When I Come Around - 17
Author: timrod
Rating: NC17 overall
Pairing: Billie Joe/other
Disclaimer: I don't own Green Day. Only in my dreams
For Wiccish, who wanted fluff. Enjoy xxx
Part 1 - http://comingclean.livejournal.com/2953785.html#cutid1
Part 2 - http://comingclean.livejournal.com/2954009.html
Part 3 - http://comingclean.livejournal.com/2954629.html
Part 4 - http://comingclean.livejournal.com/2955105.html
Part 5 - http://comingclean.livejournal.com/2956943.html
Part 6 - http://comingclean.livejournal.com/2957718.html
Part 7 - http://comingclean.livejournal.com/2958836.html
Part 8 - http://comingclean.livejournal.com/2960069.html
Part 9a http://comingclean.livejournal.com/2963373.html
Part 9b http://comingclean.livejournal.com/2965012.html
Part 10a http://comingclean.livejournal.com/2966647.html
Part 10 b http://comingclean.livejournal.com/2967602.html
Part 11 - http://comingclean.livejournal.com/2974521.html
Part 12 - http://comingclean.livejournal.com/2975582.html
Part 13 http://comingclean.livejournal.com/2979489.html
Part 14 http://comingclean.livejournal.com/2983504.html
Part 15 http://comingclean.livejournal.com/2994104.html
Part 16 http://comingclean.livejournal.com/3019388.html
Three weeks were left until the tour kicked off, and band practice had been taking place nearly every day since the holiday season ended. Jay fitted into the stage set-up very easily, learning not only the music, but Billie's tricks of the trade, the subtle signals he used to keep his backing musicians in perfect sync with him, however much he changed it up.Sometimes they rehearsed at the studio, other times in the comfort of their own four walls, but always with Jake there to spot any places where more work was needed. This particular Sunday night, he was behind the sound desk in the home studio. He had become a frequent overnight guest in the house that now answering to the name JayBeeJay's place, the two men being virtually inseparable. They worked, slept and played together, and Billie had never been so happy, nor Jay, as far as his still-absent memory let him remember.
The ‘Life Begins ..’ material was working out well. The set list for the shows seemed to put itself together, almost organically, the new songs fitting in naturally with the old favourites that the fans expected, like pieces completing a jigsaw. Mike, professional as ever, picked up the tweaks that Billie always made to live versions, enjoying every minute of a job that felt more like a hobby. In between the finished tracks, Billie experimented with new melodies, feeding off the input from his friends, already crafting and creating the backbone of the next album, but today the main focus had been on Billie’s really early stuff, some of which he hadn’t sung live for getting on for twenty years. With different arrangements and in a voice that had matured with age, they sounded fresh and new even to Jake’s ears, and they lost count of the hours they had been in the studio, with its drawn blinds, artificial light, and a clock which had stopped working long ago. This was, in fact, approaching midnight, and yet nobody so far had the slightest inclination to stop.
Thinking on his feet about the next song to practice, Billie accidentally strummed the opening notes to one of his earliest musical efforts, an obscure album track that deserved to see the light of day again, and that had actually been co-written with Mike. He played a few more bars, and the bassist joined in, Jay a second or so later when he recognised it, and Jake leaned back in his chair, anticipating the ballad’s sweet words that would spill from Billie’s lips after the extended intro. The singer took a deep breath - and totally missed the first note. He apologised with a raised hand, swigged some water and tried a second time. It still sounded like shit, and Jake was both professional, and a good enough friend to get away with telling Billie that fact, as the other two musicians ground to a dissonant, mistimed halt.
“Billie, do you need a break? That sounded fucking awful.”
The guitar was already in its rack, and Billie was draining the bottle. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and nodded, dropping heavily onto one of the studio’s sofas.
“Yeah. Throat feels tight. Think I overdid it. How about you guys?”
Mike grinned, pulling up his pants behind his bass. “I’m still good. I’d kinda like to finish that one. We haven’t done it in ages. Jay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting kinda tired, but I can go with that.
”“We’ll make this the last one, though, okay? Rudy and me got an early meeting tomorrow and then we’ll be getting ready for Thursday. Valentines is always a busy night for us and this year we got two places to worry about.”
Jay shrugged and nodded, not having a clue about the significance of Thursday. Now that the tour was getting closer, individual days didn’t much matter. Time was marked by how overdue for the laundry the sheets were getting, or how empty the fridge was - in today’s case, very, as was borne out by the pizza boxes strewn over the studio floor. They waited patiently whilst Jake found a recording of Billie’s part, before giving it their best shot.
Their best shot was damn-near perfect. Jake was grinning like an idiot as the song finished, and he looked to Billie for his response. His smile faded, and he tried to stand, but before he could disentangle himself from headphone lead and the chair that his legs were coiled around, Mike had abandoned his bass and was kneeling next to where Billie was now half-lying, shivering despite being wrapped in the sofa’s fleecy leopard print throw, and with his eyes closed, although obviously not asleep.
