It is a true testament to the potency of her nerves that she is currently emptying the contents of her stomach into a public wastebasket, as opposed to the toilet. She'd tried, for what it's worth—having known that this embarrassing display was coming. She'd paced the cracked bathroom tiles for nearly forty minutes, up until the point when her bandmates came pounding on the door, hooting and hollering—already indecently inebriated. Attempting to salvage her dignity, she'd taken one last deep breath, puffed out her chest, and practically kicked the door open on both their faces, eliciting a fit of giggles.

Sarah and Felix – her touring drummer and bassist, respectively – had ribbed her about her nerves for a couple minutes before running off to check on their equipment. The preceding act's set would be over in twenty minutes, and there wouldn't be much time for them to switch out their gear and hit the stage. Lucky for the two of them, there wasn't, like, tons of pressure to perform perfectly. Not as Cosima imagined there was for herself.

Of course, her imaginings were pretty accurate. After the last EP had been endorsed by both SPIN and Pitchfork, a lot of buzz had been generated around the LP. It had been overwhelming, to a degree. Everything she'd produced had been done autonomously. She'd recorded everything inside of a storage unit, and cut the album on her MacBook. It wasn't ideal, but she was resourceful. More importantly, she was in control.

Being interviewed by blogs and magazines was a nerve-wracking experience, but most were conducted over the phone or via skype. That was easier than dealing with people face-to-face. Things didn't really start to feel especially nauseating until the small clubs she'd booked started selling out, and she'd had to move on to bigger venues.

She'd thought she'd gotten in some good practice these last couple of months, managing bigger crowds. It wasn't until she stepped out on the stage that first morning of the festival, before the music began, when all the equipment was blanketed in tarpaulins and the festival-goers were still passed out in their tents, exhausted from a night of heavy drinking and wild trips, that she realized the scope of what she'd be dealing with.

There's a literal sea of people outside right now, chanting, screaming, singing along to the music, and in fifteen minutes, she'll be standing before them, performing. If every major music magazine in the country weren't standing out there, too, in addition to about five of her personal all-time favorite bands, it might not be so bad. As it is, she feels like maybe she shouldn't have left that damn storage unit.

That thought alone is enough to make her retch again.

Once she feels confident there's nothing left to expel, she stands up shakily, and wipes her mouth on her sleeve. Still, there's a sheen of sweat on her brow. Removing her glasses, she wipes that same sleeve over her forehead, muttering under her breath.

"You're a mess Niehaus." She takes a deep breath, and considers talking herself down. "But, you're going to do fine. Probably. If you manage not to royally—" Suddenly, she's hunched over the trashcan once again, heaving through another wave of nausea.

"Oh my god," she groans—to herself, she thinks. But before she even has a chance to wipe the vomit from her lower lip, there is a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Hey." She jumps at the contact, turning around with wide eyes. The tall blonde woman who stares back at her wears an expression that is equal parts amusement and pity. Perhaps a bit of familiarity, too, for this particular brand of nervousness.

"Uhm, h—" Her throat burns, raw and raspy from the bile, and she finds she has a hard time speaking. "Hi. Sorry about the, uh," she glances back at the trashcan, nose wrinkling in distaste. How utterly embarrassing. She doesn't suppose this is the behavior of an indie darling.

The woman, to her credit, seems unfazed by the smell and the sight. She only chuckles at the mess, lightly, and offers Cosima a napkin.

"Don't worry about it. Here, I grabbed this from the snack table." Almost instantly, she picks up on the French lilt in the woman's voice. As far as she knows, the only foreign bands that were booked were a couple of Brit-rockers and a Swedish electro band. Maybe she's press? Oh, God. What if she is? How would this look?

Really, she'd thought acclaimed musicianship would involve far less mortification. It's fast becoming obvious how wrong she was.

Still, she sports a brave face – a beaming, gracious smile – when she accepts the napkin. She is grateful. Her own bandmates, her supposed best friends, have thus far only served to make her feel like a hysterical dork.

