Far From the Shallow
Day 31 of 2018′s 31 Days of Ficmas. Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for the list! Note: new for 2020. Credited as 2018 for organizational purposes, & back-filling the prompt.
Prompt: Midnight
Rating: General, with occasional strong language
Pairing: 12xRose, Human!AU, SuperStar!AU, vaguely A Star is Born!AU
Summary: In an effort to combat low ticket sales, Ian Noble’s record label insists he takes to the Times Square New Year’s Eve stage with the label’s newest pop princess - but it’s a backup singer that captures his attention.
2018 31 Days of Ficmas masterlist
AO3
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Resettling his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose, Ian Noble paused for a deep breath before pushing into the practice room. He still wasn’t entirely clear on how his manager had convinced him to do this, but it was too late now to pull out and he’d just have to grin and bear it.
“Right, ready to start kiddies?”
His fleeting hope of finding a bunch of professionals on the other side of the door was quickly dashed. His band was ready, as always, but they were the only ones. His ‘partner’ was nowhere to be seen, her backup singers/dancers/hangers-on lazing around the room, laughing and joking. A few dancers were stretching at the barre, but that was it.
Shaking his head in disgust, he headed for his bandleader and dropped his bag at his feet. “All good?”
“We’re ready,” Craig confirmed. “She’s not here yet.”
“Of-fucking-course not.” ‘She’ was the current Pop Princess – Serenity Lake. Twenty-two years old, she was every bit the bubblegum-pink, super-sweet platinum blonde teeny-bopper he loathed above all else – except unprofessionalism. Though, it seemed, she was that as well. “Practice started when?”
“At three.”
“And it’s now?”
“Three-oh-five.”
“Can we start without her?”
Craig exchanged looks with their drummer, Rob. “I don’t think that would go over very well.”
Ian bit his tongue, hard. The sales for his last tour had been… not great (Clara, his manager, had used the word catastrophic), and it had been decided by PR people and good-for-nothing label execs that he needed to ‘reach new crowds’, even though the album itself had sold well. One of the arse-wipe suits had decided the perfect time and place was a duet with the label’s newest acquisition. On New Year’s Eve in Times Square, New York.
Perhaps Clara had made the right call by telling him over the phone while he was already on the plane under false pretenses.
“So we just wait then, til the fucking princess arrives?”
The band shrugged, and he shook his head in disgust before turning his back on them. The practice room was large, easily the size of a ballroom, with industrial-sized windows opposite a mirrored wall, complete with ballet barre. Two of the female dancers were still warming up, while another four sat around chatting up the men. Two backup singers were sprawled on mats, with no sign of the usual third.
“Is everyone else here at least?”
“Actually-”
Craig was interrupted by the door swinging open, a young blonde in workout clothes hurrying in with a tray of drinks from Starbucks. Rage ignited inside Ian, and before he consciously made the decision he strode across the room towards her.
“You! Blondie!”
She startled slightly, turning to face him. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Aren’t you supposed to be a professional? We’ve been waiting for you! You might be queen on your own fucking tour, but now you’re wasting my time, and my band’s time. I don’t like this arrangement any fucking more than you do, but it’s what the High fucking Council of Douchebags wants, so it’s what we’re going to do. Get over yourself, dig deep for some fucking work ethic, and let’s get through this so we can both get on with our fucking lives!”
Rant over, he settled his hands on his hips, still glaring at her. To his horror and disgust tears had welled in her eyes, though they hadn’t fallen yet. That just confirmed that she would be a flash in the pan; if she’d gotten this far without developing a thicker shell, she wouldn’t get much further. Maybe she had a bulldog manager that treated her like the fucking princess she thought she was; maybe she was shagging one of the label heads and used that to get what she wanted. He honestly didn’t care; he just wanted to get the show over with.
“Well are you going to say anything?” he snapped.
“I’m Rose,” she whispered.
“What?”
“I’m Rose, I’m Serenity- Miss Lake’s new backup singer. She texted me- well her assistant did- that they were stuck in traffic and had me go out to get some tea.”
