Woo-hoo for sunshine - and another chapter!
Natureliesbeneath, thank you for your review - that was so generous(!), and I loved hearing your reactions to Jughead's fall (things are getting pretty brutal, I agree!), and I love your analysis of how Archie is trying to help - and the wolfpack is having trouble trying to help and keep their distance at the same time, without information. You are also right that Sarah knew a lot of information (this chapter should clarify some of that), but I think she's wrestling with seeing facts on paper that could be read as the extremes of 'purely evil criminal' or 'guy who maybe had extenuating circumstances she doesn't know about and maybe just did what he had to do.' Either version would bother Brand immensely, I think. :-D
LeafGreene01, thank you for your review as well! That would be quite the ending for the series. Sorry for the scare! I am also loving that Dax is right on the knife's edge for everyone - that is completely him so far, and I'm curious to see where that leads. I appreciated Wilson as well (we maybe need more Wilson!), and I agree about Brand and Dax. You said it perfectly that they are so similar yet fundamentally different. I hope you enjoy this chapter as well!
Enjoy!
-Button
00000
"I just want to make sure you're clear on the fact that you've got a long-term place on the team if you want one." Dax lifted one shoulder – awfully casually, Jughead thought, considering the implications of his words. "I won't leave you high and dry after this tour. And, for what it's worth, I don't know how many similar offers you'll get. You don't exactly look the part; it's not everyone who'll recognize your value."
Jughead wasn't sure what facial expression was most appropriate in response to that, particularly as he was distracted by fighting back a pounding headache, but he was immensely grateful that they were walking to a meeting with venue security so that he could face forward instead of looking at the man.
Dax hadn't left his side since his fall in the climbing gym, and gradually their conversation had become increasingly one-sided – and at this point, it was turning into some kind of twisted career counseling session.
Moreover, Dax obviously didn't realize that telling someone that they probably don't have other options was… less than complimentary.
Something from Jughead's previous conversation with Kiara echoed in his mind, too: what value did Dax actually recognize in Jughead? He'd been doing his utmost to seem mediocre, the whole "willing to chase down a gunman" thing notwithstanding.
Maybe Dax just took an active interest in anyone he perceived as an underdog, Jughead considered.
"You have to understand that working for a man like Davies is dangerous. Sooner or later he'll get you hurt, maybe even killed." Dax looked altogether too serious. "You're tough, but he's your boss, and I can see that he's the type who gets careless with their resources. Sloppy. Then when things go wrong, and eventually they always do, it all falls onto the guys following orders."
Dax turned his head to look pointedly at Jughead. "I don't want that to happen to you."
Jughead frowned; that seemed like the right reaction, and it had the benefit of being his honest reaction to hearing Brand describe as 'careless with resources.' This conversation was not demonstrating a whole lot of great insight on Dax's part.
It wasn't entirely unwelcome concern, though. Once again, Jughead wondered how things might have played out had he gotten to know Dax in Toronto instead of now, on tour.
"When things hit the fan, you need the right kind of people around you." Dax was staring into the middle distance, presumably visualizing Jughead's future diverging like two roads in a yellow wood. "People who've got your back. Ones who understand loyalty."
Jughead hid a smirk and when his skull seemed to throb, he was grateful once again that he didn't need to face the man. Or reply.
Dax glanced over at Jughead again. "Think about it. I'm not going anywhere, and this isn't some kind of exploding offer."
Hopefully his smirk was well and truly hidden. Jughead nodded and managed a choked-off grunt that ideally would serve as acknowledgment of the man's speech.
It sounded shockingly like FP.
They walked on in silence after that, thankfully; Jughead was trying desperately to think of sobering topics that could squelch the laughter bursting to get out. Maybe he was overtired – well, okay, he was definitely overtired – but for some reason the whole situation was striking him as hilarious.
Maybe that was a symptom of a mild head injury. Or maybe that was just part of undercover work: not laughing when someone bought a cover story hook, line, and sinker.