"Thanks." The woman nods, hums, but says nothing more. She only watches Cosima for a moment, smiling softly, as she wipes her mouth. It is unnerving, to be honest. She can feel herself being appraised. "I'm not usually this, uh…" She doesn't mean to be crass, but this woman is French, and perhaps with the press, and still staring as if she is evaluating her, and, damn, actually quite attractive; and so she still manages to make a fake retching sound and explain, "you know, Exorcist-like before shows. But, the crowd…" The heat instantly rushes to her face.

Nevertheless, the woman smirks, an inquisitive gleam in her eye. "You haven't played a festival this big before?"

"No, no." Cosima swallows thickly. She had hoped her inexperience would not be so obvious. The woman doesn't seem to be teasing her though. She just seems curious. "Actually, I've never played a festival before. Period."

"No?"

"No. Two weeks ago I played for a crowd of about 2,000. That's been my biggest so far." The woman smiles at that. Then, as if a sudden thought has occurred to her, she narrows her eyes.

"Oh. I think I know who you are."

"Do you?" That thought makes Cosima particularly nervous.

"Yes… I'm afraid I only know you by your stage name though. Nautilus?"

"Yeah! Yeah, that's me." She feels momentarily giddy that this kind (if not somewhat intense) French woman knows who she is; but then the butterflies set in once again. She tries to shake them off, thrusting her hand forward. "I'm Cosima."

"Cosima," the woman repeats, the syllables rolling off of her tongue in a lovely triptych. She can only nod, smiling. She wouldn't mind hearing this woman say her name again. "A friend sent me your EP recently. Your music—it's very good."

"Thank you." Sometimes the compliments are a bit numbing. She's been very good at music since she was very young – she's used to being told as much. This one is soothing, however. She's not feeling quite so nauseated now.

"Of course. But, you must be hearing that a lot lately. Everyone seems to be talking about you."

"No," Cosima laughs, somewhat awkwardly, and clears her throat. "Not everybody. You get one feature from Pitchfork and suddenly you're all over the blogosphere. But, it's mostly just college kids, I think." The woman snorts slightly.

"Yes, that would be everybody." Cosima smiles. Looking up at the woman, she allows herself to match her scrutinizing gaze, lips pursing in concentration. She gets the feeling that this woman is not a member of the press. In fact, she feels, quite distinctly, that she knows her from somewhere. Maybe she's in a band? She means to ask her, but the second she opens her mouth, she can hear her name being called.

"Cos! Oi, Cosima!" She turns around to see Sarah jogging up to meet her, a tangle of cables slung over her shoulders, and a pair of drumsticks sticking out of each pocket. "You all finished chumming yet?"

Self-consciously, Cosima wipes her mouth with the napkin once more. "Yeah. What's the time?"

Sarah laughs. "You've got maybe five minutes to get your pedal board in order." Cosima's stomach drops.

"Five minutes?"

"Yeah. Five." She fixes Cosima with an expression that screams duh before she notices the woman that stands just behind her. Her head cocks slightly to the left, eyes widening before she shakes her head and looks back at her bandmate. "C'mon, Amadeus. We've gotta get moving." Cosima hates that nickname—Sarah's way of branding her a prodigy. Maybe she should take it as a compliment, but it feels more like a tease.

"Yeah, yeah, okay," She replies hastily, a bit annoyed, and throws the napkin in the trash. Sarah exits for the stage, rolling her eyes. Rubbing the back of her neck, Cosima turns to the woman, motioning towards the stage. "I gotta—"

"Of course," the woman says. "Go. I'm going to go out front and watch."

"Oh," Cosima replies, somewhat dumbly. The nerves return full force. Having no time for them, she shakes her head and takes a couple steps backwards. "Cool. I'll make sure to… really kill it. Seriously. I'll knock your socks off."

The woman smiles. "I don't doubt it."

"Yeah, thanks." Suddenly, Cosima stops. "Hey, wait—"

"My name?"

"Yeah," Cosima grins, laughing a little.

"It's Delphine."

"Cool." She continues backwards. "Thanks for the napkin, Delphine."

"C'mon—another!"

"Yeah, suck it up, Cos! This is a celebration," Sarah insists, while Felix pours another round of bourbon shots.

