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The Woe of Aftermath	By : Nexus Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Led Zeppelin Views: 4379 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Led Zeppelin. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
T h e W o e o f A f t e r m a t h

Story Information:
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jimmy Page & Robert Plant

Summary:
Things just haven't been the same between Robert and Jimmy since that hazy night in Sydney. What happened?

Author's Notes:
Loosely based around facts and interviews from the Zeppelin camp following the release of their third album "Led Zeppelin III" in late 1970. Relations were rumoured to be strained between the lads, particularly Jimmy and Robert. It was at one time whispered that Ian Gillan [of Deep Purple] would replace him. Whatever intrigues they had had gradually subsided, and we all know the guys continued to have a prosperous career. However, I have always wondered about the truth behind the rumours. This is my fictitious twist on things.

Disclaimer:
I don't, nor will I ever, own Led Zeppelin. Damn.

Chapter I
********

Robert held the phone shakily while expending tremendous energy not to faint or heave over his immaculate new blouse; the one lately acquired on Kings Road in Chelsea. Ian Gillan, singer with Deep Purple, had recently taken him there on a temperate Wednesday afternoon while Robert and gang were recuperating from the Australian leg of their world tour. Robert pondered those precious moments at Steinberg and Tolkeins', sifting through a mass of illustrious theatrical gear and taking in the consoling scent of aged fabrics. But oh, sweet Hades, the constant thumping in Robert's head could have devoured Chelsea and most of London. The lads had always laughed about Robert's thespian fashion sense; teased and ribbed him backstage in a friendly, albeit nagging manner. The Golden Apollo Jonesy called him, which was rather sardonic given the latter's own outlandish taste in accessories.

Well bugger 'em, he snorted.

"Listen mate, I feel bloody horrible. I haven't eaten since yesterday, unless you count Marianne's dodgy canapés, and we're due back at Abbey Road in an hour," he said looking at his watch. "So you can just tell Jimmy where to stu——"

"Er, Robert, it's me. Before you tell me where to stuff it, I’d like to know what's going on."

Robert was gobsmacked. Well that's swell, just fucking swell. There he was having a discreet chinwag with Bonzo, while, admittedly, contemplating hanging up on the poor drummer, before John passed the phone over to the one person Robert least wanted to talk to. Jimmy. The ear-splitting marching band in his head were getting their yah-yahs out and Robert was finding it hard to stand upright.

"Robert?"

"Yes, I'm here," he sighed and tried to think of something to say. The customary 'I gotta headache' routine kind of bit the biscuit by now. "Sorry Jimmy, I just don't feel very well and John was getting on my nerves."

"Right. So you told him to tell me where to stuff it."

"I have already apologised, Page, what else do you want?"

"An explanation as to why you've been acting like such a prat lately."

Robert fell onto the sofa and its consoling pillows in a gust of wind. "Look," he rubbed his eyes. "I won't lie to you, the truth is that I am preoccupied with something, but I'd rather we just get on with it."

"What do you mean we?"

Robert rubbed his temples and considered his next words very carefully. How do you talk about something to someone who not so long ago displayed an aberrant show of aggression at the smallest allusion to it? Robert had been walking on tenterhooks ever since, and, despite the odd look from Jimmy, he had assumed the issue had been forgotten. Until the levee breaks, that is. Huh! That made him chuckle.

"What's funny Robert?" Jimmy asked, impatient.

"Oh, nothing. I was thinking about our predicament. But don't worry, I'm sure you can find some ancient rite to cleanse your guilt-ridden soul in one of your wretched Aleister Crowley books!"

And with that, he hung up. The marching band had ceased.

Jimmy stood transfixed with the receiver in one hand, a pack of cigarettes in the other, and bit his lower lip until a drop of blood trailed down his chin. He knew that if he moved a mere centimetre his rage would erupt in a surge of torpid emissions. Robert wasn't the only one having trouble controlling his moods.

"What the fuck, you're bleeding Jimmy," John exclaimed. "C'mon pal lets get you to the bathroom."

With that he accompanied a bewildered Jimmy into the ensuite bathroom and proceeded to press a wet towel to his lip.

"All right John, I can nurse myself, thank you."

Even Jimmy wasn't entirely sure why he felt so upset.

John frowned and leaned against the wall, folding his arms and waiting for Jimmy to speak. He knew better than to coax him into an unwanted dialogue, especially with regard to Robert. John wondered what had made his bandmates so upset. He vaguely remembered an episode in Sydney, in an aftershow bash the promoters had held for them. Robert and Jimmy were very conspicuous in their absence, and, following a wild goose chase, John had managed to track them to the hotel arboretum. Robert was staring at a cactus plant, his eyes red and puffy as though he had just cried, while Jimmy sat Indian style on the floor rolling a joint. When John had announced his presence, the pair were taken aback and questioned him as to how long he had been 'spying' on them.