He never would’ve been able to hear her, if the room wasn’t dead silent. No one seemed to be breathing; he sure as fuck wasn’t, as he realized the enormity of his mistake.
“Ah.”
“Yeah.” The girl sniffled, but kept up a brave face, glaring at him. “She should be here in just a minute.”
“I-” he grimaced, removing his sunglasses. Shit, shit, shit. “I’m very sorry, that was completely unprofessional. Erm, Ian Noble.”
“I know who you are.” Her lips twitched, not quite a smile, but she no longer looked so close to tears. “Big fan, actually.”
“Uh, thanks.” Ian blinked at her, at a loss. He was, ironically, saved by the real Serenity Lake.
“Hello, darlings!” The pop star strutted into the room, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Who’s ready to have some fun?”
-
Ian watched sourly as Serenity practiced her dance moves. They had one song, a duet he’d done when he was just starting out with a woman who’d long since disappeared from the spotlight so thoroughly he couldn’t remember her name, complete with a dance routine.
To her credit, she’d taken one look at his face and suggested he leave the dancing to her; he was so grateful, he didn’t even care if it was a dig about his age.
Happening to glance towards his left, he found the girl he’d yelled at standing next to him, guilt flooding through him. Watching her watch the dancing for a moment, he hesitated before speaking quietly. “I really am sorry.”
“Thank you.” Staring straight ahead she barely acknowledged him, though her shoulders untensed slightly.
“I don’t want to make excuses, but I really don’t want to be here, and I took it out on you.” He kept his focus on the dancers as well.
“Thank you,” Rose repeated.
“Um, you’re a backup singer?”
She shot him a confused, questioning look, but nodded hesitantly. “Yes. I came Stateside with Jo Shannon, who opened for Serenity on her last tour. When it ended Serenity offered to keep me on, and I accepted last week.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
Sticking his hands in his pockets he looked around awkwardly, but no one appeared to save him. His band was, of course, playing for the dancers, and the various assistants had disappeared, leaving them alone.
“Where’s Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum?”
“Beka and Margot went for a smoke break.” Rose’s lips twitched in amusement, but she kept her blank expression.
“You a song-writer?”
Her face lit up, saying it all, even though she tried to play it cool. “Sort of- I mean, I have ideas, I don’t know if they’re any good though.”
“If you want-” he had no idea where the offer was coming from, why he was taking an interest in this girl’s career. Maybe it was the fellow Brit in the room, or guilt over yelling at her. He tended not to care about the support, as he called them. Didn’t matter whether or not they were there, he hardly noticed them unless they fucked up.
She was different.
“Ian!” Serenity chirped. “We’re ready to run through now.”
“I’ll get Beka and Margot,” Rose volunteered, scurrying out the door and returning thirty seconds later with the other two. They lined up in the back across from the band, Ian and Serenity taking their spots front and center.
For no reason he could adequately explain, he spent more time watching her in the mirror than the star of the show.
-
After seven hours and a break for dinner, they finally called the rehearsal quits. Tomorrow was New Year’s Eve, and they’d only have one chance to get it right on live television. Most of the group packed up quickly, disappearing out the door amid bursts of laughter. Serenity was first out, oversized sunglasses dominating her face and only making her stand out more than she already did in a fluorescent pink sweatsuit and large handbag.
Ian lingered, taking his time packing up his notes and arrangements, barely acknowledging his band’s goodbyes and dismissing their offers of getting a drink. The girl, Rose, the one he couldn’t take his eyes off of, was lingering as well, and then suddenly they were the only two left.
Abandoning his things, he approached her when she made no move to leave. “Rose?”
She yelped, spinning, and putting a hand to her chest. “Shit! You scared me half to death. What?”
“Erm-” Shuffling his feet, he found it hard to meet her eye. “Listen, I’m sorry-”
“You’ve said that,” Rose cut him off with a sigh, before offering him a tentative smile. “And I accept your apology. It’s all good, really – you don’t need to keep saying it.”
“Right. Thanks.” He rocked back on his heels for a moment. “If you’re not busy, I thought… I mean, if you’d like an experienced professional’s opinion, maybe I could take a look at one of your songs?”
