Chapter Text
November, 2006 – Paris, France
Pete stared up at the painting on his hotel room wall, imaging how good it would look in his home. It was a simple piece; a small cottage sat in the middle of a sun-bleached yellow field, hills rolling in the distance. He felt like if he stared at it for long enough that he could permanently become as happy as it made him feel, that he could get lost in those swirls of paint. The artist’s name wasn’t even on there for him to try and look it up later.
“I just really like it.” He explained, turning to the singer lying on the bed.
“Whatever, Pete. I can’t exactly stop you if you take it, I just don’t think you should.” He repeated for the millionth time, wanting this conversation to be over. They had shared this hotel room for two nights and he hadn’t shut up about the damn painting on the wall. They were nearing the end of their international tour for their second album and Patrick wanted nothing more than to be in his own company, in his own house, away from stupid pictures of stupid fields.
“It just-”
“Speaks to you, I know.” He groaned. There was a moment of silence in the room and Patrick prayed that maybe he’d finally let it go.
“I’m gonna take it.” He concluded, turning back to the frame on the wall.
“Fine. Just stop talking about it.”
By the time Pete left the hotel the next morning, he had three pieces of art stuffed poorly into his duffel bag. It looked like a squirrel who had no semblance of self-control about how much he should shove in his mouth and was overflowing with things he couldn’t possibly need. Once he had decided he wanted the one painting, he thought he might as well go all in and take all the paintings that piqued his interest. He had to shuffle behind his unimpressed band to get them to their cab without creating too much alarm from the front desk. They had reluctantly agreed, just glad to see him happy about something, even if it was illegal. He shoved the paintings into the back seat of the car in between his legs, warning everyone not to damage his new “masterpieces.” As he stared at the house in the middle of those seas of yellow jutting out from his bag in the back seat of the taxi, he grinned to himself. “This is gonna look so good in my apartment.”
January, 2007 – Chicago, Illinois
“Peter, you can’t just take things.” Their manager sighed as he ran a hand over his face in frustration.
“But I wanted it!” He argued. Joe rolled his eyes. They had all heard the spiel on the car ride over here; once Pete knew he was in trouble he ran through his list of excuses to try and work out what might get him out of it. He had already exhausted all the half reasonable options: ‘I knew the guy who painted it’ and ‘the manager said I could have it.’ He was now down to actual honesty.
“I know you did, but we now need to pay them out for the art that you took. Do you know how much it’s worth?” He questioned, eyeing the bassist as he leaned forward.
“I dunno, $50?” He shrugged. Patrick rested his head in his hands, dearly hoping this wasn’t coming out of their pay.
“Each piece they’ve valued at $1,000.” Patrick let out what could only be described as a wail as he pulled his cap down over his face. “It was a French hotel. You think they’d put up any old crap on their walls?” He shot a glare towards Pete. “But don’t worry, we’ve already paid them back and apologised on behalf of Fall Out Boy. Considering that we’ve bailed you out of worse situations, it wasn’t that much of a strain on the label.” He explained. “But… we are concerned that if you don’t learn from your mistakes, that you’ll continue to make them.” He rested his hands on the table in front of them, trying to put on his best business face in the hopes that maybe their disobedient lyricist would finally take him seriously. The defiant look in his eyes suggested he wasn’t about to.
“So, what? He’s on hotel arrest? Because he’ll only take more random pieces of furniture.” Joe grumbled.
“No. He’s under strict supervision.” He clarified.
“From who?” Andy asked.
“We decided that it might actually be cheaper to hire someone to keep him in check rather than continue to pay people out when he…” He ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to pick his words carefully, “acts out.”
“I have a babysitter?” Pete groaned, throwing his head back against his chair. “Are you for real? I’m not a kid!”
“Are you sure? After you called 911 for the emergency services to help get your arm unstuck from a vending machine last year?” Their manager reminded, shuddering at the thought of how much the fees had been to call out the entire fire department.
“That was one time.”
“And what about when you tried to jump over a riverbed because ‘someone said you couldn’t make it’ and broke your ankle?” He raised his eyebrow.
