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We're Here	By : luna65 Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Pink Floyd Views: 942 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Pink Floyd. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-We're Here
- 1
It was a special occasion…a wedding…and even an expected one, for those attending. Altogether a foregone conclusion. And therefore the reception which followed – in the most unlikely of places – featured a soundtrack of a hum of congratulations and well-wishes, but gentle smiles. Subdued.

Any of those in the circle, they would characterize it thus, the reactions of the principles to everything. Subdued.

Circumstances had lent a special hush, Rick imagined, to this day. The room was full of people he knew but he sat at the end of a table, smoking and observing: his typical pose.

And he looked at another through watery eyes and thought don’t be stupid, this doesn’t change anything because there was nothing to change but his flesh crawled with auspice and something was over.

Of course it was. The record was done, save the mix. But that wasn’t what he meant.

Rick knew things had changed when none of them held eye contact for more than a few seconds. Looking up, looking down, looking out, looking away from the situation which bound them. Like a farce, the married man sits dutifully by his wife and ogles the world at large when she looks away…as they did now, anything else more enthralling than this.

A good distraction arose…the technicalities of what if…and they spent weeks in the pursuit of music which wasn’t music. It was sound which might seem to be music. They had to do something, for to do nothing was wasteful. Their talents required expenditure, lest their worth be declared null, a run on the bank of their ambition.

And he began to see it, the wandering eye. Something to fear because one could not remove that shiny ripe apple from the top of the pile…it rested perfectly against another equally tempting fruit, and they were symbiotically supporting the entire pile. One could not supplant the king of the mountain, he would not stand for such encroachment. He was especially terrible when crossed.

But he was also beautiful in his arrogance, in the realization of his true ability. This is what frightened Rick the most, he supposed…the thought of desiring the pairing, the twining, and he had not been dissuaded of such a notion even as he had been toyed with, during a long summer of feints and machinations. They had painted a corner and put him in it, where he now sat and said very little. But they could not take back the occurrence itself, and he thought of it often. Sometimes on stage he had to close his eyes against the thought, when either pair of blue eyes sought him out. He preferred it when they looked at one another.

Roger had written two very cynical sets of lyrics. He had desired to strip away the artifice of expected lyricism but this was raw, naked, too real and honest. To express such sentiments to the punters would surely be courting disaster, Rick considered. But he and David had put together some great music and he concentrated on that, on the energy and elegance of their collaboration. So to play it, he might still cringe at Roger’s bray and whine, but he learned not to listen.

There was a gap. The words hit a wall, of sorts, and lost their momentum. Sometimes he might think you can’t hurt me anymore but maybe the truth of it was I can’t feel it anymore. Which meant he was losing the ability to feel anything at all.

They began to encourage visitors, something previously forbidden. Roy was making his “comeback” album and loved an excuse to pop ‘round as they sat outside on the steps every mid-morning, dreading their eventual return. Rick could see, as he always did, the larger agenda at work. The other draped himself upon the railing, as if he were l’homme fatale and stared, enthralled.

Christ, Dave…can’t you stop being beautiful for one bloody second?!

Might as well ask the wind not to blow. Strangely enough, Rick felt David was trying to change perception, trying to hide from…expectation, perhaps. He was attempting to accept the straightjacket of commitment. But one glance into those eyes and it was always ruined. Couldn’t look at the Medusa without turning to stone, couldn’t look into those eyes of sky and not be…seduced.

Roy had it bad, that much was obvious. But he didn’t know how to express his desire in any way except to hang round and talk everyone’s ear off. He was a troubadour and thus had plenty of stories to tell. He had always been the servant to beauteous artistry…rumours circulated in whispers about what he truly meant to ole Percy, who was also known for his deep crushes. He had a brush with death and was now murmuring things about being grateful for every day and Rick wondered if it were a ploy for sympathy. He liked Roy, everyone did, he had a quality which made one turn towards him in welcome. But some were willing to go to enormous lengths for the attention of one David Gilmour.

And the wandering eye did not turn to the one who obviously sought the attention. Those eyes rested on Rick who turned hot and cold in the force of the gaze.

This man, aged 66, who was a legend – so sayeth Mr. Wright – performed in a way which puzzled the participants. They had played him the track.

“It’s country music, you see, like…”

“George Jones,” Rick added, trying to be helpful.

Grappelli nodded. “The sad songs,” he murmured.

“So we need a country fiddle,” David continued. “If you’d be so kind.”

“Naturellement,” the other replied, with a slightly predatory smile. Rick bit back a chuckle…an opportunistic man at that age, how amusing. And how hopeful.

