Becoming

Where Eagles Dare

"You're sure you're good for the rest of the tour, Dave?" Rod asked as they piled into the airport shuttle.

"Yeah, I'm good," Dave told the manager. "Tamar and I talked about it, and as long as she's in hospital with casts on, there's literally nothing I can do except sit 'round in her room in between the nurses shooing me out so they can do something or other for her. She's doing much better, and she's the one who told me flat out to finish the tour."

"All right, if you're sure," Rod said with a nod.

They made their way through security and eventually onto their plane, where they all attempted to sleep, knowing there would be a lot of jet lag to account for when they laned in Maine. The crew and gear had gone on ahead, so when they landed, they climbed aboard the bus and headed straight to the hotel to check in, then once they'd stowed their bags in their rooms, they proceeded to the venue for soundcheck, a signing session, a few interviews, and a light meal before getting a couple of hours to relax before the show started.

Dave took the opportunity to call Tamar before the show, and Ade called Nathalie. They made their way back to their dressing room from the bank of pay phones together after making their calls and sighed when they heard raised voices within.

"We haven't even played a bloody show yet, and Bruce and Harry are already getting into it," Ade grumbled. "I'll not deny Bruce is a fucking twat about some things, but Harry don't exactly help any by his habit of barking orders instead of asking politely. Or even just asking, full stop."

"Yeah," Dave sighed. "So, separate them? If we can, of course."

Ade sighed as well. "S'pose we oughtta, don't need 'em throwing fists before the show. Wonder where Nicko is, I'd have hoped he'd try to keep 'em apart."

"Yeah, but they're stubborn sods, and he might not've been able to do it alone," Dave pointed out. "Or maybe he's in the loo, who knows?"

Ade chuckled and they walked into the dressing room. "Not exactly the warm-up vocal exercises I expected to hear," he said, looking at the two men arguing.

"Well, if Bruce would bloody well listen once in a while," Steve started.

"And if Harry would pay attention when anyone other than himself talks," Bruce interrupted.

"We don't care," Dave said flatly. "What we don't need, is reports of infighting to get out, as next thing will bloody well happen is rumours go 'round that we're breaking up. We got six fucking weeks left of this tour... Bruce, I get you're exhausted, probably more'n the rest of us, cos your body is your instrument. Steve, I get that you wrote a good three quarters of the set list, and you know how you want 'em all to sound – nothing wrong with that for the most part."

"But you both need to stop arguing loud enough to be heard halfway to the fucking stage," Ade told them.

"What if there's a reporter lurking about next time you two get into it?" Dave continued. "We all know the bloody media loves to blow everything out of proportion, and you two got a habit of sounding like you're about to kill one another even if you're just bloody well debating pizza toppings."

Steve grimaced but conceded the point. "Fine. I ain't backing down on what I said, mind," he said with a glare in Bruce's direction, "but I'll keep my thoughts to myself whilst we're in a public place. Davey's right we don't need a reporter hearing it." He exited the dressing room, heading towards the techs' area and grabbing his bass. Slinging the strap over his head, he started to go through some fingering exercises.

Dave followed and grabbed his own guitar, letting Steve work out some of his frustration before saying anything. Quick to pick up on the bassist's mood, he waited until Steve switched from exercises to playing Rime of the Ancient Mariner, he took the plunge. "Sorry if I spoke out of turn there, Harry," he said softly.