Time... His Script is You and Me (A David Bowie Fanfic)

The Gift of Sound and Vision

Uhm so i'm still here somehow idek but like pls take this i do plan on finishing this fic. Anyways happy late birthday to David!! 76!!

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In that moment, I remembered why I held that empty feeling for those two years. I remembered why every day in the present without him felt like it was lacking substance. I remembered why I could finally breathe, locked in David's embrace - a feeling of cosmic connection I could never get with anyone else. Well, literally.

It felt like hours before we were rudely interrupted by shouting from the guard at the nearest tower. Although I couldn't understand a word of it, David certainly did, and we grabbed hands and ran off away from the wall like little kids who had just been caught acting out.

Once we had caught our breaths on a park bench a block over, David wrapped his arm around my shoulder and absent mindedly checked the time on his watch.

"Shit!" He exclaimed, "Sorry, Florence darling, but you know my producer - yeah, Tony - well, I'm meant to have started recording," and he looked down at his watch again, "27 minutes ago."

"Is this the new album?" I asked.

"Yeah it is," He replied, looking over at me when an idea flashed through his eyes, "say, I was thinking - would you like to come in? We're recording in an old ballroom, it's quite neat. Plus..." He moved his arm to circle around my waist, "I don't really feel like giving you up just yet."

"Neither. So, unless you want to be at the other end of a verbal whipping, let's go."

One taxi ride later, David and I were standing outside the massive, ornate building inside the teeming streets of Berlin. It consisted of strong cream stone, and was adorned with six massive pillars outside a vast entryway. Immediately, it struck me as one of the most beautiful buildings I had ever seen. But sight-seeing could wait, as Tony was outside with his foot tapping impatiently, glaring at his watch until he lifted his head to meet us.

"Almost an hour late," He remarked, annoyed, but not without humour.

"There were cars, and traffic. Made from the cars," David responded, trying to make light of the situation.

Tony turned back towards the entrance, flicking his cigarette to the curb, and continued talking, "I would be more mad, but quite frankly, I can't be fucked. And we only have the space rented until five today so get your ass in here. Eno's already-" he stopped in his tracks and flipped around, as if only just registering that David had a lady friend with him, "Wait, who are you?"

Before I could respond, he held a finger to my lips, "Actually, whatever. It's a revolving door around here, apparently. Just don't touch anything."

Meeting David's gaze, he gave me a half-hearted smile and picked up my hand, cradling it with both of his. We followed Tony inside, while he grumbled something about the acoustics.

If I had been struck by the outside appearance of the building, the inside was show-stopping.

Hardwood floors and ceilings that never ended. Pillars of marble and arches and side rooms and canvas on walls. The ballroom, since converted into a recording studio, was nothing but beautiful. The ball floor had sound proofing around the edges, and a small alcove that hid away musical instruments and confusing machines that I could only imagine were for Tony's mixing and producing.

I stopped dead in my tracks, just to stare at the decorated ceiling. All I could utter was, "whoa", as David tugged my hand like an excited puppy, showing me around to all the corners and niches and secret areas (rather than starting recording, much to Tony's disdain).