He played in his idiom, the gypsy jazz of his collaborator Django Reinhardt, but with a sorrowful feel. Rick closed his eyes and listened to the tears in the runs. They let him go on for ten minutes, hoping to find some piece suitable for the mood, but as it continued Roger’s frown deepened.

“What the bloody fuck is he on about?”

“He improvises,” Rick noted, the only one who had ever heard him play (albeit on record). “I think we should let him.”

“He’s playing much too fast!”

“Hush,” David said, watching their guest. Grappelli noticed and began vamping just for him. Roger turned his back in disgust with a huff. Rick looked over at David, who pursed his lips slightly, his hands in his pockets, his head hung down, looking up through his lashes.

Don’t tease him, Dave, he’s an old man. He can’t help himself.

Roger caught sight of it and shoved David’s shoulder. He looked wide-eyed and open-mouthed and Roger muttered arretez and they both giggled.

During playback Grappelli sat right next to David, and they spoke en francais which charmed the man further, placing a hand on the other’s knee in conversational emphasis, and Rick watched Roger from the corner of his eye as the lean body tensed, fingers to his mouth, eyes wide with pique. The hand lingered, the ghost of a caress.

Jealous of everything, aren’t you? Of the air, likely. Everything which touches him when you can’t.

That evening in the lounge they all ribbed their bandmate as the object of Stephane’s thwarted desire, which led to other reminiscing regarding David’s adventures among the mauve dandies.

“Jonathan King tried so very hard to get my attention,” David quipped, and Roger snickered, but did not meet his gaze. Rick’s eyes met Roger’s for a moment and there was a decided smirk, a sort of oh you wish you knew, don’t you? But you never will.

“So did he stand in the back and scream for you too?” Nick asked, with a wink.

“One supposes he wanted to, but it just wasn’t done.”

Strong laughter, they always laughed best when they laughed together, at a target they all could agree upon.

“And what do you suppose Nureyev would done if he’d got his claws into either of you?” Rick asked, his eyes cast down as he fastidiously trimmed the ash on his cigarette. “During that infamous decadent afternoon?”

“Not a bloody thing,” Roger declared, his voice edging into a warning tone, the message clear. Don’t even attempt to mock me, because I will destroy you.

“Oh Rudi would have tried something, I bet,” David said, his smile so salaciously taunting it made Rick flush hot, suddenly squirming. “Y’know those dancers are ever so limber.”

“Like that one who tried to leap into your arms during rehearsals?” Roger asked, and their eyes locked. Rick looked over at Nick who was chuckling, but he just couldn’t see it. Never had. Exquisite torture…their strange mocking foreplay. And Rick wanted to smack his forehead to forestall the images of what came after.

“Oh he was a sylph, wasn’t he? But his partner was my consolation prize.”

They all burst out laughing again, recalling those cheeky ballerinas who seemed to have some sort of competition regarding which Floyd could be bagged the quickest.

More drinking, idle chatter, and Roger finally gave them a gentle (for him) elbow, handing David his Martin and muttering something about a new song.

“New song?” Nick said as they made their way out of the studio. “We haven’t even finished the other ones!”

Rick merely shrugged, because he couldn’t say no, it’s the same old song it’s always been.

Thinking back was thinking forward, alone at a table in the canteen. Roger was ensconced in the lounge of Studio Three, grappling with words and his own sense of failure…the vocals had been difficult going. A chilly week, full of glaring silence and short answers. Rick thought they were trying for unity, now that they knew it was missing, but Roger’s mood was all forlorn empty ice.

Rick gave David his sweetest smile when the other joined him for lunch.

“I don’t mind staying late, for the part we have to redo.” He kept smiling, his lashes fluttering in affinity. David smirked.

“Mmm hmm. But it won’t be just –“

“Why not? Why can’t he be sent home for once?”

David laughed, faintly shocked. “What are you suggesting, Richard?”

The truth? “That we’re grown men and we can bloody well play a track without the rooster to mind us.”

David put his fork down on his plate, his cheek rested upon his hand.

O that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!

“You mean, without the rooster to guard the hen from the fox.”

Rick’s response was coy, dragging a bit of egg through the sauce from his beans. “Dunno what you mean.”

“Uh-huh. What sort of mischief are you pondering, Mr. Wright?”

A blush, he could feel it stain his face. “S’not mischief, but I don’t like to see you dogged.”

David burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s fitting! So you care, hmm? It’s ever so nice of you to say, but…well…surely you can see now that’s not tenable.”

“Because he’d bloody strangle me? Sometimes I wish he would.”