“Well, whaddya think of that? Can we put it in the set?”
The singer nodded and gave a brief and inappropriately unenthusiastic thumbs-up in the direction of Mike’s voice. “Yeah. Whatever.”
Jake arrived on the scene, worried by his friend’s lack of interest in something that he was usually passionate about. “Are you okay, Bill? Is your throat bad?”
The croaky answer backed up Billie’s confirmation. “Feels shit, got a headache coming on, and when did it get so fucking cold in here? Did someone open a window or something?”
“It’s like a fucking furnace. There’s no window open, though fuck knows we could do with one. It’s not just me, is it Mike?”
“No, it is hot in here, but ...” Mike pressed the back of his hand to Billie’s forehead, then felt around his neck and hummed quietly. “Uh, Billie .... did you get your ‘flu shot this year?”
The singer opened one eye, giving the most suspicious glare imaginable. “No. Forgot. No time.” He broke off to cough into the throw, ending with a loud profanity. “Aaaw, fuck. You think ...?”
“Yeah, I do. Jake? He’s burning up. Sudden fever, headache - it looks like ‘flu to me. ”
“Sounds like it could be. Crap.”
“Fuck, Billie, you choose your moments. The tour’s so close, and the ‘flu strain this year is an evil son of a bitch.”
“Did you get it? I don’t remember you being sick.”
“Not me, Jake, I get my shot every year, have to for my insurance because of my ‘high risk lifestyle ‘. ”
“Ah, the gay thing, right?”
“Right. No, I’ve escaped it but I’ve had a dozen, maybe more of my staff go down with it. One of the downsides of working with the public. They bring all their fucking bugs into therestaurant and pass them around. Did you get yours? You don’t want to get too close if you didn’t, trust me.”
“Yeah, never miss it. Getting the ‘flu is not my favourite way to spend a week.”
“Wise man.” Mike dug out two bottles from the case by the sound desk, threw one to Jay, still sitting at the drum kit, and opened the other for Billie. “Here, drink, it helps.”
Billie downed a little of the cool liquid and swore again, both in frustration and at the pain of swallowing.
“Shit. What’s our schedule, Jake?”
“Nothing this week except for band practice, but interviews, signings, all the usual pre-tour Mickey Mouse stuff from Wednesday next week, leaving for the first show the Sunday after. Remember, you wanted nothing until after your birthday. If you look after yourself, we can make it.”
“Look after myself - as in ....?”
Mike took over again, an expert after sending so many employees home. “Bed. Rest, lots of it, plenty of fluids, meds to bring down the fever, plus more if you got an infection in that throat. You’re gonna feel like shit for five, six days at least. I’ve had some staff out for two weeks with this, and they still look like fucking death when they come back to work. What's his doctor called, Jake? I already looked under the obvious."
Two green eyes opened this time, to see Mike scrolling through the contacts on his cell. The voice came out a little louder than was comfortable. “No, no doctor. And bed? Really? I’m fine here.”
“Yes, doctor. Bill, you’re a singer. Your voice is shot, and that’s kinda important just before a tour. And I want to hear a professional opinion - if only to let me sleep easy tonight. He's under Acula, Mike. His little idea of a joke."
Billie started to give up the fight, although he snatched back his cell before his friend could find the number and make the connection. The sofa was beginning to feel a little lumpy in places anyway, and their room had to warmer than down here. “Okay, bed, but no doctor. I probably got some Advil in my bathroom, shit for my throat, too. Jay’s here if I need anything else. I’ll get him to call you both in the morning to prove I’m still alive.” He swung his legs over the edge of the sofa’s cushion, and hauled himself upright with the throw still cocooning him - only to lurch into Jake’s arms a second later with another in his repertoire of expletives.
“Fuck. Headrush.”
“It’s okay, I’ve got you. Mike, can you get the door, please? I’ll take him up.”
The little procession traipsed through the house, Jake with a slightly less reluctant Billie leaning hard against him, Mike dodging in front to clear the way, until they reached the foot of the staircase. Billie looked at the daunting obstacle ahead and groaned in despair as another chill ran through him, and the last atoms of his energy trickled away like the sweat beads breaking out on his brow. Jake sighed resignedly, and heaved the dejected bundle onto his shoulder, carrying him up the stairs to the master suite, as he had done a dozen times before after a booze-soaked night.
Mike, ahead once more to open the door to the inner sanctum of the bedroom, took one look at the wreck of a bed and quickly set to work on making it habitable, Jake waiting patiently with his burden that seemed to get heavier and hotter by the second. Soon, the bottom sheet was straightened and tucked in tight, the crunchy Kleenex removed from the patchy black silk and consigned to the overflowing trash bin. Mike then piled the pillows back at the headboard end of the bed. Billie gave him a weak, apologetic smile.
“Sorry. You know how it is.”
“Yeah, I know, and it’s great, but shit, what a fucking mess. Here, you can put him down now.”
