Word Count: 1,674 Warnings: adultery, domestic, fighting, roger is an asshole in this i'm sorry, fem!reader, she/her pronouns used, talk of pregnancy and conceiving, angst, seriously there's no happy ending it's just angst, singer-songwriter!reader Notes: Inspired by @echoesonthedarkside and of course the song Silver Springs by Fleetwood Mac! I definitely recommend listening to it while you read this because it will make the vibes all the more immaculate.
It was supposed to be the best time of your lives. After working your asses off, your dreams were coming true. Pink Floyd was riding high on the waves of success, and you were able to focus on your own songwriting career instead of working a mindless 9-5 to stay afloat. You were happy travelling with Roger when Pink Floyd toured and spending time together in your quiet home in the country when they weren’t. Among it all, you wrote your own music based on the love you shared with your muse and the adventures you’d shared.
Then, something changed.
He pulled away. Roger was never one to shy away from his feelings, sometimes overshadowing your own with his staggering presence. Somehow that never bothered you. You were content to hide in his shadow as long as he was yours and you were his. As long as it still felt like you were a unit taking on the world together.
“I want a family,” he’d said suddenly one night after spending most of the evening locked in his studio sullen.
“We are a family. You, me, the cats…”
“I mean children, you know that.”
Your brows furrowed as you took in his words. Sure, the topic had come up before. You both wanted children eventually, but the time didn’t feel right for you.
“Roger, this is kind of sudden,” you said finally.
“Everyone else has children.”
“In the band, you mean.”
“Of course,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. His jaw was tense and a dimple showed in his chin.
“I-I just started working on my album, and you’re going on tour in a few months. I won’t be able to go if I’m pregnant.”
“You don’t have to follow me on every tour,” he sighed. “And we have a home studio. You can comfortably work on your little project.”
You took a deep breath to ground yourself. His words were always venomous when he was emotional, and obviously this was something he’d been pondering for a while. So, as usual, you made your feelings smaller to accommodate him.
“Maybe after the tour—”
He didn’t let you finish before standing up so quickly his chair crashed to the floor. You’d never considered that Roger might hit you before, but in that moment you found yourself flinching anyway. He wasn’t the pensive bassist you’d fallen for anymore. You didn’t recognize the eyes staring into yours.
“You’re not coming on the tour,” he growled. “You’re going to stay home like a proper wife.”
Something snapped in the air at those words. The tension dissipated as Roger, for once, realized he’d gone too far. He saw your eyes widen, the tears welling up in them. Tears he put there.
“Shit,” he mutters before bending down to pick up his chair. He stands awkwardly, starting to reach for you only to stop just before touching your shoulder.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” he said finally. Never apologizing, not really. Always stopping just short of the words ‘I’m sorry’ just as he’d stopped short of offering a comforting touch.
“No, you shouldn’t have,” you said softly, pushing your dinner plate away as your stomach soured. “I’m going to go upstairs.”
That night he waited until he knew you were asleep before tiptoeing to bed. He undressed and crawled beside you, reaching in the darkness to wrap his arm around you. You stir as he pulled you close and pressed a soft kiss to the back of your head. He half expected you to reject him, but instead you rolled over to tuck yourself against his side.
“I love you,” you whispered sleepily.
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The Spring rolled around, and Pink Floyd was busy getting ready for their tour. Their first show would be in London, and so you arrived at the sound check just like all the other wives. Ginger was happily sitting on David’s amp, cradling their baby in her arms while he tuned his guitar. You felt a stir of longing in your stomach, although the topic hadn’t come up again with Roger. You planned to tell him tonight that you want to start trying. You could fly out to some of the shows, since you had opted not to come on tour after all, and maybe during breaks the two of you could slip away somewhere to try to conceive.
“Where’s Rog?” you asked as you approached David and Ginger. David wouldn’t look at you, which was odd for the guitarist who was usually so friendly.
Ginger passed him a look before smiling up at you nervously, “He’s in his dressing room.”
“Thanks,” you said before kneeling down to greet their little one.