00000
"I need to go. FP will be here any minute." Sarah seemed distracted and possibly slightly embarrassed.
Well, that made two of them.
"I don't need to be babysat." Brand gave Sarah a wry smile.
"Until you level with me, I feel the need to assume that there is danger to you personally that you're not sharing with me." Sarah's expression was smooth enough to seem a little too innocent; it was completely possible she was trying to get Brand's goat. And, dang it all, it was working. "I know for a fact that if anything was going on with Jughead or even FP, you'd tell me details."
"Because I'm just so self-sacrific-,"
"Davies. Give me some credit." This time Sarah sounded sincerely irritated, so Brand decided to give her that one.
And it was partly true: he wouldn't lie to Sarah if that meant putting someone else into danger.
However, the assumption she was making that there must be some form of danger and, ergo, it must be to Brand personally – well, it sounded a little too close to the claims she'd made about reinterpreting Brand's on-paper misdeeds as having involved some version of a 'heart of gold.'
As if.
Brand still thought with a shudder about the times he'd given serious weight to the option of putting a bullet into the kid's head.
He hadn't really wanted to; he obviously hadn't done it. Jones was all but his heir apparent at this point.
But that did not change the facts. Nothing ever would.
So, as nice as it was to be given the benefit of the doubt, Brand was deeply uncomfortable with Sarah giving him the benefit of that much doubt.
The door flew open and FP entered the room, ahead of schedule and with his body language radiating impatience. "What now? The crew is refusing to work again, which means we're getting-"
"I know." Sarah didn't even blink in the face of the full force of the Serpent King.
Brand never tired of seeing her do that.
"Well." FP seemed to have the wind taken out of his sails when Sarah did not say anything else. "I take it that Brandon is under imminent threat, as usual?"
"I have reason to believe he is, yes, and I have a pressing-,"
"Yeah, yeah." FP waved a hand at Sarah in defeat. "I believe you. The sooner you go, the sooner I can get back to helping the crew and the band rig up the latest, greatest CG crap."
Sarah paused long enough to wince in solidarity over the idea of the tour having even more special effects piloted during a live show. Security was about as pleased with the trend as the road crew – they all loathed it with the heat of a thousand suns.
And the security teams weren't even having to set it up and execute it. They just had to, you know, anticipate any possible fallout and prepare accordingly.
Simple, no?
Given that the official story was that an actual shooter had been nothing more than one of those special effects, Brand lived with a dreading expectation that they'd eventually be up against a mid-concert stampede.
FP crossed his arms impatiently. Any moment now he'd start tapping his foot, making the wait for Sarah as painful as humanly possible.
"Cut it out. And come with me; you might be benched, but we can at least get some of my work done," Brand directed. "The entrance and exit for tonight are-,"
"Complicated." FP made a face.
Of course FP knew; they were returning to this venue for the second time, and FP had already been at the venue for hours. Moreover, if he was to be believed, FP was single-handedly pulling the weight of the entire road crew as they flirted with the idea of going on strike, in spite of not being part of a union.
Seriously, next time Brand was sent on a tour in any capacity, he was going to do his best to get onto the road crew. It sounded a whole lot easier than anything he'd been called on to do so far.
"So I need to make sure the band is crystal clear on the procedure," Brand finished.
FP nodded, resigned. Then he fixed Brand with a curious stare. "Why was Sarah being skittish with you?"
Darn those two and their nigh-unto-spiritual connection.
Brand decided to just bite the bullet: "As it happens, she's decided she's not mad at me anymore. For, you know, crimes perpetrated against people who are not her and who have already made their peace with me."
Well, that had only sounded moderately bitter. Brand would take it as a win.
FP raised his eyebrows at him, but then nodded; inexplicably, the man looked deeply satisfied. "Good."
"Eh," Brand gave FP a wry look, "not so much. She's squaring it in her head by deciding it was all noble self-sacrifice on my part."
"So?"
FP could seem really smart, right up until moments like this, Brand reflected darkly. "So-o… that's messed up."
