InsaneJournal

graeae's prompt: Damon/Pete and quote
This is for graeae's prompt (which I'm still looking for more of, so please give me some here!) It's quite long, and not exactly what she asked for (which, uh, kinda goes against the whole "gimme a prompt for a drabble" concept, but it's a really good quote!) but I did manage to include all the characters, so hopefully that counts for something? Also, this is, uh, distant future, like eight years or something from now, so, uh... on to the fic...

Pairing: Damon/Pete or, if that doesn't work, Pete/Carl
Prompt: "It's a strange thing to discover and to believe that you are loved, when you know that there is nothing in you for anybody but a parent or a God to love." - Graham Greene

"One to Remember"
Word Count: 1887

The problem with being a perpetual fuck-up, Pete had learned, was that eventually everyone gives up on you, even those who swore they would always be by your side. First it was Carl, then his dad, then his mum, then Kate and Carl and Kate in the perpetual cycle of mutual destruction they seemed bent on. Kate held the distinction of sticking around for the longest single run, but she'd left for good the morning after Peter had drunkenly confessed that he was afraid he'd always love Carl more. Always. She sold her story to the Sun or the Daily Mirror or one of the other half dozen parasitic publications which had plagued them for years. Perhaps it was because everyone can relate to the heartbreak of realising the person you love will never love you the way you love them, but suddenly in the eyes of the world he was this terrible villain in a way he'd never been before. The threatening letters had started then, crazed fans of hers intent on making sure he was every bit as miserable as she seemed to be, and he still received the occasional one to this day.

That incident also began what would have been the lowest point in his life if it hadn't been for Carl. He'd shown up on Pete's doorstep the morning after Kate's story came out, dripping wet from the rain, a copy of the article clutched in one hand and a question on his lips. Pete didn't even have to see what she'd said to know what Carl was asking, so he merely replied "yes." Carl had smiled at him and asked if he could come in, and the next three weeks were possibly the happiest in Pete's life. Unfortunately for him, reality came knocking in the form of a call from his replacement reminding Carl they had a show to do that night. They rowed then, Peter wanting just the two of them to perform, or Carl to blow off the gig, and Carl refusing to do either to the boys. Peter then made the mistake of demanding Carl choose, so it was a pair of heavy hearts and no few tears which saw Peter watching from the window as Carl awaited his ride to the gig.

That was not the last time they spoke, however. Despite their conflicting loyalties, schedules, and views on many, many things, the two did continue to meet from time to time, though they always parted badly, Peter never able to accept the fact that Carl had a life he wasn't willing to give up for him.

That all changed when Carl rang to tell him Annalisa was pregnant. Peter was excited for him - he'd always known Carl would make a wonderful father, often admitting in the privacy of his own mind that he would have made a far better parent for Astile - and he'd even played nice with Carl's other so-called friends when they went out to celebrate that night, but Carl still insulted him by asking Gary to be the godfather. Sure, Carl had his reasons - Gary wasn't a smackhead, Gary wasn't perpetually bankrupt, Gary wasn't going to disappear off the face of the planet for months at a time and miss important things, like the kid's birthdays - but Peter scoffed at his logic, claiming Carl was betraying their friendship and telling him not to call him again until he'd changed his mind.

That was seven years ago.

The past seven years had not been kind to Peter Doherty. They'd seen the dissolution of his band, both Babyshambles and the one after it which hadn't even lasted long enough for a name, a well as a failed attempt to convince Kate to give him another chance. They'd seen deaths of friends, Wolfman to a car accident of all things and Mick Jones to a heart attack, and births of still more friends' children, most notably Drew and Lisa's daughter. They'd seen Pete set a new record for most unsuccessful attempts at rehab, and a Dirty Pretty Things album at the top of the charts. They'd seen Carl at the top of the world and Pete at the bottom, but not together as they'd promised that night on the bridge so long ago.

It was a strangely cool summer's day that saw Pete making his way through the mostly empty pub to the bar. He only ventured out to places where he might be recognised like this when he was especially skint and banking on his past fame to get him at least a drink or two. He grabbed a seat at the bar near a somewhat older gentleman whose bowler was tipped low over his face. Recognising this near-universal sign for Do Not Disturb, Peter sighed and waved the bartender over, reluctantly paying for his own first drink. He glanced up at the television set hanging precariously above and the bartender, upon noticing where his attention had wandered to, reached up and flicked a switch, sending the screen crackling to life. As luck would have it, they seemed to have caught the beginning of a series of interviews with that week's charting bands, and he couldn't help but see that Carl's was once again in the top spot. He almost got up and left then, but he'd always been unfortunately curious, and this was no exception, so he settled in to see what they'd say.

