a plaintive look in his eyes that’s hard for Noel to accept.
“Are you leavin’ me?” Liam asks. “Are you? I heard you sayin’ it to everyone. The papers. A ‘divorce’, is that what you said you wanted?”
Noel shakes his head.
“Do you see me packing? We’re in the middle of a tour. Nobody’s going anywhere.”
Liam finds it hard to believe him.
“What am I supposed to do when you’re not there?” he says.
“I AM here.”
“Don’t fuckin’ feel like it,” says Liam. Too honest, as always.
Why’d you go an’ call me a dick earlier? Thought we loved each other?
It’s easier to push Liam off than to comfort him.
“I- Liam I can’t be havin’ with your carry-on. You’re slaughtered. Go to your room.”
Liam swings forward.
“If you don’t like me anymore,” he says, his voice terrible and wounded. “-If you don’t like me anymore, then it’s you that changed. Not me.”
Noel braces his foot behind the door, so Liam can’t push it open.
“Gonna hit me again over it?” he asks.
“I didn’t intend that- I didn’t go hard-”
“Didn't go hard? Don’t fuckin’ feel like it,” Noel retorts, and shoves the front of his shirt aside. “Fuckin’ look! You brute! You mean to say you didn’t change!?”
Liam’s face falls at the sight of what he’d done.
“You’re behaving like a yob," Noel says. "Like you always insisted you weren’t! If you want to act like a hooligan, fuck off and do it. But not to me.”
“I didn’t mean to-”
“Don’t fuckin’ give me that. You’re thirty seven-
“-thirty six-”
“-fuckin’ whatever, thirty six and a half — you’re big enough and old enough not to go around carryin’ on like that.”
Liam’s angry and contrite, and most of all disgusted. He makes a sudden lunge forward, and Noel steps back. Liam gets in the door, and shuts it behind him.
.
He stands there, blocking Noel’s way out.
“You’ve hit me as well, Noel, when I needed a bit of a slap. It’s only-”
It’s no big deal, it’s just a bit of rough play, messing, you know how we are …
Except that’s it, for Noel. It is a big deal.
“When’s the last time, huh, Liam? When did I hit you?”
That’s caught him.
“While ago …”
“Liam, you fuckin’ cunt, be honest.”
“A few times-”
“Don’t be fucking lying to me. That is not-!”
“Well,” Liam admits, “I guess … you don’t … but-”
“There.”
Glad you realised that. Finally.
He steps back. Noel puts his hands over his eyes, and they come away wet. He hadn’t realised he’d been crying. In the dark, he flinches at the thought of Liam wrapping his arms around him, but it doesn’t happen.
Noel sits down on the couch. How the fuck did they get here?
The sting of Liam’s blows still lingered, and all he wanted was to make it stop. Make them be friends again.
Hold my hand again. Be nineteen again, Liam. We had such fun. You were so kind to me. Where’s the boy who hung around backstage with the Inspiral Carpets, for me, all shy? Who waited to be invited to take a can of coke, or have a go on a spliff? Who always said he loved me?
How can he say I changed? I never changed, me. I’m still a child, and nobody sees it. He changed.
Liam sits down on the other end of the couch.
Noel stands up, shakily.
“Hey-”
“I’m getting a fucking tissue,” he says.
Liam slouches back. Right. Sorry.
He gets himself under control in the bathroom. Then he turns back to Liam, and the sight of him sets him off again.
At a loss for what to do, Liam shifts uncomfortably where he’s sat. Ah, here. Our kid isn’t worked up like this over some little scrap we had. There’s more going on. He’s putting it all on me. Blame Liam …
Noel sits back down. He wishes Liam would just go. But he’d do fucking anything on the planet to stop him from going. They’re always together, in principle, though they spend so much time apart. At the thought, he sobs. Pulls his legs up so he can hide his head behind his knees.
Liam’s the only one who’s ever really seen him cry like this. He doesn’t show it easily. The effort of suppressing his tears - which isn’t working anyway - screws his face up. He knows he looks bad; he covers his face more. There’s only a single word he can say, a single name, a single person he might hope could be of help.
“Liam,” he says, “Liam.”
He tips forward, looking for Liam to cuddle him. Noel continues crying, quietly hysterical. Liam could make it better, if he wanted to. Please.
Nothing happens. Realising Liam's not moving, whatever structural integrity left in Noel’s heart collapses, and he sobs openly.
“Liam,” he pleads.
“I’m here, Noel, alright?" he says, warm, but not any closer. "Stop your crying, eh? Come on.”
