Hi!:)
Title: Come One, Come All (4/?)
Pairing: Keith/Mick
Rating: pg-13
Disclaimer: Never happened, don’t own the Stones.
Word Count: 1,872
Note: Very important! I rewrote the ending of the last chapter. Sorry about that, but the more I thought about it after words, the more I didn’t like it. Pleas at least reread the ending of chapter 3 (reposted below) so that this chapter will make sense.
…
Andrew looked up at the sky later that evening and sighed. There was a storm coming in, and they were no closer to getting out of here. And he was tired of arguing with Jack, who was adamant about them not staying in the hotel another night. The manager heard footsteps and turned to see Ian walking towards him.
“Weather’s gonna get bad, Loog. We can’t go tonight.”
Andrew nodded. “I know-tell it to Jack.”
“I did. I think I finally got it through his head. He’s still real reluctant, though-offered to let us stay at his place,” Ian chuckled. Andrew looked bewildered.
“Why in the world does he think there’d be enough room?!”
Ian shrugged. “Don’t know. We’ll just have to tell him thanks, but we prefer the huge comfortable mansion when we see him tonight-he invited us over for dinner.”
Andrew nodded. “Sounds good. Well, if we’re gonna be stayin’ here another night, better tell the lads.”
…
Keith grumbled and closed his suitcase-he’d been in the middle of packing, but if they weren’t leaving, he figured he’d better keep some things out. He then walked over to the windows, utterly and completely bored. The guitarist didn’t know if he could stand another day here, and wondered how Jack did it every day of his life.
To top it all off, there was the matter of Mick. The younger boy had known the singer long enough to recognize when something was off. Mick seemed…odd, this afternoon. He was either too affectionate (which was saying a lot for Mick) or unusually distant. Not that the guitarist was the most intuitive person when it came to feelings and emotions, but he liked to consider himself an expert where his friend was concerned. A flash of lightning startled him, and he turned away from the window. Mick strode in then, humming a light tune.
“Hey,” Keith greeted. “You ‘bout ready to head on outta this one-horse town?” He asked, grinning.
Mick shrugged. “I guess.”
Keith shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly. He’d never felt so uneasy around the other boy before. Mick was the one he had the connection with, the one he’d been through the most with. But now, something just felt strange. He was grateful when Charlie called out from the front door.
“Hey! Time to go to Jack’s, everyone!”
Keith started for the door and looked back at Mick expectantly.
“You coming?” he asked.
“To Jack’s? I mean, do we really have to?”
Keith snorted. “Uh, yeah. I’m starvin’, Mick. And bored as hell, now come on.”
He turned, preparing to go, when a hand brushed his arm. Shivers, and not exactly the good kind he usually got from Mick, ran up his spine.
“Bored, huh? I could fix that. Come on, can’t me and you stay here? Just the two of us?” Mick’s breath ghosted Keith’s ear and his lanky arms snaked around the guitarist’s waist. Though Keith suddenly felt nervous, he chuckled.
“Now, now, Mick. Food’s important too. The older boy looked disappointed and sighed.
“Alright. I’ll be along in a bit, you go ahead.”
Keith rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Fine. See ya.” He left, joining Charlie out on the sidewalk. When Bill and Brian came out, Keith told them what Mick had said and they set off for Jack’s.
…
Thunder shook Mick from his trance. He lifted his head up, and attempted to stand. His bones cracked from having been in the crouching position too long, and the boy straightened up and looked around. So he was still here. It wasn’t a dream, and he was still here-wherever here was.
Not gonna figure it out just sittin’ here, the singer thought, cautiously walking to the door. He avoided the mirror as he did so, giving it a wary glance as he went by.
He put a tentative hand on the door and opened it slowly. Nothing came to stop him, so he stepped out into the hall. That’s when he drew in a sharp breath. It was astounding; the walls were painted with intricate designs, and the carpets were a rich, royal red. The furniture in the hall shined with new brass and oak wood. He was still trying to process the information when a soft sound caught his ear. It was a piano; he could tell that right away. He also recognized it as the sound that had lured him up here in the first place, and a knot formed in his stomach at the thought.
He followed it further down the hall and stopped in front of a cracked doorway. Through the gap, he peeked in and saw Louis there, at a large, smooth grand piano. He pushed the door open and cleared his throat. Louis turned around and his lips curled up into what was almost a smile.
“Hello, Mick. How are you feeling now?” he asked kindly.
“How the hell do you think?! I mean-I don’t even know if this is real, or what’s going on!”
Louis stopped playing and nodded. “Yes; it’s a hard thing to get used to, that’s for sure.”