"I don't know," Cosima groans, brow furrowing. When they'd first attempted to escape back to their van after the set, they'd been intercepted by three different journalists, each waving their VIP lanyards as if it gave them the right to back the talent into a corner and thrust a recorder into their face.

Their performance had been exceptional. Cocky as they were, Felix and Sarah had roared onto the stage, eager and confident. They knew the songs as well as if they'd written them themselves, and knew Cosima even better – they'd backed her flawlessly.

Nervous and shaky, Cosima hadn't been quite so self-assured. As much as she enjoyed talking to people in more intimate settings, addressing an entire audience always threw her off. Under the blinding lights, with a mass of thousands thriving in front of her, she'd stumbled over her words. Her hands had stumbled, too, the first couple of songs, fingers spasming over the frets in a few flubs that made her burn frustratedly about her entire face. But with Sarah and Felix hollering, grinning behind her, and the crowd responding so enthusiastically, she'd easily found her groove. Once she settled in, it had been a cakewalk.

It always astounded her to see people – fans, she supposed – singing along to her music. When they'd finally hit their stride, and she'd felt confident enough to gaze out at the eager faces in the audience, she'd seen them shouting along, grinning like fools. It didn't matter that the majority of them were probably stoned, or drunk. She could hear them, hear her words in their mouths. She'd felt such a thrill in that moment, from her head to her toes, it was almost like she'd been shot up with adrenaline.

Then, she'd glanced down at the VIP pit, smirking, ecstatic, and had seen that same blonde watching her, just as she had promised. Gone from her face was the quiet, cool appraisal. Instead, Delphine was bouncing on her heels, hands raised, singing along. When she noticed Cosima watching her, the brunette crooned into her microphone and winked.

"Just drink," Felix commands, shoving the shot glass into her hand. His left knee rubs against hers while the other rubs Sarah's. Sitting cross-legged in their little circle, surrounded by empty instrument cases and amps, there isn't much room to move. Still, when there's a glass in each of their hands, they throw back their heads and drink, nevertheless.

"God," Cosima hisses, feeling the burn of the liquor tingle in the back of her throat. "That's it. I'm done."

"You only did four!"

"Yeah,four. On top of that fat fucking blunt? I think I'm good."

"Oh, you've done much worse," Felix rebukes, swigging straight from the bottle before passing it to Sarah.

"I don't even like bourbon."

"I'll make sure to pick up a bottle of Cabernet for you next time, Your Highness."

"Shut up," Cosima says, shoving Sarah's shoulder. Her drummer merely grins around the neck of the bottle, swatting her face.

"Cut it—out."

"Oh my god," Felix moans, reaching between the two of them for the door handle. "You're like children." Crawling over their laps, he kicks open the door and falls out onto the grass.

The sun is really starting to set now, the pink-purple twilight melting into the starry California night. While the sun still hovers, a thin, luminescent sliver over the horizon, the moon dangles much larger overhead. Managing to slink out of Sarah's oncoming headlock, Cosima digs her bare toes into the grass and looks up. In spite of her previous nerves, she knows it's been a pretty excellent day. If they can make it to the nearest stage without being trampled, they could have a pretty excellent night, too.

"Who's playing next?"

"At nine," Sarah asks, leaping out of the van half onto Cosima's back, bottle of bourbon in hand. Cosima stumbles, throwing her arm around Sarah's shoulder for balance.

"Sure."

"Like you don't know," Felix laughs, locking up the van. Together they stroll leisurely in the direction of the stage, Felix coming up behind his sister and swiping the bottle from her hand.

"Me?"

"Yes, you," Felix smirks.

"I don't know," Cosima replies, confused.

"Please," Sarah laughs, "everyone's been talking about this one."

It's a big festival. Some of the most currently acclaimed bands in the country are slated to play. The few headliners come to mind, but there's one in particular Cosima suspects.

"In Vitro?"

"Bingo," Felix replies. They've been one of the biggest rock bands in the world for about two years now. It's common knowledge. Honestly, Cosima isn't very familiar with them—has never listened to them much beyond the few songs she's heard on the radio. They're good, she thinks, but they're not quite her bag. Still, they've got some sort of obviously marketable appeal. That, she knows.