"Or maybe it's one woman's opinion?" FP shrugged, maddeningly calm in the face of this travesty. "It actually sounds, dare I say it, positive. Why not run with it?"
Brand felt the force of the words – how obvious, how logical they were – and felt himself almost choke on thin air.
"Aha." FP grinned with a few too many teeth. "I see how it is."
"No. You really don't." Brand was not having that conversation if he could avoid it.
"Then… let it be one woman's opinion," FP said slowly, as if Brand were stupid.
Which, let's face it, was completely the case.
"She read the files, didn't she?" FP asked after a few moments had passed and neither had made a move toward the hallway and the band that probably needed to be lectured to within an inch of their lives.
Andrews in particular had been less than cooperative since their morning in the climbing gym, and the others seemed to take distinct pleasure in following their 'fearless leader' into all sorts of insane stunts lately.
"Yeah."
"The writeups weren't flattering," FP offered slowly. Apparently he was now taking this more seriously.
Brand wasn't sure if he was grateful or regretted the conversation with every fiber of his being.
Maybe both.
Well, he'd wait and see what FP had to say and then kill the conversation where it stood if he had to.
"She was upset for months. I heard several earfuls from her while she was living at the house," FP continued thoughtfully. "I don't think she skipped any pages."
Brand snorted.
"So maybe she's finally paying attention to the fact that it's all in the past." FP studied Brand as he spoke. "Maybe she's realized that the files represent one part of the story and don't include any of the later parts where you stepped up. She's also had a front row seat lately to see that the primary people you needed to make amends with are now… your family."
Something twisted inside of Brand's chest. FP's words were complicated, but before Brand could think them through, his response came in an angry rush: "But that doesn't change anything-,"
"Brandon. Of course it does." FP's tone was brusque, but now he was giving Brand his 'I'm-a-gang-leader-not-a-heartless-jerk' face. "It changes everything. It changed you."
And there it was. In black and white.
"Oh." FP all but rolled his eyes at whatever he saw in Brand's expression. "Understood. You're determined to be the last person on earth to believe that you've really changed."
"Go to hell." Of course he'd changed. Brand wasn't an idiot.
It just hadn't been him making the change. The kid had changed him; circumstances had changed him.
Brand didn't deserve any credit. Didn't that mean that, on some level, he hadn't actually changed?
Something really, obviously did not compute in this line of thinking. Brand took a deep breath and acknowledged that much to himself.
But Brand was not at all sure that faulty logic in reaching his conclusions meant that he was incorrect about the conclusions themselves.
"Huh. Well. Let me know if you ever want my opinion about what's actually 'messed up' about this situation," FP said lightly, with a smirk. "Unless you want to try talking to Fred. This sort of thing is right up his alley."
"Oh, no. You'll be the first person I call," Brand said back, mimicking the light tone and returning the smirk.
Only then did FP's expression turn serious – and dark. "Just one more thing. For the record. You aren't considering clarifying anything for Sarah, are you?"
Brand rubbed the back of his neck in consternation.
Apparently they were having this conversation.
"Because if so," FP continued, his tone sharpening as he spoke, "you need to think again."
Ah. So this was where he was going to offer to hurt Brand if he hurt Sarah. Cute.
Brand crossed his arms and waited, cocking his head to one side and charitably refraining from cracking a joke.
"Because if you have even one conversation with Sarah, that could reopen things." FP's eyes were boring into Brand's.
Oh. Yeah. That was an issue too.
"Not just for you, either," FP added meaningfully, as if Brand was missing something vital about the whole situation.
Which he wasn't; not really.
Brand was painfully aware that if he ever shot his mouth off and said something – anything at all – that could be construed as incriminating, it could reopen the deal that had made him safe from the long arm of the law.
And if that happened, there was a teenager who was quite likely to go down with him.
"Just so we're crystal clear," FP finished, clamping a hand painfully onto Brand's injured shoulder and squeezing enough to show that the maneuver was intentional, "you won't have to worry about a blessed thing after that."