“Oh stop it! Even I don’t wish such a thing.”

“Not yet. But you will.”

“All of a sudden you became a harpy, Rick. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Don’t you wish…” He sat back and lit a cigarette, not quite knowing how to phrase his thought. “…that it was different?”

“Different how?” David asked, sharing a drag. “Different from this? This is what it is. Roger wouldn’t be Roger if he wasn’t making us barmy.”

“You –“

“What?”

“You like it. When he’s mean.”

“It depends on the situation. But there’s hardly anything which will soften him…believe me, I’ve tried.”

Although the situation entire was abundantly clear, Rick found himself somewhat shocked at David’s candor as he thought of what those methods might be.

“I just…can’t take him, sometimes.”

“You’ve always been afraid of him, but you’re going to have to square off one of these days.”

“I’d just…well I’d –“

“What, leave? You didn’t leave in ’67, why would you leave now?”

“I would have, but it was obvious Syd wasn’t well. I –“

“Look, if Roger wants to have an orgy of self-flagellation over Syd, that’s his lookout. We did what we needed to do. And we’ll keep doing it until we don’t want to anymore.”

“Well that’s just it. Sometimes I feel like that day has arrived.”

“And then?”

“And then I think to myself don’t be daft and I get on with it.”

“Well there you are, Rick, you’ve answered it exactly. S’what all that thinking will do for you.” He tapped the other’s forehead and Rick grabbed his hand.

“I’ve thought about a lot of things.”

All the power he had to appeal to David’s need for sympathy, and kindness - and someone who didn’t desire to debate every single decision rendered in the course of a day - Rick put it into his stare. David had been staring at him, after all, for weeks now…and the other knew what it meant. At first he’d been afraid, but no longer. He held the hand which was so very warm, even as he wondered if anyone else was paying attention. The canteen was largely quiet, and the look on David’s face was something like lust.

“This isn’t –“ he finally whispered, and Rick let go of his hand.

“Stop saying no. Say maybe.”

David looked frightened as well, because this was a rebellion of sorts. They had all been under the fist so long, in so many ways, that to think of any other alliance was just too strange. But this, this was a definite squaring off, and it made Rick giddy to think he might get away with it.

“Maybe. But not yet.”

They spent a lot of time getting better at squash…except Nick, who could never quite master the game. He lunged for the ball in a most exuberant fashion, but only connected about half of the time. David would purposely choose Rick as a partner, and their matches were a heady mix of teasing innuendo and half-hearted competition. David already had the advantage in his choice of attire…he wore his footie shorts and a t-shirt which clung almost obscenely to his chest. Rick had been considering David Gilmour: Object of Desire for so many years he thought he’d finally learned not to swallow his heart as it leapt up his throat every time he saw him in fetching gear, but this new development drove him to distraction.

“Watch the ball, Mr. Wright, or you’ll be buying every round from now till Doomsday.”

“I can think of worse fates.” If you said no.

David smiled, his infamous mischievous smile, and served the ball. It was all about finesse, really, the experience entire. In the game, the one who prevailed expended the least amount of kinetic energy, aiming the ball for that region which was not covered by the other player. And in the other game, the small victories counted the most.

They collided over a return and Rick made a grab…so unlike him but the thought of adventure made him bold even as he panted in exertion. David turned as the ball went over their heads and ricocheted off the glass, bouncing into the center of the court and then against the far wall.

“That’s a penalty, cheeky thing.” David put his hand on Rick’s heaving chest, and pushed him gently against the nearest wall. “And rather presumptuous.”

“You know what they’ve been calling you all these years, don’t you?”

“Yes I’m aware, but a gentleman would not say it.”

“Is that what I am?”

“Well you’re not a beast, are you?” David asked, leaning close enough to kiss. “I mean, that’s what keeps you in the running, as it were.”

A slow deliberate stride back to the line, bending over to pick up the ball, and then stretching to serve. No wonder Roger was irritable, he’d spent God knows how many years being tortured by this…frustratingly desirable man.

“You’re going to lose, and when you do, then we’ll see who’s a beast.”

“Well I hope it’s not you, dear thing, because you’re so very sweet.”

Rick took a moment to consider all those who had been waiting to hear such a phrase, and might go on waiting.

“Not sweet enough to lose, Dave.”

“Oh just you wait.”

I am, Dave, I’m waiting right here with the patience of a thoroughly damned saint.

They were deep within Regent’s Park of an afternoon, off the well-trodden path, resting on damp grass and sharing a bottle…two well-heeled winos whom no one cared to notice.

“S’not fair, y’know,” Rick informed David after a warm swallow, just the slightest taste of the other upon the glass. “You know me in a way I don’t know you.”

