Fic: Not a Pretty Girl - Back on the Throne (Girl!Bob) PG
Image by Itsy
Title: Not a Pretty Girl - Back on the Throne
Fandom: Bandom: MCR
Characters: Girl!Bob, My Chem
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1124
Summary: Three songs in Mikey whispers, "I'm glad you're back."
*
After soundcheck for the first Southeast Asia show, Brian catches Bob on her way back to the dressing room after she does one last check of her kit.
"There you are." Bob stops next to him and lifts a brow. Brian shrugs. "Just--you weren't in with the others. I was wondering where you got off to."
Bob points down the hall behind her, in the general direction of the stage. "I was making sure I was good to go."
Brian nods, absently, and seems to be watching her closely. "And are you?"
"Yeah, the techs--" Bob stops and frowns. "Wait, are you asking about my kit, or something else?"
"Both."
Bob rolls her eyes and hooks an arm through one of Brian's. They start walking to the dressing room where the others are waiting. "My kit's fine and so am I," she says. Brian glances down at the black brace on her wrist pointedly. Bob hip checks him against a wall, then reels him back in. "Really, Mom, I'm okay."
Brian gives her a disgruntled look and then trips her, the bastard.
When they get to the dressing room, Brian gives her another evaluating look. "You nervous?"
She shakes her head and opens the door. "Nope."
Inside, Frank is bouncing a rubber ball against one of the walls, catching it neatly each time before throwing it again. Gerard and Ray are talking in the corner, and Mikey has one of his iPod's earbuds in and is drumming his fingers against his thigh.
They all look up when Bob and Brian come in.
"You're supposed to have a compress on," Mikey says to her immediately.
When Bob told the guys she was cleared to come back on tour and play again, they apparently had a meeting or something, because Frank called her later. "We're going to make sure you do everything the doctors say. I mean it, Bob, we're going to be in your face, and we don't give a shit if it pisses you off."
It does, but Bob's been trying her best not to chafe at the nagging. Mostly she's been succeeding.
She holds up her hand and shows Mikey the heat compress tucked under her brace. "It's on."
They brought on a new tech, too, someone who can cover for Bob if she has to sit out for a night along the way. When Brian told her that, Bob started to pitch a fit, but Brian wasn't having any of it. "Everyone else has someone who can fill in, and now you do, too. So shut the fuck up and deal with it."
Bob has, sort of. She's not sure she has it in her to voluntarily sit out a show, but given how closely everyone's planning on watching her, she thinks the decision will be out of her hands. Which…makes it easier to stomach, in a way.
"Okay, so, ice immediately after you get off stage," Gerard says. He's looking at the list of instructions from Bob's doctors, which he copied and laminated. "Or, well, not ice, but a cold pack. Where's--"
"It's in the fridge already," Ray says. "Should be ready for her when we're done."
Bob's lips twitch and she sits down next to Mikey, who offers her the free earbud. She takes it and they huddle up with their heads tipped together, listening to one of Mikey's Morrissey playlists.
Three songs in Mikey whispers, "I'm glad you're back."
Bob turns her head slightly and smiles against his cheek. "Yeah, me too."
The long-term prognosis is still iffy. Bob's doctors were very clear about that. She could manage to drum for another ten years, or she might have to throw in the towel in six months. Bob's finally managed to reach a state of Zen about the uncertainty of it all. She'll go for as long as she can, bang her fucking heart out on stage for as many shows as she's able, and when she can't anymore...
Well, it won't be the end of the world. It might feel like it, probably for a while, but it won't be. She has more options than she knows what to do with. She could go back into sound, or manage tours, or take Brian up on the offer he made to bring her into band management with him.
Twenty minutes before show time, Frank taps her on the shoulder and gestures for her hand. Bob sighs but holds it out and lets Frank remove the brace and heating pad. "Move it around."
Beside her, Mikey sits up a little straighter to peer at her hand. The others, she notices, have crept closer and aren't even trying to be casual about their nosiness. Bob rotates her wrist in careful circles, testing her range of motion just like her doctors told her to.
Frank flashes her a grin and gives her a thumbs up. "Awesome."
Gerard consults his laminated list again. Bob imagines that very soon she's going to have dreams about taking a pair of scissors to the damn thing. "Stretches. It says ten of the--"
"I know, I got it," Bob assures him. She's not going to sound so patient a week from now, but tonight she doesn't mind it so much.
Gerard watches her do each set of exercises, his lips moving as he counts under his breath to make sure she's doing what she's supposed to. Frank catches her eye and smirks.
*
Before they go on stage, Brian presses his forehead to hers. "Go show 'em how it's done."
Bob flicks the brim of Brian's hat, winks at him, and then follows her band on stage.
After the first song, Gerard announces her return to the audience, by screaming, "And back where she belongs, the demon on the motherfucking throne, Bob Bryar."
Bob laughs and keeps the beat.
*
Back in the dressing room after the show, they whoop it up until Gerard starts waving his laminated list around. Bob slides down from her piggyback perch on Ray's back and gives Gerard a smacking kiss on the cheek before getting the cold pack from the mini-fridge.
They're still giddy on their way to the van that will take them back to the hotel, and they stop for a group of excited kids who hold out CDs and pictures for them to sign.
One of them, a girl, shyly offers Bob a copy of Spin with Bob's first solo article in it. She tells Bob, in halting English, that she's saving up for a drum set of her own. Bob poses for several photos with her, then autographs the magazine for her and writes, clumsy and awkward because of the brace, "Don't give up."
.End
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