Mick picked up on a light Cajun accent and responded. “Look, can you help me? Can you explain any of this to me?”
Louis turned on the piano bench and motioned for Mick to sit down in a large, comfortable, fluffy gold colored chair with weaving green leaf and vine pattern material. Upon inspecting this room, he noticed that, along with the piano, the room contained a harp, a violin, and paintings of famous composers on the walls. Must be the music room, Mick thought dully. He brought his attention back to Louis, who was still sitting patiently.
“Who are you? And where are we?” Mick began. “And by that I mean, tell me why you’re here, and everything else.”
Louis nodded and took a deep breath. “We’re in the mansion, Mick-as you’ve probably guessed. You haven’t left it.”
“But I don’t understand. That photo was taken forty years ago, and this place is an old abandoned hotel!” Mick exclaimed, extending his palms.
“No, Mick. You see, you’re very much still in the same building, but-well, perhaps I should just show you.”
He got up and Mick followed, puzzled. They walked back out into the hall but stopped in front of a wall mirror on the wall opposite the room they were just in. This one, too, had a covering over it. Louis took it off and stood back. Mick glanced at him and looked into the mirror. He blinked; for it was not his own reflection he saw, but another wall. The hotel wall-at least the way he remembered it. He could see the familiar paint color (different from the one here) and the photos that hung on the wall of the hotel. He turned back to Louis, mouth agape.
“What you see in there, my friend, is the building you came to; the hotel, as it is in your time.”
“In my time?” Mick asked, doing a double take.
“Yes. What you are in now is the original La Vie-the way it was before everything happened. To put it simply, you are…on the other side.”
Mick shook his head disbelievingly as his sharp blue eyes wondered around. It made since, now; this was not the building he was used to seeing. No, he was seeing the La Vie of a hundred years ago, in its prime, in all its glory.
A simple “wow” was all he could manage. But then he looked back into the mirror.
“But Louis-I have to get back. I need to get back,” Mick said imploringly, desperate.
Louis sighed, and Mick noticed another thing about him. The lad always seemed to have such a deep look of sorrow and pain on his face-even when he was speaking kindly.
“Now, Mick, I will answer your other question-though I was hoping to put it off until you got a bit steadier here.”
Mick snorted stubbornly. “Don’t plan on stayin’ long enough to get comfortable.”
Louis didn’t respond, simply gesturing the singer back into the music room. When they’d gotten settled again, he began.
“Mick, forty years ago, I was an eighteen year old kid living in this town…
…
The boys were on Jack’s small back porch, smoking and laughing. Ian was out with them, so Andrew stayed in the house with Jack while he finished up the burgers he was making. “Not real Cajun food,” he’d observed, chuckling. “But I figured you all would want something easy and more familiar.”
Loog was currently looking around the living room at the various nick-knacks and things Jack had. His eyes settled on several photos on a large drawer. He debated whether or not it would seem nosy to ask about them, but, curious and seeing them as a good conversation starter, he went ahead.
“Are these your parents?” he asked, pointing to a photo of a man and woman on the balcony of some building. Jack glanced at the picture and nodded.
“Yep. They came over from France after they were married.”
Andrew hummed in acknowledgment and went to the next few, asking similar questions, when a loud cluttering noise signaled the entrance of the rest of the gang.
“Hope you’re all hungry; it’s almost done,” Jack told them.
Keith looked at the door. “I guess I should go find Mick, tell ‘im it’s time to eat.”
“Hang on,” Brian interjected. “I’ve got some playing cards in my room I forgot to bring over here that I want to get. I’ll get Mick, too.”
Keith nodded and turned his attention back to the group.
Andrew was about to do the same when one more photo caught his eye. It was sort of in the back, on the end, and he’d nearly missed it.
“Hey, Jack? Is this you?” He asked, leaning in to get a better look at the kid in the picture. He looked about eight years old, with dark hair. He and another kid, a teenager, were on the beach. Loog’s eyes dropped to the bottom of the photo, which had a crinkled, faded border that used to be white. He could barely read a name that was written there.
“Jacques?” Loog pronounced the name, and Jack laughed.
“My, it sure has been a while since anyone’s called me that. My parents were the only ones that used to call me by my real name.”
Andrew smiled and looked back, squinting at the other person in the photo, a curly haired boy whose name Loog couldn’t make out.
“And who’s this with you?”
Jack’s eyes took on a sentimental shine. He answered Andrew quietly, with a hint of sadness.
“Why, that’s my big brother,” he said smiling more now.
“Louis.”
Thanks for reading, everyone!