"Yeah, Cos," Sarah rushes forward and reclaims the bottle from Felix's grasp, walking steadily backwards as she glances at Cosima with a teasing gleam. "You know, that pit is going to be a swamp. You should've picked us up a couple of VIP passes to that shit-show when you had the chance."

"And when exactly did I have a chance?"

"Uhm, maybe when you were puking on their drummer before our set?"

At that, Cosima stops dead, eyes going wide. Felix merely turns around, eyebrows raised. "Oh, well, that sounds delightful," he quips.

"Holy watershed."

"Wait, you didn't actually puke on her, did you? I was just ribbin' ya with that part."

Cosima groans, palming her forehead. It suddenly makes so much sense now, why she'd thought the woman looked familiar. Even if she's not overly familiar with the band, she's certainly seen them in passing. A lot. On television, YouTube, the cover of Rolling Stone. They even had a few gaudy billboards up in San Fran a couple months back when they'd dropped their latest album. She'd thought it was tacky as hell; of course, she'd also remarked once or twice how much of a babe she thought the drummer was.

"Good god. The drummer. The drummer, guys?"

"Yeah, Cos. The French drummer."

"Ugh," she groans loudly, Felix and Sarah chuckling in front of her. "How did I not—like, I didn't realize who she was! And she was such a babe. She is a babe."

"And you puked on her."

"I didn't puke on her! Just in front of her." Thinking back on how disheveled and gross the entire encounter actually was, she winces. "A lot. Jesus." When she feels her mortification rush back in full force, she bounds forward and takes the bottle right from Sarah's hand, not hesitating in taking a long pull. "Her band—they're huge. She's like a legitimate rock star. My god."

"Oi, Cos. Chill the hell out, won't ya?" Sarah throws her arm around Cosima's shoulder once again, while Felix relieves her of the bottle.

"It wasn't a big deal, Cos. She was nice and everything, wasn't she?"

"Yeah, of course. Super nice. Totally not the point though. Like, I just can't believe I was so oblivious. I mean, she was standing right in front of me, telling me how much she liked my music, and—" Cosima considers this for a moment, those previous compliments seeming much weightier now. "Hey, she likes my music. That's pretty cool."

"She said that, did she," Sarah asks, a note of pride in her voice.

"Well, yeah. And she was—did you see her down in front of the stage? She was pretty into it. She was, like, staring at me and—I winked at her."

"Whoa," Felix and Sarah both jostle her, whistling. Her cheeks heat up, but she grins, too.

"How charismatic of you! See, had she not caught you with your head in the trashcan just moments before the show, I'm sure she would have thought you the picture of confidence."

"Oh, shut up, Fee. She dug it. That's all that matters."

"Yeah, well, how about you remember that next time you start feeling all pukey before a gig?" As they near the edge of the crowd that's growing around the stage, Sarah scoffs. "Will you look at this shite?"

"Yeah, I don't think so," Felix replies, placing his hands on his bandmates' shoulders and steering them in the opposite direction. "Your new biggest fan has got fabulous hair and all, Cos, but I'm not getting stepped on by this crowd to hear her band play radio fodder."

"Well, I mean, we could probably edge around—" Cosima makes an attempt at convincing them, suddenly eager to get another glimpse of Delphine—Delphine Cormier—in the flesh, but Felix and Sarah aren't having it.

"Ahh, don't get all starry-eyed, Amadeus. She likes your music—so what? You don't even like hers."

"That's not exactly true—"

"It is," Sarah corrects her.

"If you're looking for groupies, darling, we shouldn't have any trouble finding you some away from the drunken horde."

"Okay, okay," she relents, as her bandmates push her away from the audience. Even knowing the stage is empty, she still glances back at it over her shoulder one last time, muttering, "But what if I could have a hella famous groupie?"

It is truly astounding, Cosima thinks, how easily her life can slip and slide back into that old banality.

She had played at North America's most renowned music festival, and she had owned it. Seriously. She hadn't been a headlining act – not by a long, long shot – but she had done a surprisingly adept job of resembling one. The attending journalists had had a field day with her after her performance. The press had pretty much unanimously agreed that she'd been the breakout act.