The amount of time allotted to each artist seemed to be directly proportional to their standings, so while Pete had to wait nearly a half hour to get to their part, he knew there would be just as much time devoted to them, so he forced himself to wait. His patience was soon rewarded, though he almost fell from his stool as the opening bars of "Can't Stand Me Now" blared from the small speakers. He was treated to a depressingly thorough overview of both their days in the Libertines and his and Carl's lives since, and he did, if only for a moment, feel a small twinge of pity for Carl's other bandmates who seemed doomed to never escape his shadow. The voiceover then went on to give the figures for their latest single, but Pete tuned the words out, focusing instead on Carl. He looked healthier than Pete remembered, and more relaxed despite the tension in his shoulders which had appeared at the beginning of the trip down memory lane, and Pete envied him more then than he possibly ever had before. Eventually, the interviewer brought up the band's chemistry, which inevitably lead to pictures of Pete and Carl, eyes locked across a mic, and discussion of the Libertines. To Pete's surprise, Carl was very open, speaking candidly and freely about their time together. It was only when asked if he was still in touch with Peter that Carl closed up, visibly withdrawing as he mumbled the old tried-and-true excuse of them being in different places in their lives. He then tried to direct the conversation back to their new single, but unfortunately for Carl, the woman didn't seem to take the hint, continuing to press him for details of their admittedly nearly non-existant relationship. Pete could tell Carl was near his snapping point and sure enough, when the woman asked if there was anything Pete could do to get back into his good graces, Carl jumped to his feet, angrily replying, "All he has to do is show up clean at mine and everything will be fine again, no questions asked. Now, are we going to talk about our song or should I just leave you to further contemplate a relationship which has nothing to do with why we're here on your own?" The subject was swiftly changed, Didz managing to coax Carl into returning to his seat, but Peter didn't seem to notice. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost missed the words from the other man still seated next to him.

"He's a fool."

"Who is?" Pete demanded, turning to glare at the stranger. "Carl?"

"No, the other one. To have a friend who obviously cares as much about him as that one does," he waved vaguely in the direction of the television, "and to piss it all away for what, pride? He's been stupid."

"There's more to it than just that!" Pete retorted angrily, subconsciously mimicking Carl's earlier actions as he too rose.

"Oh, I'm sure it seems that way," the man conceded, "but that doesn't change the fact that it takes a special breed of person to be willing to just look past all that history for the sake of his friend. If I were him - the friend, that is - I would have been well on my way over there by now." He reached into his coat pocket, withdrawing a package of cigarettes and a lighter. "Smoke?" he asked, waving the packet in Pete's direction.

"Yeah. Cheers," Pete replied, accepting each item in turn. He sat there smoking for a few minutes, eyes continually darting back to the screen above before suddenly bolting for the door.

The man behind the counter chuckled, reaching up and hitting a button on the television set. The screen flickered, the picture disappearing as the sound cut off with a pop, and a tape was ejected into his waiting hand. "It's a good thing he left when he did. I don't think we had much more on here."

"I'm surprised that actually worked," the man replied, tipping his hat back out of his eyes.

"Well, Powell did say he was a gullible one," the bartender replied, setting the tape on the counter before making his way around to the other side.

"Yeah, but I didn't think he would be taken in so easily as that. I suppose it's a good thing he's not paid more attention to the charts recently or he might have noticed that same piece ran last week." Damon examined the hat for a minute before setting it atop the tape. "I still say I should have been the bartender. This was absolutely crap," he said, waving his hand towards the glass in front of him.

"You're too easily recognised," Graham replied. "People have forgotten what I look like without these on," he pulled his glasses out and returned them to their normal position on his face. "Even so," he said, eyeing his companion curiously. "I'm surprised you were willing to help with this."

"And why is that?" Damon asked defensively.

"Well, I just don't really see anything in it for you, or for the good of the world. I mean, this isn't exactly going to prevent an economic collapse in China, a war in the Middle East, or children from starving in Africa."

"No," Damon agreed, "but maybe I'm tired of listening to that friend of yours go on about his long lost best mate. An overrated ideal, if you ask me," he smirked, earning him a rude gesture, "but somehow appropriate for a pair like that, I suppose. Besides, what else were we supposed to get him?"

"Speaking of which, we'd better get going or we'll miss this birthday thing of his. Something tells me it's going to be one to remember."