“Look, we get it, he has the mental capacity of a thirteen-year-old,” Andy started. Pete reached over angrily and punched the drummer in the arm, “What does this mean for us?” He asked, shuffling forward in his seat.
“You’ll have to make space for five rather than four in your hotels and buses. We will continue to pay touring expenses as we have been, and we will still line up tours for the band. Your… loss prevention representative will join you on tour and will make sure that Peter,” He grimaced at the use of his full name, “doesn’t cause any further damage. Otherwise things will be the same.” He elaborated.
“And if we decline?” Joe questioned, not liking the idea of sharing their space with someone else.
“You lose your contract.” He shrugged simply, leaning back in his chair. Patrick’s head shot up at those words.
“What??” His eyes were full of panic.
“Costing the label as much money as your band has, as frequently as you have, is already in breach of your contract. The fact that we are being so understanding is already more than what most companies would say you deserve.” The band shared a collective look of disappointment. “Look, we thought about it a lot and this seemed to be the best solution for everyone.” He held out a pen to Pete, sliding the paperwork across his desk.
“Yeah, but-” Pete started to object.
“Sign it.” Patrick ordered through gritted teeth.
February, 2007 – Chicago, Illinois
At first, things didn’t seem to change for the band. They had been home from their international promotion of their second studio album for about four months now, they were jamming and hanging out as per usual. Their third album had released with no issues and had been received excellently. Eventually the label called them with the offer of another tour; they wanted them to do a twenty show, cross-country tour starting on the East coast and ending on the West, stopping at home for a break in the middle and ending with a hometown show to promote their new release. The whole thing would be about four months of travel, shows, and cheap motel beds. They were ecstatic at the thought of being back on the road again, Pete in particular hated staying in one place for too long and was already sick of being home. However, when they stepped into the studio offices to confirm dates, they were forced into introductions with their new “loss prevention” addition to the crew. Joe’s face fell when he was shown who they’d be spending the next third of a year with.
“A girl? Really?” Was his instant objection. They’d been assured that she was the best fit for the role, as it was less likely that Pete would try and punch a girl when she told him off.
She had spent a long moment taking in the band as they discussed the tour and how it was all going to work; extra hotel rooms had to be booked, buses with extra bunks had to be organised. In the car ride on the way over she had listened to the new album. They weren’t bad by any means, but it gave her a decent insight into the men in front of her. She felt that Pete instantly seemed like a delinquent (admittedly the fact that she had been told ‘Peter will try and get away with anything’ hadn’t helped that bias). It seemed from the outside looking in that he would take any and all excuses to break the rules and get what he wanted. Even during the meeting he was trying to bend the rules about when and where they had to stop, how high their budget was for shows, how many things he was allowed to break on stage. He frequently glared at her from across the room from under his jet-black bangs, already acutely aware of his distaste for their new acquaintance. Andy seemed to be the responsible one. He was happy to run over figures and logistics and make sure everything seemed to be okay from their end of the deal. He didn’t seem to have anything against being stuck with her, but he didn’t seem overjoyed about it either. Joe was mostly silent, making him hard to read. He had opted to sulk in silence that his usual plan of bringing girls back to their bus would be dampened by there already being a girl on it. Patrick seemed friendly, and possibly the most willing to compromise out of the four men. During the meeting he was happy to sacrifice his own privacy in hotel rooms to save on their budget and make the shows better, and he was always open to whatever ideas were brought up. He was the only one who didn’t seem to be completely thrown by the idea of having someone else on tour with them. He was also the only one in the band who had smiled at her when they were introduced.
After an hour or two all the details were sorted. The first half of the tour would be self-driven in a bus loaned to them by the label, they would have to find their own accommodation along the way, but living on the East coast themselves they said that wouldn’t be an issue. The second leg would be after a month or so break, they would have a tour bus driver and would be put up in hotels along the way. They had promised that they would at least be civil to their new company, given they’d be stuck together for quite a while. She had agreed that she would keep Pete in check and that he wouldn’t cost the label any unnecessary money. Nobody was looking forward to the sixteen-hour drive to their first show in Boston.