"Because I'll be six feet under," Brand supplied with a conciliatory nod.
"Exactly." The too-many-teeth smile had reappeared.
Brand returned the smile with a tight one of his own.
It wasn't like he disagreed with the man's analysis, after all.
And, really, there was nothing else to say.
Together they turned to make their way to find the band – and hopefully bludgeon some sense into them.
00000
The venue security had turned out to be useless. And lazy.
Or maybe they were spooked by what had happened last time they'd performed here. They were back at the rabbit warren venue where Jughead knew – he knew – there had been an active shooter. One that had not injured anyone or left any evidence of their short-lived rampage.
Jughead wasn't entirely sure how they had ended up assigned to climbing out on a support beam that was high, high above the stage (Dax had ended up handling the meeting alone), but apparently this venue had endless numbers of idiosyncrasies, including some complicated stage systems that were potentially out of configuration.
The solution was obnoxiously low-tech: they needed someone to lay eyes on the configuration from above.
Or, as the venue security had opted, they could force the band's visiting security team to go up and take a photo from above.
"Watch what you're doing," Dax called as Jughead inched out onto the beam. "Take it slowly. One photo and then come right back. The venue security can work with whatever you get; it should be them up here anyway."
Dax had shared Jughead's sentiments. He'd burst out of the brief meeting frustrated and angry, and his rant had been impressively colorful.
Once Dax had gotten them in position, Jughead had realized why. This venue rose to a dizzying height, and while the scramble out and back was completely doable, it was the sort of job that most sane people would only try in a harness.
Dax had looked a little green around the gills by the time they'd climbed the narrow metal steps to the prescribed height. Jughead hadn't hesitated, volunteering himself for the job. Even with a pounding headache, Jughead was sure-footed and confident about his balance, two things he was pretty sure Dax could not say about himself at that moment.
Besides, this might be an opportunity to get a little more information.
Jughead's phone vibrated in his pocket again, distracting him as he eased out onto the beam. It was either his mother, who had been increasingly anxious about waiting for updates from him, or it was Brand – for basically the same reason.
Or maybe it was Archie, who was understandably exultant that the tour was still going strong.
Jughead narrowed his eyes as he glanced down and assessed the band far below. Breaking Fast was going to try out some new special effects and were waiting for the road crew to get them up and running. Based on their body language, they seemed to be both relaxed and bored.
That seemed really bizarre, all things considered, but they were a legitimately odd group. Jughead wondered yet again about the drugs that had shown up at Archie's hotel room. Was it possible the band was artificially – medicinally – calm down there? Had the band gotten caught up in some kind of danger through an illicit supplier? Maybe that was what had been plaguing the tour, as opposed to internal machinations.
Or not. There had been an awful lot of issues a little too close to home, and nobody had reported an unfamiliar person showing up repeatedly on the premises.
No, it really seemed like it had to be someone working the tour who was at the bottom of all the sabotage. They had to have a motive. A goal.
And this was not a long tour; they were swiftly running out of time to find whoever it was.
Jughead thought carefully about his next move.
Aside from his heavy-handed recruitment efforts, Dax hadn't said anything more today about their plan, but as the preparations for the concert had heated up, Jughead thought he could probably get things moving along if they had another 'incident' to bond over.
It was the best lead Jughead had, and something told him that if Dax just leveled with him completely, that could give him enough pieces to catch a glimpse of the bigger picture.
Or maybe that was the pressure convincing Jughead to make a move – any move.
The tour simply wasn't long enough to let things play out over a more reasonable amount of time.
Jughead slid his left foot as close to the edge as he dared and stared hard at the beam. There was a looping piece of metal welded to the side of the beam that would make a great handhold, and the beam just below and offset was well within range for Jughead to use it in order to hoist himself back up so that he could clamber to safety.
Yeah, he could do it.
