Foo Fighters One Shots

Busy (Dave)

For one of my faves that didn't want to be named, but asked for this true story snippet to be elaborated on. If you know, you know. Hope you like it, darling.

*1997*

Ding.

Ding.

Ding.

She watched the elevator numbers ascend, wondering if she had ever been in a building that tall before until the car lurched to a stop. The doors slid open and a tall, red-headed woman in an expensive grey pantsuit was waiting, greeting her by name with a terse handshake.

"He won't answer any questions and he won't discuss the album. That's the journalist's job, not the photographer's..." The woman went through her spiel as she led the way to the penthouse suite.

No shit, lady, she thought. I'm only here to push a button on my camera a couple times and then I'm getting the fuck out of your precious way.

Her hand rested on her camera bag, slipping inside to run her fingers over the etched label above the lens. She had finally earned enough cash to buy her dream camera but had yet to use it on a job. She had only bought it that morning, waiting outside for the shop to open and taking an hour to familiarize herself with it in Central Park before she was due at the hotel to photograph some rock star. But she couldn't wait to take it back to her little studio she was renting and make some actual art with it.

"This is him," the woman muttered. "Again, no questions."

Feeling particularly bratty, she saluted the woman, clicked her heels and mimed zipping her lips before stepping into the brightly lit suite. It smelled like cigarettes, coffee, and linen; that hotel room scent that she was used to after having so many jobs for a prominent music magazine and learning to navigate the minefield that was a rock star's temporary hideaway.

The little hallway beyond the door led into a large room with several antique-looking pieces of furniture featuring a baby grand piano situated in the corner. There were also two men, one familiar and the other not. The more unfamiliar of the two was sitting on the couch in front of the massive window facing her and the other, her colleague, in the chair across from him. They were in the midst of their interview, but the darker man, the rock star, acknowledged her existence by giving her a nod.

Her attention was taken once again by the woman in the pantsuit as she stalked by and closed herself off in what was probably a bedroom without another word. Rock star's got a girlfriend for a manager, she thought with a smirk and quietly lifted her camera bag from her shoulder. Setting it on a dark wood table to remove the camera and extra cans of film, she went about preparing herself for the shoot. The extra film went in the pocket of her flannel shirt so she could quickly change rolls without interrupting the flow of her work. Someday, she had always told herself, she would be so successful that she would have several cameras at the ready to avoid the process altogether. Once her equipment was ready, she began to evaluate the room and her subject.

There was plenty of natural light and the position of the shadows was almost ideal. Her subject was dark; dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes and judging from the look on his face, dark mood. Great. She began to eavesdrop on the conversation while pretending to be interested in an oil painting hung on the wall beside her.

"And the single out now is rumored to be about your girlfriend, Louise Post. Want to clear any of that up right now?"

His dark eyes narrowed as he took a drag off his cigarette. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"Right, let's talk about the band, then. How does this differ from the powerhouse that was Nirvana?"

She felt her shoulders slump forward in frustration. Right, the drummer. He looked vastly different than back then, which was really only three or four years but felt like a lifetime. She didn't know much about the man on the couch, but she knew he was probably sick to death of talking about his past, and who wouldn't be when everyone wanted to drag out the ghosts.