Jake placed Billie close to the centre of the bed, unwrapping him from the throw and removing his shoes in one quick move. Although the initial contact with the sheet was cold, and despite the fact that he had been so adamant about not wanting to go to bed at all, Billie let out a long sigh as the mattress took the weight from his limbs. Everything suddenly caught up with him - the fever, the fuzzy head and the pains in his joints, the complete exhaustion and the throat that felt like it had been seared by a flame-thrower. He started to roll into his customary foetal position, grabbing the corner of the quilt, intent on snuggling under it to sleep through to the other side of this inconvenience, but Jake stopped him before he could muster even half of the energy he needed.
“Uh- uh, not so fast, my friend. You need those meds, and I gotta get your pants off.”
Billie snorted gently. “Smooth, but I feel like shit, you’re not my type, and I already got .... Jay ... where’s Jay?”
“I’m on it.” Mike threw one of Billie’s sweatsuits onto the bed and headed for the door. “I’m sure he was with us when we left the studio. I’ll go round him up.”
“Thanks, man. Now, lift up a bit so I can get these off, Bill.” Jake peeled skinny jeans from skinny legs and tried not to look at what he uncovered, but it was too late. “Jesus, Billie. Can’t you afford underwear these days? And since when have you been shaving your junk?”
“Two years. Since Carrie insisted. You’ve been single too long, Jakey.”
“Yeah, well, if being in a relationship involves a razor near my balls, I’m happy staying single, thanks. Can you ....?”
“Yeah, sure.” Billie tucked himself into stretchy, comfortable jersey to save Jake any further embarrassment. The two of them together wrestled him out of his clinging t-shirt and into the matching grey top, although it was a rather one-sided effort, before Billie sank gratefully into the mattress once more. Jake disappeared into the bathroom for what turned out to be a fruitless search for any sort of medication. Instead, he found a vast array of hair and shaving products, and a surprisingly wide choice of unsubtly named brands of lube. Anxious and eager to find something - anything - that would help, he dampened a washcloth and returned to his friend’s bedside. Billie shivered at the cold shock to his burning forehead, but he whispered a broken ‘thank you’ anyway.
“Y’know, Billie, there was a time when I thought I was your type.”
“Huh? I know I kissed you, but I kiss everyone when I’m drunk.”
“I’m talking about years ago, when I told you about my wedding. You changed overnight, avoided being alone with me for weeks. I was fucking convinced you were going to declare your undying love for me.”
Billie let the tiniest, gruffest giggle escape, at last managing to roll onto his side, where he could get a view of the door that Jay would be coming through at any moment. He now sounded very hoarse, his sentences clipped to save what little voice he had left. “Not you. Amanda. It was hard.”
“For real? Fuck, Billie, I never knew you felt like that about her. Shit.”
“Her neither. Fuck, where is he?”
Jake tucked in the bedclothes until all that was visible was a thatch of black hair and a pair of watery, half-closed eyes. “I think that’s them now. Yeah, it’s .... oh, shit.” Mike had appeared in the doorway, repeating recent history with a very sorry looking drummer in his arms, his pale shirt stained with sweat, and clutching the water bottle like it was his only friend in the world. “Looks like you got company, Billie. Put him down, Mike, I’ll go find something more comfortable for him to wear, too.”
Mike prised the bottle out of Jay’s grip, and unbuttoned his shirt, using the fabric to blot a little of the sweat from his skin before he was eased into the nearest thing to a set of pyjamas that either of them owned. Billie watched in silence, reading the distress in his lover’s face as he was dressed like some life-sized rag doll, as uncooperative and awkward as he had been a few minutes earlier. When the job was finally finished, Jay struggled onto his side and reached for Billie’s hand under the covers that Jake pulled tightly, this time over two bodies.
Mike explained as he bundled up Jay’s soaked clothes to join Billie’s in the laundry pile. “I found him in the kitchen. He took a bit of convincing to come to bed, too. Just what we need - one more stubborn bastard in our lives.”
“I guess we should have expected this. These two probably share the same toothbrush.”
“Amongst other things, yeah. So what happens tonight? Jay’s not going to be any fucking use as a nursemaid now.”
“I can stay a night or five, no problem. I got nowhere to be. You go home, Mike. You said you’re gonna be busy with your day job, and as for me, well ... Billie sorta IS my day job.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, it’ll be fine. I got some stuff in the room across the hall from when I stayed over last week. I’ll sleep in here tonight, if you can help me bring in one of the couches, I can stay close in case they need anything. I never found any meds, though. They should be taking something to bring the fever down, and Billie really needs something for that throat. The tour’s too close for comfort.”
“D’ya want me to go find some? The 24 hour gas station a coupla blocks down will carry a few basic meds, I’d bet.”
Before Jake could answer, a small voice came from under the covers, barely recognisable as Billie’s. The words were indistinguishable, and Mike moved in closer.
“Sorry, bud, I didn’t catch that.”
Billie’s face conveyed the meaning perfectly. He’d felt bad enough before, but now with the added concern for his lover, he was not going to suffer in silence any longer. “No gas station. Doctor.”