A moment later, Jughead yelped loudly as he dangled from the steel handhold, his grip reassuringly firm, and with plenty of confidence that he had every opportunity to haul himself back up. In fact, all of the weight loss combined with regaining some strength had made this maneuver surprisingly easy; Jughead figured he had a lot of credit he owed to Brand's training regimen.
Sure, his stamina wasn't back and he wouldn't be formidable in a fight anytime soon, but he was at least getting back to a level where he could attempt basic playground tricks.
Only just as that thought crossed his mind, the beam that Jughead was clinging to vibrated – hard. The vibration shook his grip until it loosened, and almost rattled his hand completely free.
Gasping through a shock of panic, Jughead grabbed for the handhold with his other hand, barely registering the cries of fear from the band below him.
The beam continued to vibrate.
Dax was behind Jughead, but he had to be only a few yards away; whatever was going so terribly wrong, he'd be able to fix it.
Then… the beam moved. And it kept moving. It must be used for something much more theatrical that Jughead had realized; maybe it even hoisted something.
Another shock ran through Jughead as he absorbed that information: if that was the case, then he never should have been walking on it in the first place. Certainly not while the band was practicing special effects.
Venue security had sent him up here. Dax had allowed him to walk out onto the beam.
"What are you doing? How did you–," Dax sputtered. He seemed to only just be realizing that something was really wrong.
Whew. Backup.
Not that Dax could do anything for him with the beam literally moving.
Not that Dax necessarily wanted to do anything for him, if there was any chance that he'd knowingly sent Jughead into a life-threatening situation.
Jughead needed to get himself out of this.
That realization snapped him into action: Jughead swung his legs out, reaching with his sneakers toward the offset beam below him; his soles connected firmly with the steel, giving him enough leverage to steady himself instead of being shaken by the movements of the beam he was holding onto.
And then, as if by magic, the beam above Jughead went still.
The shouting quieted as if everyone below was holding their breath while they waited to see what happened next.
Well.
There was no way Jughead was climbing back up onto a beam that could move again any moment. The steel under Jughead's feet was wider, and it was apparent at a glance that it was meant to stay exactly where it was at all times – holding up the building, no doubt.
And then the spell of silence was broken: the band resumed calling up from the stage below, yelling over one another in horror and fear.
Jughead spared a quick, reassuring wave down as he adjusted his footing and took a few steps toward safety.
Or toward Dax, he corrected himself, who was not looking a whole lot like he represented 'safety' so much as 'volcano of disbelieving anger' at the moment.
Fair enough. If Dax knew the beam moved, then it might have been Dax's negligence that had sent Jughead out there – but the man certainly hadn't known that his charge was going to fake a fall. The fact that this had played out right in front of Breaking Fast was probably not helping Dax's blood pressure either.
Well, as long as he was in for a penny…
Jughead feigned a wobble, figuring that would get Dax back on the same side as him in a hurry.
"DAX!" Someone yelled from below. "Do something!"
That did it: Dax sprang into action, wrapping one arm around a steel railing so he could lean way out and reach toward Jughead with his other arm.
Moments later, the teen was being dragged safely onto the steel steps, and then jammed against a handrail.
"Hold on to that and do not let go for anything. In one more minute you're gonna have me convinced of the curse too," Dax said darkly, shaking Jughead's shoulders a little too roughly.
Jughead ducked his head, trying to summon the ragged breathing and fearful body language he would have had if he'd actually fallen by accident and only barely made it to safety.
Dax huffed in deep frustration. "Let's get you down before the band is completely convinced that they need to fire everyone on the road crew. Or call off the rest of the tour. Or, hell, before I do that myself."
Jughead nodded, not trusting his voice to give away his calm… or maybe even his euphoria.
For some reason, he suddenly felt great. The adrenaline racing through his system felt bracing and his mind was clear and sharp; the headache had backed off almost completely.
Maybe… he was back.
Dax clamped a large hand powerfully over the nape of Jughead's neck and began steering him down the steel steps that were tucked just out of view behind the stage's curtains, allowing access to the dizzying array of both current and outdated fixtures that the bands had high hopes of utilizing for their newest special effects.