Her expression shuttered, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I highly doubt I’ve written anything worth stealing,” she said stiffly, shouldering her bag. “Thanks, though.”
“What? No! No no no. Really. Listen, you know Johnny Rotten?”
“I’m from London.”
“Right. Well, when I was just a kid starting out, and not knowing my arse from my head, I got five minutes alone with him in a limo – five minutes. He asked if I was a songwriter, I said I was, he told me to sing him something. The next day I was in front of suits from EMI. A week later I had my first contract.”
“That’s nice.” Rose folded her arms across her chest, turning to go, and in desperation he caught her arm.
“No, listen, my point is – you seem like a nice girl, and I was an utter bastard. Let me make it up to you.”
She looked down at his hand on her arm, which he promptly removed, then back up at him, steel in her eyes. “I want to succeed. I want to make it. I want it more than anything – except my dignity. I’ll make it on my singing. And if I don’t, I don’t, and I’ll figure something else out. But I will never trade sex for opportunity.”
“I would withdraw my offer if you tried,” he shrugged. “I don’t know what to say to convince you to trust me.”
Biting her lip Rose looked towards the door, the wheels turning in her mind. “D’you know a good place in this God-forsaken town to get chips?”
-
Thirty minutes later they were seated side by side on a bench overlooking the Hudson River. It was too dark to see much other than the occasional light, though the path itself was well-lit.
“So why are you such a surly bastard?” Rose carefully selected a chip before turning expectant, curious eyes on him.
Picking at his own paper basket, he glanced at her quickly before looking out over the water. “I’ve been in this business too long.”
“Oh?”
“It’s not…” he sighed heavily, trying to figure out how to put it into words without scaring her off her chosen career path. “It’s not about music. For others, I mean. To me, as long as I believe in what I’m singing, then hang the rest. I don’t care if it’s… a sold-out Shea Stadium or half-empty corner pub. The money, the trappings, the fame… it doesn’t matter. Well it does, but only so far as is required to keep playing the music I want to play, supporting my guys, you know? Yet everyone else is obsessed with all of it, far more than the music. To them, it’s just a way to make money.”
“Too much of a purist,” she teased gently, nudging his arm with her elbow. “I get it.”
“I’ve seen too many talented musicians ruined by the trappings,” Ian said quietly, staring down at his hands. “Money, fame, sex, drugs, alcohol. I don’t touch any of that shit.”
“You’ve made a lot of incredible music in your time. You still feel like you’ve got more to say?”
“Sometimes… sometimes I feel like there’s a black hole within me. That it’s just… waiting. For the right song, the right lyric, the right chords. That eventually I’ll write the perfect thing that fixes it.”
Rose nodded. “I think I know what you mean.”
They lapsed into silence. Putting his rubbish on the bench next to him, he leaned back and spread his arms, staring across the water. For late December in New York, it wasn’t too terribly cold out; at least, not enough to make him call it a night.
“Tell me something, boy,” she started to sing suddenly, a halting flow to the words. “Aren’t you tired tryin’ to fill that void?” Standing up, she wrapped her arms around her waist as she turned to face him. “Or do you need more?” Another pause. “Ain’t it hard keeping it so hardcore.”
Sitting up straight, Ian stared at her in surprise. “Did you just write that?”
Rose nodded shyly, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I’ve had the tune for a few days, but couldn’t figure out the right lyrics.”
“Almost sounds like it’s about me.”
“I don’t think there’s any life rights involved,” she said dryly, blushing. “Not that it’s much good, anyway.”
Ian considered it, already hearing the sample on a loop in his mind. “Actually, it’s brilliant. It deserves to be heard.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded, before smiling reassuringly. “By you. It deserves to be heard from you. Thank you for sharing it.”
Her head ducked for a moment, and when it raised, she readjusted her scarf around her neck to try to hide her red cheeks. “This has been brilliant, and thank you for the chips and just… listening to me, but it’s getting late and tomorrow’s a long day, so-”
“Right, yeah.” Standing up, he brushed himself free of crumbs before gathering all the trash and tossing it in the nearest waste bin. “Can I give you a ride back to your hotel?”