“What?”

“I never realized how difficult it could be to look someone in the eye after they’d had your cock in their mouth.”

David began snickering, and fell forward into his own lap, putting his arms around his head. It took him a while to stop laughing, during which Rick wryly smirked and had several more pulls from the bottle.

“I s’pose I never thought of it that way. If anything, I rather like thinking about that, after.”

“Of course you do, you enjoy knowing the whole world wants you on a plate, apple in your mouth.”

“Not the whole world, dear, just a few select individuals.”

“What I really mean, is, we never got a chance to –“

“You are assuming there was a chance.”

“Oh I know you were only torturing me, you two. But the joke’s on you, I tortured myself far more efficiently just thinking ‘bout it. Didn’t even need you to join in.”

David moved closer and took the bottle back for a long swallow. He had brought the wine, some incredibly expensive French vintage which they swilled like plonk. One of the privileges of being privileged. He looked in Rick’s eyes, the lovely gaze softening his heart as it always did.

“I couldn’t…sully you like that. I know I could have, but you’re too nice. For any of it.”

“And Rog?”

“You have to ask? He’s Everest, in his way. He’s always a challenge…and sometimes he’s the reward too.”

“He’s always stared at you, like he couldn’t figure out if you were real. It was amusing, watching him gawk like a schoolboy for years.”

David chuckled. “Rather. But I thought you wanted to discuss something else.”

“We remain together because it’s what we do, but I find I’m both relieved and sick with anxiety not to be with you. That’s not good, y’know? I can’t look at you anymore without thinking about what I thought I wanted. We can’t go back to that place where we all pretended there was nothing there.”

David didn’t reply, just stretched out on the grass with his hands cradling his head. Rick looked off in the distance, watched children chase each other through the green. He treasured innocence - it was a theme which informed his own creativity – because it was the only grace he’d ever really known. The world was so strange at times, it hurt to consider things like evil, even more painful to know people often accepted evil because it was easier to do so than to confront it.

The shame which bloomed inside - to know he was no better - poisonous flower of regret, its’ roots twisting and pricking, growing in dangerous symbiosis.

“Why can’t I have a chance? And don’t feed me the bollocks about being too good for it, d’ya hear me?”

“But why, Rick? For years, not a bloody word! I can’t help but think you want one up, and I’m not piggy in the middle.”

“You don’t think I know anything ‘bout it, is that it? But I do.”

“When? And how?”

“Never you mind. But I know, and I know what you’re thinking when you look at me lately. And you can have it, but you’ve got to say so. I’m not throwing myself at you.”

David laughed again. “Have you ever, for anyone? They always ended up falling over you while you just stood there, looking gently mysterious.”

“I find it’s better not to say anything than to say something ridiculous.”

David snickered, he knew it was a jab at their monster sacre.

“Do you care ‘bout me?” Rick suddenly demanded.

“Well of course I do. S’why I tried to spare you a few things. If only you knew what Roger really wanted to do to you.”

“Christ, don’t tell me – I’ll have nightmares.”

“I’m –“

“Don’t you dare, David Gilmour. Just say it, whatever it is. Even if it is no.”

David sighed, shifting his position. Rick pulled a piece of grass out of his hair.

“We all get sick of him, you know that. When I do, well…I go off and find a distraction. And sometimes it’s a good friend. But then that friend and I don’t speak for a while, ‘cause I just treated that person the way he treats me. It’s like a virus, I s’pose, it doesn’t get better till it’s passed on. But you and me, we’ve got to go on, we’ve got to talk and be in the same room, all that rot. Can you see why I wouldn’t want to do that to you?”

“For strictly pragmatic reasons, of course.”

“Sensible reasons, dearest. And you, you couldn’t take it. You can stand Rog because you never really liked him, so he can only stab so deep. But I know I could cleave you to the bone. And I can honestly say I could not do that to you.”

Rick sighed, but he was glad to know it. He had the suspicion he was expendable somehow, but now he felt less so.

Once the direction had been decided, there was nothing to be done but soldier forward, and consider the transmutation of their personal anguish into the currency of public entertainment. Roger had a need to share his pain. The others considered it a noble task, but one which took its’ toll on all of them.

It’s not sad enough.
It’s not desolate enough.
It’s not sarcastic enough.

And then fate intervened and provided them with the object lesson in the flesh, suddenly appearing on the very day they sought to eulogize the subject. Their collective shock, grief, anger and guilt left them stunned and silent for days afterwards, looking over their shoulders, wondering how else they might be reminded of the price.