That was just what this tour needed, Jughead thought dourly. Archie had already texted him – and presumably all of their friends – asking Jughead to brainstorm any 'crazy' ideas that the band could use in order to keep the crowds guessing from one night to the next.
Gunnar was probably getting close to a nervous breakdown. Jughead was surprised that Kevin hadn't walked off the tour yet. The tour was officially on a trajectory from intense to insane.
Jughead hid a smile when Dax's grip pulsed protectively – perhaps affectionately – on his neck, as if the man was reassuring himself that the teen was okay.
At least this aspect of the tour was going just the way Jughead intended.
And with his newfound adrenaline-born clarity, Jughead was beginning to suspect he might have more resources than he'd realized that would help him crack the case wide open.
Preferably without doing anything further of the sort to his skull in the process.
They reached the stage level and Dax draped a possessive arm around Jughead's shoulders and waved off the band members who had come running to see if they were all right.
"He's fine. I've got him. Again. If you don't mind, we need to go work with venue security to deal with the stage setup, or else you're likely to have another major problem on your hands." Dax's tone was dark as he moved Jughead quickly past the band.
Kiara was standing a few feet away and she caught Jughead's eye. Her expression was grim and she shook her head balefully; she must be upset that Jughead had endangered the tour again. Or not taken her advice and almost gotten hurt again. Or something.
She was seriously confusing. Jughead stared back at her from Dax's grip.
The head of security turned back and seemed to silently communicate something to the band that Jughead could not see or begin to interpret.
Whatever it was, the band looked disturbed; they looked hesitant.
"Dax, maybe-,"
"You're on in a few hours. Whatever happens is on you. Make a call." Dax's tone was icy.
Kiara shook her head again, lips pursed in disapproval, but before Jughead could say anything – ask her what was going on, or even just try and make a plan to talk to her privately – Dax was hustling him away.
The last thing Jughead saw over his shoulder was Kiara pulling aside one of the road crew. She had her arms crossed and the man's reaction to whatever she was saying was startled. Or maybe worried.
And then he crossed his own arms and started nodding.
Jughead resolved to text Kiara. He would get her alone and have a talk. Get to the bottom of things. Just as soon as Dax left him alone for a few minutes.
"Wow. You are handling this better than I am," Dax said.
Jughead blinked up at him. "What?"
"I almost had a heart attack. Hell, I might still." Dax gave Jughead a nervous laugh. "How did you manage to fall before anything even started moving?"
Jughead cocked his head to one side, confused. The headache started to ramp back up as he tried to figure out what Dax meant.
"Because I swear, that's the only reason I wasn't scraping you off of the stage. Because you fell before the beam knocked you down in the other direction – where nothing was going to break your fall."
Um. Wow, okay, maybe this was Dax's secret skill: he was able to assess life-threatening situations at a glance, in this level of detail.
Jughead felt a chill as he thought about the several-stories fall that would have been.
"Hey, I didn't mean to– you're fine. Don't crack up now. I'm just surprised you fell, that's all." Dax squeezed Jughead's neck again. "I just wondered… why."
"I have no idea." Jughead tried to look embarrassed, but something was not making sense. Had Dax seen him fall? He had thought there was a delay before the man reacted. Or maybe–
"Well, it was lucky." Dax's hand tightened further on Jughead's neck, making the teen wince as the pressure sent another surge of pain through his head, and lowered his voice. "Nine lives kind of lucky."
Jughead merely shrugged and was grateful when Dax let it drop. He couldn't read the man's tone at all, but he figured he must be awfully shaken up.
His impression seemed to be confirmed, too, when Dax did not leave his side for the rest of the day.
00000
Clark walked around backstage, making a point of keeping a low profile even though that seemed unnecessary: everyone appeared busy and distracted enough to miss a full-on natural disaster while Archie was singing.