-
The next day was a blur, full of interviews and strategy meetings over Skype with Clara. He’d been inspired when he got back to his room, staying up far too late scribbling out fragments of songs. It was seven by the time he was due at the staging area, and he spent an inordinate amount of time in hair and makeup, forced to watch the show on telly. The official kickoff was at eight, though he and Serenity weren’t scheduled until roughly eleven fifteen – with live TV, they had to be ready to go at any moment.
Throughout the evening he caught the occasional glimpse of Rose, each time looking more harried and panicked until he finally snagged her as she passed his dressing room, pulling her inside.
She yelped, trying to scramble away until she realized it was him. “Ian!”
“Sorry, sorry.” He got her steady before letting go, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. “What the hell’s going on?”
Rose licked her lips, glancing nervously towards the door. “Don’t freak.”
“Why would I freak?”
“No one’s seen Serenity since breakfast.”
A dull buzzing started in his ears, mind already whirling with alternatives and potential plans. “What’s being done?”
“We’ve been calling her, her boyfriend, her parents, everyone, but there’s no sign of her. Police are looking, but… it’s New Year’s Eve, they don’t exactly have the time for that right now.”
“We go on in half an hour,” Ian pointed out, eyes narrowing in thought. “What’s the plan?”
Rose shrugged helplessly. “Hope she shows?”
“Right. Well, you look busy, I won’t keep you.” He crossed his arms, gesturing towards the door.
Shoulders unhunching, she smiled shyly at him. “It’s okay. I like talking to you.”
Their eyes held, and for a moment, just a single heartbeat, he thought he saw something there, but then she blinked and it was gone. “Right! Gotta go, lots to do. See you out there, hopefully!”
Then she was gone in a whirlwind, leaving him with more questions than answers. One of the songs he had toyed with the night before came to him then, and grabbing his coat, he went in search of his band.
-
“Thirty seconds,” a producer barked in Ian’s earpiece, and he gave him a thumbs up across the stage. He was waiting in the wings, his band already on stage setting up while some pop star on the West Coast performed. The backup dancers and singers filed onto the stage then, and he caught Rose’s eye.
She shook her head and he nodded in return, before giving his bandleader the prearranged signal.
“Miss Lake isn’t here, so you’ll have to go on without her,” the aide at his side informed him. “The backup singers will handle her part, the dancers will stick to the routine, just… do as you rehearsed otherwise.”
“Actually, we’re going to do something different,” Ian informed him, giving him a grin before walking up onto the stage, not giving him a chance to argue. “Hello New York!”
The crowd went wild, though whether it was for him or in anticipation of Serenity he didn’t want to know.
“There’s been a bit of a change, and Miss Lake unfortunately won’t be joining us tonight,” he announced, relieved when no one booed, though a murmur rippled through the crowd. “Instead I’ll be doing a brand new duet with the lovely, talented Rose- well, Rose.” Belatedly he realized he’d never bothered to get her last name. Oops. “Rose?” He turned to look at where she was standing, frozen, at the mic, one of the other singers nudging her forward.
Eyes wide Rose did, coming up to his side and waving tentatively at the crowd.
“Now, Rose here is a talented songwriter, but you don’t have to take my word for it – you’re about to find out yourself.”
Covering the mic so only she would pick up his next words, he leaned in close. “I know I said I wouldn’t steal it, and I don’t consider what I’m about to do breaking that promise, but it’s not entirely keeping it either. Just trust me like I’m trusting you. This is your moment.”
“I don’t-” she started, but he thrust the live mic in her hands and she stopped. Nabbing his guitar from Craig and slipping the strap over his head, he readjusted his headset, praying the mic would pick up his voice.
He began picking out the melody he’d arranged overnight, took a deep breath and began to sing. “Tell me something, girl.” He met Rose’s eyes just as they widened, relieved when they didn’t seem to hold any sort of homicidal intent. “Are you happy in this modern world?” The crowd was silent, more so than he’d ever heard, and if he hadn’t been performing so long it would’ve been entirely unnerving. “Or do you need more? / Is there something else you’re searching for?” His heart leapt to his throat, and he wondered if she’d be able to see the truth in his next words. “I’m falling. / In all the good times I find myself longing for change. / And in the bad times I fear myself.”