That’s where you were, doting happily on the little baby that Ginger had passed to your waiting arms, when Roger comes to the front stage. He looks dumbfounded when he sees you, guilt rising into his chest at the sight of you.
“Sweetheart,” he calls softly as he comes to your side.
David promptly gets up to walk away, and you pass the baby back to Ginger so she can follow. The whole thing was odd.
“I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” Roger said as you leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I thought you had to record.”
“I wanted to surprise you,” you smiled up at him.
“I-I see,” he forced a smile. “I am surprised. Very surprised.”
“In a good way, I hope,” you said shyly.
“Of course, darling,” he kissed your cheek. “Damn, I’ve got to call Mum. I promised her I’d call before we went on.”
“Oh, alright,” you smiled softly.
As he walked away, something felt wrong in your gut. You wanted to vomit. Looking around the stage at the other band members and their wives, you can feel their pity. The walls were closing in around you, and you tried with all your might to seem calm as you walked backstage.
You were trying to calm yourself down when you entered the long corridor lined with dressing rooms and leading to the small lobby area. You heard Roger’s voice. Tender and quiet as he whispered to someone on the phone. You tiptoed down the hall, stopping just out of his sight. He was using a payphone, his lanky frame leaned against the wall.
“I didn’t know she was coming tonight,” he said softly. “I know…I know, love. Listen, I’ll be in New York by the weekend. You can fly out to see me, alright?” There’s a silence as he listened to whoever he talked to. “No, no. They won’t tell her. I know their secrets too.”
“What secrets are that?” you asked loudly as you rounded the corner. “That you’re a filthy fucking liar?”
“Baby,” he gasped and slammed the phone to the receiver. “Shit, baby, listen. It’s not what you think, alright. Just listen to me—”
“I’m fucking done listening to you! I’m done! All I’ve done for seven years is fucking listen to you and make myself small for you!” you yelled.
“Don’t get hysterical now,” he pleaded, embarrassed at the idea of someone overhearing.
“Hysterical? You think this is hysterical?” you laughed mockingly. “Fine, I’ll be small and quiet. Would you like that?”
He didn’t respond, only watched as you came closer to him. You were in his face, close enough to kiss; your breaths mingling for what you knew would be the last time.
“Is this better?” you asked in a delicate whisper. “You can go and have your little affair. You can marry her and fuck her and fill her up with as many babies as you want. But you will never forget me. You will hear my voice in your dreams. Every time you turn on the radio I’ll fucking be there. And in the middle of the night when you’re laying next to your ‘proper wife’ you’re going to wish she was me.”
His eyes were wide, and for the first time since you’d met him he was speechless. You backed away, tears streaming down your cheeks yet your posture showed strength instead of defeat.
“I loved you, Roger Waters. With everything I had. And when all of this is gone, when you’re not Mister Rockstar anymore, you’re going to realize you threw away the only person who loved every bit of you, the good and the bad.”
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The divorce was quieter than his affair had been. Despite the warnings he’d received from his lawyers and everyone in between, you didn’t try to put him through the ringer. In fact, the last time he saw you sitting across the table at the lawyer’s office, you hadn’t even looked at him.
“I don’t want anything. I just want this done,” you’d said coldly. Your lawyer had argued he wanted his fees paid, and Roger had agreed to that much. You signed the agreement without hesitation, then placed the small velvet box holding your wedding ring on the table.
“Alright, if that is all…” his lawyer had wrapped up awkwardly.
You’d stopped at the door, only turning your head slightly towards him, “I wish you nothing but the best.”
Two weeks later, Roger had been getting into his new shiny car with his new shiny love to go for a drive. She wanted to look at a new house, something bigger and fancier than the quiet cottage the two of you had called home for the duration of your marriage.
When he started the engine, your voice rang through the speakers. It was gentle and sweet. For a moment, he was frozen in his seat. With each lyric he saw your lives together play through his mind. Every smile you shared, every night spent curled in bedsheets. His hands trembled on the steering wheel. His oblivious new lover changed the station.
“I hear that song every time I get in the car, I swear,” she said with a sigh.
Roger swallowed hard and started backing out of the driveway. His heart raced as though he’d just seen a ghost.