He must be trying his best, but it’s cold comfort.
Liam misses, too, when Love you, Noely, came as easy to him as breathing.
Noel wipes off his face with both hands. Maybe the world will end soon. Maybe he wishes it would. A clean new start; maybe the next life will be easier.
Remember when I said I was going off to be a roadie, and we stayed up all night, before I was to leave, stayed up talking until the small hours, until you fell asleep in my bed, completely innocent we both were - because every moment became so precious, knowing that I was leaving soon? And we had too much to say to each other? You fell asleep in my bed and I held you close until morning, until I couldn’t delay getting up a second longer? And I wanted to go see the world, but it broke my heart to leave you, even when I knew I was coming back?
No, don’t think about leaving him. Think about another time, for the love of God.
.
“1991,” Noel says, out loud. “1991. Alright? Remember, yeah?”
“What about 1991?”
He’s going to try to explain if it kills him.
“Liam, if you made me choose, now. With hindsight. If you made me choose-”
He’s struggling to get the words out.
“What?”
“Between Oasis and you. If I’d known. If I’d known that Oasis would mean we would fight, then I’d have never even-. I don’t want to fight. I never have. If you gave me the fucking choice, right now, between Oasis and us. I wouldn’t have joined. D’you hear what I’m saying? It’s not worth it. I’d go back and have a normal life, if it meant-”
The words he wants are: You’re more important. I love you too much to fight over anything. I love you, love you, love you madly. I’d give up every dream of ours, if I really had to, I’d sacrifice everything else, if it meant that we could just be alright again.
“You wouldn’t’ve joined the band with me?” says Liam. Confusion, betrayal, disgust. How can we be together in any way, if you’re not in the fucking band? What else have we ever done together?
Noel looks down. His head is so sore from crying.
Not at this price, he thinks. He starts crying again, and closes his arms around himself.
“I want-”
For you to stop hitting me. Don’t hurt me any more. I love you so much, so why can’t we be good to each other?
He takes a moment, tries to calm down.
“You’re still my brother, aren’t you?” he asks softly.
Liam sighs.
“Of course.”
“So, why do you hate-”
Liam almost raises his eyes to heaven, manages not to.
”I don’t fuckin’ hate you, man, cut that shit out. Never fuckin’ hated you.”
Somehow that other word just won’t come.
Noel looks like he might find a way around to believing He loves me, really, without getting to hear it. He makes himself look at Liam’s face. Unreadable, but just as unhappy as his own.
He nods absently. Trying to pick himself up. Quietly, mind. So that no-one could tell that he’d fallen.
Liam makes a noise, compassionate-like, and moves closer. Opens his arms and Noel automatically falls towards him. Liam hugs him, finally. Hears him sniffle hard in his ear.
“Oh, Noel. Stupid little thing … you’re being daft.”
Noel trembles in his arms. Winces a bit.
“Not so tight,” he whispers. “Liam. Not so tight.”
Liam tries to be gentle.
“I’m sorry, Noel. It won’t happen again, I won’t do it, honest I won’t …”
Noel wants so badly to believe him. When they’re on their own and he’s just being Liam, his Liam, his brother, it’s almost possible to believe him.
“I- I don’t want to be the grown-up all the time, Liam,” Noel says, and somehow, that hadn’t been difficult to say at all. It’s only when it’s already out of his mouth that he realises how true it is, how it’s the foundational problem. He cries again, and sniffles wetly. Fuck. He’s sick and tired of being lonely, and he needs Liam to grow up – because if he insists on being left behind, in his eternal wild child act, then Noel will miss him and miss him and miss him until something breaks that can’t be fixed.
Liam puts his hand on Noel’s thigh, and angles his head a little, looking for a kiss. That’s how they fix everything, isn’t it? Noel turns his head away with a sad jerky movement. No.
Just be my friend, he thinks.
“We’re friends, right?” says Liam, as if he’s not sure himself, as though reading Noel’s mind.
“Yeah,” Noel says, and sobs once more. The sound seems so loud and uncivilised in such a nice room.
If it really is the end of the world, I want to be there with you. Assuming you’d want to be there with me.
“Hey,” says Liam, at last, now holding him the way he needs to be held, and sounding sincere: “Hey, hey, Noely, love, come on. I love you, alright?” - Noel sobs - and then, as quietly as Liam has ever said anything in his entire life, he says: “I’m not gonna leave. So don’t you leave me, alright?”
Noel shakes his head against Liam’s shoulder. I won’t leave.