1973 [charlie]

Charlie nodded, a funny little smile playing on his lips as he lifted his glass to them again for another sizeable sip of his margarita. “Has he,” Charlie replied, not so much asking as agreeing. Being mates, except—y’know—he’s fit and gets me off. Charlie recalled that particular explanation with surprising clarity considering how many whiskeys deep he’d been at the time of hearing it. He supposed, now, spending a bit of time with Oliver – and knowing how, at one point, Kate had been his friend who was fit and got him off – he understood what Liam had meant. “I’m sure he’s got a shitload of places he wants to show you.”

Oliver thanked Charlie and the older man felt somewhat odd about the way he’d said it. He shrugged it off, not unkindly, and drank again.

“Shit, right, sorry.” Charlie rubbed at his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “Space and time are a bit fucked for me at the moment,” he admitted, not bothering to elaborate because he was fairly certain Liam had done so for him – that, and he didn’t want to linger on it. “But thats boss, mate, that you’re already in there.” He sipped at his margarita again – then again – and scratched the side of his jaw. “Once you get this one wrapped up it’ll all fall into place,” he offered. “You get used to being in there, get into a rhythm – pardon the pun,” he smirked.

Charlie finished the last of his current glass, eyes going a little round as Oliver spoke. He held his empty glass in one hand and reached for their first carafe with the other, emptying it as he poured himself another drink. “Has he,” he repeated from a few moments prior, this time a little more sceptically. He supposed he ought to be grateful that Oliver was hearing about him from Liam rather than from tabloids, but there was no guarantee that Liam was being as complimentary as Charlie would have preferred – not that hereally  deserved it right now.

A real life Mr. Rochester. Charlie frowned. “You trying to insult me?”

The game Oliver had come up with, to keep up to speed with Charlie Baker's drinking, was growing increasingly harder as the night went on. He tried not to watch too deliberately as the other man took a sip, then another, before he mimicked the action. At some point, he wasn't sure when, he felt the familiar heat across his cheeks, drunk, leaving him smiling and moving to the sound of the music that mixed with the conversations around them.

There was an electricity in the bar—one that the next morning Ollie would ascertain had been tequila driven—but at the moment left him feeling high.

"S'alright," Oliver reassured, his smile only hinting at his bewilderment. In no world did he think that Charlie would be concerned with the timeline of his recording, given all that he imagined that he had on. In fact, it felt like he was in some kind of alternate universe, casually having margaritas with him and talking about life, about Liam, about his record and everything falling into place.

"I hope so, anyway," The younger man shrugged. He didn't want to jinx it. This thing that he'd spend his whole life dreaming of, to the point that he'd never actually tried to excel at anything else, felt so tangible now that the prospect of losing it was terrifying. 

Reaching over the bar, Oliver thanked the bartender for the tacos and greedily took one before offering the plate to Charlie. You trying to insult me? The question sounded distant but stood out over the sounds of the bar. Ollie stopped, mid-bite. He held up a finger in thought, thankful that he had the time to think things through as he chewed. He'd never been so happy that speaking with his mouth open had been so ingrained in him from his mother as a mortal sin.

"Sorry?" He finally asked, setting down the taco and turning to face Charlie as much as he could given the bar. He expected him to smile, to laugh as he had earlier in the evening when he had pulled a joke on him. "No—" Oliver began nervously, the moment enough time had passed for it to be serious. In hindsight, Rochester probably wasn't the best example, given the man's current status. "—I just," He wiped his mouth with his damp cocktail napkin and folded it up.

"I don't know what I meant," He confessed finally with a shrug. It had been a one-off comment, something he hadn't even given a second thought to.

Charlie pressed his lips together in a line as the younger man offered the plate to him. His dark eyes flicked to Ollie’s upheld finger then back to his face. He drank (again) while he waited for the impending explanation. Charlie let Oliver sweat for a minute before his mouth curled into a slow grin. “Don’t think you’re far wrong,” he admitted finally, pulling the plate of tacos closer. “Rude not to,” he said as he picked one up.

“Liam’s still got some things to tell you then,” he smirked before biting into the food, taking his time to chew. He meant about him -- them. The group. The dynamics, all of it. He supposed he couldn’t blame Oliver for being wary about offending him, but he was so used to being surrounded by people he’d known for years -- and who were happy to put him and his ego in their rightful places -- that it was hard to remember there were people he didn’t know well enough for that. Yet, maybe, judging by some of the remarks Oliver had made in the small space of time Charlie had known him.