Clark had been gone for just hours, albeit more of them than he'd intended since he'd been called in to have another talk with Max… but in that short space of time, the changes to the mood of the tour were extreme.
Something was making everyone very, very tense and it seemed like the unsinkable positivity of the high-energy tour had finally been taken down.
The security teams seemed to be poised backstage, watching Archie and the opening band like a kettle of hawks. A flock of hawks? Some sort of hungry semicircle of hawks, at any rate, that was eyeing a wildly misbehaving prey.
Dax was flanking his own security team and rested one hand on Jughead's shoulder. The teenager looked pale, and as Clark watched Jughead began massaging his forehead as if he was in significant pain.
Brand was watching the stage as intently as the others, but he was also sneaking frequent glances over at Jughead.
That seemed wise to Clark; something was very wrong with that guy and Dax would not be the first person to try and use Jughead as a buffer against the consequences of his own actions. Davies hadn't said much to Clark since he'd gotten back, but had taken the time to let him know that he wanted an update from Jughead – and had not gotten one.
Interestingly, the venue security were shooting Dax dirty looks too.
Clark had caught only some of that gossip, since Brand had not known any details: it was something to do with venue security being blamed for an incident earlier in the day that they swore had nothing to do with them.
Nobody had been hurt, and it had eventually been deemed a 'misunderstanding,' but feathers obviously remained ruffled.
Clark was distracted from his thoughts when Archie ended one song and, with just a brief musical transition, launched the band straight into another number.
And, in unison, everyone backstage stiffened as if they'd received an electrical shock.
Clark looked around, wondering what he was missing. He didn't recognize the song, but this was the pattern with Archie: they all knew to expect the unexpected, to the point where it was almost predictably chaotic every evening.
Only this time, as Clark watched, everyone processed their shock – and sprang into action. The murmuring increased and people moved hurriedly around backstage as if preparing for some new disaster.
Clark looked for anything obviously amiss, even craning his neck to look up, but there was nothing clearly wrong. There was just the unfamiliar song.
Huh. Maybe it was a controversial song or something.
"Get them here. Now." Dax's voice rose as he spoke to a passing member of the road crew. He was making almost violent motions with his hands, and Jughead seemed to be taking the opportunity to slip a couple of steps away from the man and tap out a text on his phone.
Good. Maybe Jughead would finally update Special Agent Davies and they could start getting things sorted out.
Clark moved back further out of the way to keep from being noticed, but realized he'd miscalculated when a door burst open directly behind him.
"What are they doing?" Paul looked murderous.
So did Ryan, Morgan, and Joey, who were hot on his heels.
Clark looked around helplessly to see if anyone else had a clue what was happening.
Huh. It looked like literally everyone else did. They were all watching Breaking Fast with some version of frozen, horrified expression.
Mary Andrews suddenly began nudging Clark gently out of the way. "Hi-i, Paul. I was wondering if you'd like to join them. Archie was immensely grateful for, um, everything. He, uh, thought that an… homage might be a way of saying thank you."
Clark's eyebrows shot up. The band was playing one of Breaking Fast's songs? It must be an older one; he hadn't heard it played on the tour so far.
Mary Andrews' voice was higher than normal, and as cool as she was under pressure, Clark was pretty sure he was hearing a fair amount of strain. She obviously hadn't known that the band was going to do this.
Playing a band's song without permission when opening for them in concert? That was probably really, really bad.
Clark thought quickly. "Oh, wow. Congrats. Haven't sales spiked, like, 1500% for every song they've covered on tour?"
It was a weak gambit. There had literally not been enough time for a sales spike to be measured, let alone for that information to be made public, and the number that sprang into his head felt outlandish – but somehow it sounded plausible and, hopefully, flashy enough to distract the band. Maybe.
The band stared at Clark.
"Didn't we fire you?" Ryan asked incredulously.
"From the, uh, road crew. Yes. You did." Clark stared them down. He wasn't saying he was a journalist – but he wasn't saying that he was not, either.