Another reminder followed, when Puddie’s heroin-wracked dead body was found, in the flat they had provided for him, another debt of guilt and regret.

It came to Rick, sometime during the process, that their oeuvre had moved from empathy to misery.

“Well I did it.”

David looked sheepish, little boy shyly smirking. Rick and Nick looked up with curiosity, Roger’s gaze remained on the notebook he was writing in.

“Does it involve gaol?” Nick quipped.

“One might say. Finally set a date.”

Rick noticed Roger looked up at the phrase, his mouth set in an annoyed gape.

“Well that’s capital!” Nick exclaimed, smiling broadly. “When?”

“Earliest we could get in at Marylebone is June 5th. Rather cutting it close, but she doesn’t want to wait.”

“We won’t be done,” Roger said, his tone insistent.

“I’ll bloody well be,” David retorted, his gaze seriously intent. “Even if I have to stay up all night. If you lot can’t be there I’ll take no offense. But Charlie said we could use the canteen for after, figured since most everybody was here any road it’d be the easiest place for a party.”

The staff would never refuse, they practically owned the studio now. But Rick was surprised at David’s cavalier attitude, as if it were just another task. Ginger must have brought forth the ultimatum to end all ultimatums. Was she in the family way, he wondered. Such a consideration usually rendered all decisions moot.

Roger shrugged. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with the schedule.”

The other three gave him a look which might have been interpreted as sod the schedule but none of them desired another shouting match.

Rick went outside, staring at the traffic going through St. John’s Wood. The sun was wan that day, clouds in the near distance suggesting rain before sunset. As always, London was wading through a soggy summer.

“Got a fag on you?” as a familiar presence settled next to him on the steps.

“Thought you were going to quit,” Rick commented, removing a packet from his trouser pocket.

“I will. But not today.”

They shared a match and Rick found his hand trembling at the proximity. They smoked in companionable silence, watching a small pocket of English society, a familiar sight which seemed to remain fascinating as a distraction, all these years now passed.

The notion of time had begun to weigh on them all, no longer merely as an artistic conceit. The ravages were everywhere, and some a direct slap in the face to their sense of eternal favour.

“Is that why you did it? Seeing him?”

“I wouldn’t say so, except, when it was done, I did begin to think ‘bout it, how nothing can last.”

“I should think that would lead you in the opposite direction.”

David laughed, sputtering smoke. “Yes well, it made me understand it’s time to move on. He did, didn’t he?”

“I don’t think he moved anywhere. He just –“

“Don’t say it. Not ‘bout him.”

“Not as an insult. I’d never. It’s just, so tragic, when you think ‘bout how he was.”

“D’ya believe in signs?”

Rick shrugged, taking a deep drag. “I don’t really know anything. The more I consider what I know, the more I realize it’s all very confused. And it never comes clear.”

“He kept saying ‘what for’ and it didn’t make sense, did it, to say ‘because.’ But what else is there?”

Their eyes met and Rick told him I know what there could be but David dropped his gaze in seconds.

“I’m not a brave man.”

“Neither am I. But sometimes I’m a curious one.”

Suddenly there was a weight of warm skin and beard and smoky breath and affection. Rick closed his eyes and accepted the kiss, in broad daylight, in penance for the other’s insistence that nothing could change, not now, as the price of ambition and need.

They did need each other, he knew, even if they could never acknowledge the truth.

It was a Monday, and the Wrights had fallen into a lulling routine, picking the kids up from school and strolling through the chilly afternoon bundled in coats to fit in a few errands before dinner. They were on their way to market, each of them holding a child, when they passed by the window of Gidding’s and Rick stopped when he realized the display was the new record. He put a hand on Juliette’s shoulder.

“Look,” he said, and turned Jamie towards the window so he could see as well.

“Oh look,” Juliette said, pointing as she spoke to Gala. “There’s Daddy’s record.”

“I’d forgotten it was today. Be a lark, wouldn’t it, if we bought one?”

“Didn’t you get a boxful? Like last time?”

“Probably at the office, haven’t been in the mood to go ‘round there.”

“We’ll go over tomorrow.”

“Alright.” His wife and daughter began to move down the street, and his son wiggled in his arms to get his attention, but Rick continued to stare at the display, specifically one particular image…of the man diving without a splash into the water. He felt like that man, he submitted and succumbed to an enveloping force, but he did so without a ripple, no way to assert his inclusion. But of course he was there, he could be heard, he could be seen. And yet…he wasn’t here.

His loved ones had turned the corner and when his son finally began crying he returned, apologizing as always, for absence, and moved to catch up with the here and now.
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