The musician finished his mouthful and went for another sip of margarita. “D’you have a band?” he asked, going in for a second bite and adding “For touring and that,” around his chewing. It was possible Ollie would just let the label sort that for him, but Charlie and the boys had always had a loose sort of screening process as to who would join them on the road. Maybe that process would get a little tighter under their new manager, whoever that was going to be.

Oliver let out the breath that he'd been holding while he waited for Charlie to respond to his lack of explanation. Maybe he'd been presumptuous. Maybe he was too held to the things he'd read and heard about the other man. Either way,  he hadn't intentionally set out to offend him. It struck him as strange, though, that he was so quick to upset. It seemed even he wasn't impervious to the perils of his reputation.

Shrugging a shoulder at the mention of still having much to be told, he tried to shake the feeling of inferiority. It still felt as though he was watching this all unfold from the outside. To have it mentioned so pointedly gave him pause. "S'pose so," He took another bite, washing down the chili lime flavor down with another sip of his drink. Absently he wondered if there were things he knew, that Charlie didn't already. Probably not.

"I do," He chirped up with a grin, happy for the change in subject to something more light and palatable in comparison, the band. "Well—" Ollie paused, slumping slightly in his stool. "Most of one," He explained, though he imagined Liam would have mentioned that to him by now. "Still short a full-time bassist, but Liam will manage," He joked, finishing what was left of the taco, referring to the other wizard recording with them.

"We're playing a show, the start of the month so we'll have to figure it out before then..." He wiped his mouth again with the cocktail napkin before discarding it next to his glass that was dripping condensation to the sleek wooden bar. "Something the label has put on, quite small," Nothing like what Banshee was used to he thought to himself. It was meant to have a pop-up feel, no advertising—simple and intimate. The reminder sent an excited chill up his spine. "The Tuning Fork," He wondered if Charlie knew the small venue that was tucked away in London in all of its dingy glory.

Charlie had thought for a moment that Oliver was going to start sulking, or else clam up and sip at the rest of what was in their carafes in silence until it was time to bid each other farewell. Thankfully, the younger man brightened as the discussion turned back to music -- and Charlie had to admit that he found the topic a lot easier to stomach than either of their personal lives.

But perhaps he had thought that a little too soon. “Liam?” he repeated, obviously a little surprised by the suggestion. He couldn’t quite work out if Ollie was joking or if he was being serious. Charlie knew that Liam was within his rights to do whatever he wanted -- it wasn’t like Banshee would be touring again in the immediate future, because that would require Charlie actually writing some new material -- but it settled uncomfortably in his stomach. Liam couldn’t go off playing bass for his boyfriend -- not on a permanent basis, anyway. And was this just taking advantage of Liam? Charlie recalled his friend being more than a little concerned about being outed -- wouldn’t following his squeeze around the country increase the likelihood of their relationship coming to light?

Charlie drank, rather than say what he was thinking (which was that Oliver ought to find his own bloody bassist).

“Mm,” he hummed, at the mention of a show, focusing on finishing his taco. “Small is better, sometimes,” Charlie offered. “When you’re still fiddling with the setlist and that.” He nodded in recognition of the venue. “Tidy little place that,” he smirked. “Played there a few times. Might have to come along, if you don’t mind?”

Charlie wiped his hands together with a napkin when he finished eating and topped both of their glasses up, then lifted his towards Oliver in a muted toast. “Tuning Fork,” he said before quickly lifting his drink to his lips and making a solid effort towards downing the bright-coloured liquid within. He lowered his glass, almost empty, back to the bar and waved at the man behind it, “‘Nother round please, mate.”


OUT

Whoops.

Ollie's heart dove in his chest. Charlie hadn't known that Liam was recording bass on the album. On his album. It was new, but he'd mistakenly assumed that they would have already discussed it. "Yeah," He answered, a bit more quietly now and into his drink. He didn't imagine that it would be a problem, given Liam had no intention of joining the band or anything, but he still felt a bit guilty for being the one to tell him.

"Until we find someone permanent," He trailed off thoughtfully, trying not to think about how hot his face had gone.

At the mention of Charlie Baker turning up to the gig, at The Tuning Fork no less, he smiled, though. It was an amusing image to think of— him in all his brooding, leather and slicked-back hair. "Sure, of course," He grinned happily. "Though I can't promise it will be a huge turnout or anything," Ollie wanted to front foot what he thought might be an underwhelming event for someone like him.

Following his lead and taking another drink, he nodded, half-drunk, to the bartender appreciatively. 

[fin]