"Well. He of all people probably knows this stuff," Morgan interjected, one hand raised to stop the rest of the band. Her expression had shifted from angry to intrigued.
Bingo.
"Well, then, what are you waiting for?" Mary motioned for the band to go onstage and join the performance of their own song.
Clark wanted to cringe as he watched the band jog onstage. Screaming cheers erupted and the teenaged performers turned with grins to greet the band that was officially 'most likely to bury them in shallow graves.'
"That was quick thinking, Kent." Mary's voice was low and shaky. "Thank you. I don't know what possessed Archie…"
"You are more than welcome. It's my job." Clark smirked to himself. "At least, that's what my job has been on this tour. Wherever something is actively falling apart, I'm there."
"I really appreciate it." Mary smiled more warmly. "This was Breaking Fast's first big hit, so I understand their feeling protective of it."
Ah. Clark nodded, widening his eyes in sympathy. "It better go well, then."
The performance onstage was getting even rowdier. The crowd was stomping along.
The song concluded with even more cheers – and ecstatic screaming that threatened to deafen everyone in the building.
Mary smiled. "Okay. That was good. Maybe even perfect. I think we've got our best shot possible at the band letting it slide. Thanks again."
Clark nodded and smiled. Then he motioned toward the stage where both bands were transitioning together into the now-traditional Jackson Browne song while the roadies appeared onstage and began work on the stage changes. "You planning on taking a chorus tonight?"
Mary stared at Clark in surprise for a few moments, and then she laughed deeply. "No. How about you?"
"No." Jim, a member of the road crew, was walking past and shook his head at them seriously. "Burke's got it covered. Nobody else goes onstage tonight. Hey, it's good to see you, Kent."
Clark and Mary exchanged puzzled looks.
"O-okay," Clark said. "Uh, it's good to see you too."
The man shot him a tight smile before he moved on, satisfied.
"That is weird. And it can't mean anything good. How about I'll tell Davies and you tell Penn?" Clark suggested as soon as Jim was safely out of earshot.
"Yeah. That sounds like a good plan," Mary replied without hesitation.
Before they could move, though, the amps died mid-chord and a foreign, almost oppressive quiet fell over the venue.
The bands stuttered to a stop when the power was not immediately restored. They looked from one to another.
"What's-," Clark started to speak, but then a lone voice echoed through the auditorium from what was presumably the only live microphone on stage.
"This tour has been a phenomenon!" Burke shouted.
The crowd began murmuring, but a few voices cheered gamely.
"You already know that," Burke continued, grinning when the cheers were stronger this time. It was obvious that the audience thought this was a planned stunt and they were waiting for a reveal of some sort.
"But what you may not realize is that it has also been plagued with both rumors and realities that are far less savory."
This time the crowd got quiet, and Clark could see what looked like every last cellphone in the crowd raised to record whatever was about to come.
Great.
"So when I say that the road crew is on strike, what you need to know is that we have been called upon to face active shooters!" Burke raised his hands dramatically. His voice was crescendoing with the dramatic flair of a revivalist.
The entire backstage came to life, everyone moving and talking at once.
Out in the large hall, Clark could see the crowd's murmuring was turning to excitement. Yeah, they definitely thought this was yet another stunt planned by the bands.
The bands themselves, however, were looking at each other helplessly – and increasingly worriedly.
"Bomb threats!"
If Burke was going to deliver a litany of everything that had gone wrong, Clark mused, this could become a very long speech.
"Threats of electrocution!"
The list continued. Clark looked over at Brand, who was seemingly the only fixed point in the frantic flurry of motion backstage. Instead, the agent was watching all of this with calm interest and a raised eyebrow.
It was amazing. The man was simply never flustered.
Clark turned to compare Dax's reaction.
Only the man was gone.
And so was Jughead.
00000
Yep, it's on. :) I hope you're having an amazing May (and start to June!). I'll look forward to any and all reviews (thank you in advance!), and will be hard at work on however many chapters it will take for everything to collide in dramatic fashion. :)
-Button