She'd deserved a celebration, and with the encouragement of Sarah and Felix, she'd had one. The final day of the festival was a total blur to her, in fact. The two days following that it had taken for her to recuperate were proof of just how thoroughly she'd enjoyed herself.

Of course, things had settled down jarringly quick from that point. The festival had marked the end of their most extensive tour to date (which, by professional standards, was still rather limited). After, Cosima had planned an indeterminate amount of downtime. Not six months since she'd written and recorded that first short LP, and she was already hoping to begin writing the next. She liked to move fast, and the hype surrounding her festival performance left her hopeful the opportunities would be falling into her lap. Unfortunately, aside from several interview inquiries and a hell of a lot of internet exposure, things had been quiet.

A month later, and she's back to sleeping on the couch in Felix's loft, subsiding on generic Lucky Charms and cheap weed, arrested by a painfully rigid case of writer's block. The stagnancy of it all depresses her. Most days, she can't help but sleep until two or three in the afternoon.

She's just about resigned herself to the lack of opportunity, to the disappointment of playing another dive, when she awakes to the sound of her cell phone ringing off the edge of the coffee table.

She's disoriented, to say the least. Judging by the length of the light streaming in through the window, it's not even noon yet. Her face is crusted with drool as she reaches blindly for the phone, her glasses nowhere to be found. When she grabs hold of it, she answers without thinking, rasping a barely intelligible greeting.

"Uhm—hello."

"Good morning," the man on the other line chuckles brightly. "Might I be speaking with Ms. Cosima Niehaus?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah." Groping at the floor, Cosima snatches up her glasses and shoves them clumsily on her face. "That would be me."

"Terrific. I hope I didn't wake you."

"No. Almost noon, right? No way."

The man chuckles again. "Actually, it ought to be about nine o'clock your time." Well, I guess that was a dead giveaway, she thinks. "No matter. Ms. Niehaus, my name is Aldous Leekie. I'm the manager for In Vitro."

At that, Cosima sits up. "What?"

"In Vitro. I'm sure you've heard of them. As a matter of fact, I know you have. Delphine spoke very highly of you after your meeting."

"Oh… did she?"

"Certainly. She found you to be quite… humble. And she loved your performance that afternoon."

"Well, that's—" She's running her hand through her dreads, suddenly feeling very far from exhaustion, and very unsure of how to respond. "—great. I unfortunately didn't get to see hers. Only heard it from a distance."

"Oh, that's a shame."

"Yeah, totes—I mean, definitely. Would've loved to see them." The statement is partially disingenuous. She's not sure she would've cared to hear In Vitro's music live. That night, she was far more concerned with eyeing their drummer.

"Well, the reason that I am calling may very well remedy that missed opportunity."

"Oh… what would that be?"

"I'm not sure if you're aware, Ms.—"

"Cosima." She corrects. Her heart is beginning to race slightly. She has no idea what this call may be about, but she feels certain that if the manager of a super famous rock band calls your cell phone on a Monday morning, you can expect good news.

"Cosima. I'm not sure if you're aware, but In Vitro will be heading on tour early next month to promote their latest album."

"Yeah… I may have heard about that."

"Excellent, then promotion have been doing their job." He chuckles again. "Now, the reason I'm calling you is, the group is in need of an opening act on tour—" The words "opening act" set her heart to hammering in chest. "—and Delphine seems to have been so impressed by your performance that she recommended Nautilus for the job." Leekie pauses for a moment, allowing Cosima room to respond. However, she is simultaneously too shocked and too thrilled to say anything. "Do you think that would be something that would interest you?

AN: Hi, again! I've been dying to do an AU to help get me through hiatus, so... here we are. It's a rock band AU, so less angst than the last couple stories I've written, but I can't promise it won't pop up.

As far as posting goes, I'm going to try and keep the schedule pretty regular. I've written a few chapters ahead at this point, but I'd still like to keep it to a weekly basis. I'm also working on a book currently (in addition to school and work), so I don't want to overextend.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! (Also, if you recognize the title-high five!)