What the hell was going on? Jonesy had figured that Robert was leaving Led Zeppelin, that he had had enough of Jimmy's antisocial propensities. After all, he was the quintessential rock star. What was their claim to fame? The Jury was still out on that one. More than likely being in the right place, at the right time. So who were they exactly, Jimmy's pawns? Lackeys, protégés?

"Is Robert leaving the band?" he blurted out.

Jimmy looked at him for a moment, then at the bloody cloth and sighed. "No, course not silly. Whatever gave you that idea? I always said you had a furtive imagination."

"It's just that you and Robert have been at each other's throats ever since we came back from Oz," John started. "Jonesy and I aren't stupid ya know. We get that something's wrong and I'm a bit pissed off at being left in the dark like a godamn child. If Ian Gillan is going to join the band then——"

Jimmy burst into laughter, rendering John speechless. It was the first heartfelt emotion he had seen from the guitarist in weeks. Jimmy chortled and soon collapsed to the bathroom floor in an exhausted heap.

"Bonzo, you precious halfwit," he smiled at the befuddled drummer. "Ian Gillan joining Led Zeppelin. Ha! That’s about as far fetched as Birmingham City winning the FA Cup this year."

"Hey man, keep the faith," John smiled, feeling relieved. "So what's the deal with Rob, if he isn't leaving then what gives, huh?"

Jimmy let out a whoosh of air and lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply and pressed a finger to his injured lip. "Fuck," he exclaimed, to John's growing amusement.

"Look," he began again. "I don't know what's going on with Robert. But I will be going over to his shortly to determine this."

John nodded. "Do you want me to tag along?"

Jimmy exhaled slowly and reclined his head against the hard bathroom wall. "Nope. I need to see Robert. Alone."

~*~*~

Robert was in the shower when he heard a strange noise from the adjacent bedroom. He thought it sounded like someone fumbling through papers. When the bedsprings squeaked, alluding to the unannounced guest climbing into his four-poster bed, Robert conceded that he could no longer pretend it was his weary mind playing tricks on him. He sighed and begrudgingly turned the water off, feeling lethargic, as though he didn't really care whether a harebrained nutter had violated his privacy or not. He pulled a towel over himself and was about to open the door, when he stopped and wondered whether confronting a prospective intruder with a mere towel thrown over his privates was a good idea. Fuck it, he thought. As long as it didn't turn out to be his estranged wife, he was going to be okay. Breathe, Robert, breathe, he chanted while standing there dripping water all over the carpet.

"Robert, just get your arse out here and stop playing games," Jimmy's voice trailed from behind the bathroom door.

Jimmy. That conniving piece of sh——no, he would not get upset. Robert took a deep breath and contemplated his next move. The marching band were threatening to do an encore.

He finally eased open the door and found Jimmy sprawled on the bed. He wore dark blue jeans, a white buttoned top and leather vest. His luscious, dark curls were gushing over his shoulders and he looked stunning lying there, nonchalantly flicking through last month's copy of the Melody Maker. Robert wanted to say something but he suddenly felt very self conscious of himself, standing there looking like an idiot with nothing but a soaked towel to his name.

"Nice of you to join me," Jimmy put the magazine aside and looked up at Robert. "Sorry to interrupt your shower."

"Who gave you the right to barge into my house like that?" Robert retorted.

"When I rang the bell several times and no one answered, I used my key. You gave it to me last year when you bought this dump, remember?" Jimmy tossed a wild strand from his eyes, completely oblivious to the effect he was having on Robert.

"Yeah well, I was in the shower."

"Evidently," Jimmy proceeded to light a cigarette. "When I couldn't find an appropriate rite to, ehm, cleanse my soul, I decided to pay you a visit and seek your advice on the matter," he exhaled a long trail of smoke and chuckled.

"Are you making fun of me?"

"Woa there, calm down. You need to chill, Plant, have you got any chocolate?"

Robert blinked. "Chocolate, you want a freakin' mars bar?"

Jimmy rolled his eyes and sat up on Robert's bed. "Not that kind of chocolate, Robert, why don't you dry yourself up and sit down for a moment. We need to talk."

Robert leaned back against the bathroom door and looked at Jimmy for a minute, barely containing his upset. "Is that so? And there I thought you were looking to score pot or pick a fight with me. If it's the latter, you could have waited another hour until you saw me in the studio."

"I've cancelled our evening sesh, Robert, I think we're all too exhausted for that."

Jimmy pulled himself gracefully off the bed, reminding Robert of an exotic feline, and walked slowly towards him. Robert felt cornered by the door yet could not move a muscle.

"For Pete's sake, calm down!" Jimmy stopped a few inches shy of Robert and looked him in the eye. "I didn't come here to give you a bollocking. Now answer my question please; do you, or do you not, have pot?"

Robert heaved a sigh. "Yes, I believe there's a matchbox in the second drawer to your right."

Jimmy grinned. This was going to be a long night.

Continued in chapter two...
- 1
- 2
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The Woe of Aftermath