The band behind him came in, softly at first, and he met Rose’s eye again and nodded. She came in perfectly on time, her voice seemingly more beautiful than it had the night before when she’d sung the very same lyrics. “Tell me something, boy. / Aren’t you tired trying to fill that void? / Or do you need more? / Ain’t it hard keepin’ it so hard core.” His heart stopped when she continued, mirroring his pre-chorus. The hesitation in her voice made him wonder if, possibly, it was the truth for her as well. “I’m falling. / In all the good times I find myself longing for change. / And in the bad times I fear myself.”
And then she went solo, singing the part she’d added in the car the previous night just before they reached her hotel. “I’m off the deep end / watch as I dive in / I’ll never meet the ground. / Crash through the surface, where they can’t hurt us / We’re far from the shallow now.”
-
Ian stumbled off the stage somewhat in shock. They’d made it through, Rose performing beautifully, a haunting vocalization in the middle of the song he was certain was already going viral online it was so damn good. He kept Rose pressed to his side, not letting her escape as he fought their way back to his dressing room, waving off the comments being thrown at him. The crowd had gone ballistic, a thunderous roar of approval so great it had been a veritable wall of noise. He didn’t want to know what anyone else thought until he’d heard from her, explained his side.
Slamming the door behind him, he finally let her go and turned to face her, braced for a slap. “I’m sorry I ambushed you, but I haven’t been able to get that fucking song out of my head. It’s incredible, Rose, and that reaction we just got? That was for you. You. As a singer and a songwriter. I mean, that- that-” he fell silent as she stared at him.
“You violated my trust,” she said quietly. “I shared that with you in confidence, and twenty-four hours later you gave it to the fucking world. I can’t- I’m sorry-” Rose darted forward, hand covering her mouth, and he could only watch, disappointed and angry with himself, as she ran away.
“Fuck!” He wanted to throw something, destroy something, but the small rational voice in the back of his head reigned him in. He was already on thin ice for going rogue; better not to ruin in all in a fit of rage. Slamming back a glass of water and wishing like hell he drank, he got himself together before heading for the inside viewing area where a party was raging.
Clara was going to kill him.
-
Sparkling water in hand, Ian sulked in the back of the room. The network hosting the concert had offered their nearby studios to the performers, hosts, and crew, most of whom were finished with their work and ready to party. Ninety seconds remained in the year, before it would finally be over and they could all pretend, if only for a little while, that everything would magically be better.
“Ian.”
Her voice sent a shiver racing down his spine, and he turned to face her, resigned to his fate. “Rose-”
“Thank you,” she interrupted. “The song was perfect. It was true to what I had written, and yet somehow so much better. That’s down to you.”
“How many offers did you get?” he asked after a moment, studying her face.
Her neutral expression melted into a grin. “Six different labels want to sign me. I haven’t made any decision yet. Not about that, at least.” She looked decidedly nervous, rubbing her palms on her skirt.
“Then what did you make a decision about?” His heart picked up pace, hoping for something he wasn’t willing to consider within the realm of possibility.
“I… I really liked talking to you,” Rose said quietly. “Something about it… I don’t know. I thought- I mean- maybe this is totally crazy, but-”
“Ten! Nine! Eight!” Everyone’s attention focused on the telly, where the ball was nearing the base.
As the countdown continued, things became clear in Ian’s mind. This girl, Rose, made him feel alive again in a way he hadn’t in a very long time. And, if he understood her stuttering correctly before they were interrupted, she was trying to say the same thing.
Eyes darting up, he spotted a spring hanging from the ceiling, and smiled. “Mistletoe.”
“New year’s about to start,” she replied, breathless, stepping closer. “Would hate to start it out with bad luck.”
“You just became an overnight sensation, you can’t risk it.”
“Four! Three! Two!”
“I am sensational overnight.” Eyes wide, she was definitely leaning in.
Hand coming up to cup her cheek, he closed the distance between them.
“One! Happy New Year!”
Their lips met, and the fireworks started.
We’re far from the shallow now.
