Chapter Text
Hydra Greece, Spring 1977
The cool night breeze lifted the hem of her white dress before softly letting the delicate lace settle around her ankles once more.
Today, the weather had been perfect. The sky a blazing blue, the sun shining enough to warm but not induce a sweat, the breeze gentle enough sooth without carrying the smell of the island’s many fishing nets.
Daisy had never given thought to what her wedding might look like. She hadn’t been the kind of child to throw a towel over her head as a makeshift veil, practice kissing her dolls, or pick flowers to form a bouquet. She’d never argued with her friends over who got to pretend to be the bride.
Maybe that was because she hadn’t had many friends in the first place. But even if she had, she still thinks she would have picked getting lost in the music over getting lost in a daydream. Even when she had played pretend, she’d pretended to a faerie, a witch, a bloody warrior queen, not a woman dressed in white waiting for true love’s kiss. What's the point of playing pretend only to spend half the time pretending to wait?
So she didn’t have much to compare today to, no reference point fixed in her mind. But she thinks that even if she’d had dreams of being a bride, it wouldn’t have compared to today.
The whole day had been magical. The kind of elevated feeling that Daisy hadn’t known could exist outside of a sound booth with a certain voice blending with hers.The setting so charming that it could have been preserved in celluloid. The handsome prince at the end of the aisle, dressed casually but beaming. The collective inhale by the guests at her beauty as she’d walked towards him.
After a lifetime of being dismissed, ignored, resented, and forgotten, today Daisy Jones had been chosen. Not simply as a warm body to hold in the night, or a shiny object to be worn on a strong arm but as a partner. Maybe that’s what all little girls who dreamed of weddings were really longing for, really waiting for, someone to choose them, to call their name.
It was, finally, finally Daisy’s turn to be happy.
Simone had lifted Daisy’s veil, extending the ornate, transparent fabric over both Daisy and Nicky’s heads, covering them both. In that moment, Daisy had felt as if she and Nicky were separated from the world. Protected in their own little gauzy cocoon, safely ensconced in lace.
He smiled at her then, nervous and excited, with none of his usual superiority. It softened his handsome, haughty face. She’d never seen him like this before. The answering smile that stretched across her own face was equally sincere.
When he whispered, “Hi,” to her, she couldn’t help but giggle giddily and whisper it back.
When he kissed her, sealing their commitment, the high of it rushed through her veins. She had been reminded of their first kiss, just a few weeks prior and the way the lingering trace of coke he’d rubbed into his gums had raced through her bloodstream.
She loses her veil somewhere between the bridal arch and the dance floor but won’t notice until much later.
After, they’d mingled with their guests, occasionally finding their way together. Nicky’s arm draped negligently around her, careless kisses, and shining eyes for all the world to see. When he’d spun her around, she’d felt dizzy. She hadn’t been sure if it had been him, the occasion, the champagne, or the thrill of the public declaration of devotion.
If the list of attendees was made up mostly of people who’s been strangers to her a month ago, she could convince herself it didn’t matter. Nicky was here for her. Simone was here for her as well.
If she sees Simone and Bernie’s concerned glances, they are easy enough to dismiss. She loses herself in cake, in coke, in cloying kisses, in the dry, sweet taste of champagne. Later, in the licorice taste of ouzo.
When she finally makes her way to her best friend through the celebrating crowd, she isn’t surprised to discover that her giddiness isn’t shared.
Simone had made her doubts clear enough a few days before as they sat on a bench facing the spectacular view.
She tries not to think of Simone’s quietly whispered concerns. The figure she had conjured between them like some dark magic, all without one mention of his name. Simone’s words also dragged up another specter. The sad, pathetic, needy girl in the empty cottage in Los Angelas was a different version of her. That girl feels like a stranger to this one, armoured in lace and commitment.
Now, she encourages her friend to share in her joy. Daisy wants to ride this elated feeling and not be dragged down by furrowed brows, worried eyes, and gentle reminders.
When Nicky approaches them, it’s a relief. His arm around her shoulders feels solid and anchoring. If it weighs her down more than she’d like, she can shake it off and ignore it.
Before she knows it, she’s saying yes to dropping acid and pulling off her dress.
Time goes blurry after that. She tells Nicky that she can taste the colour of the sky. He nods in understanding. He tells her that he can smell the olive trees as he pulls her towards the Aegean.
When they slip into the cool water, he swims ahead of her. His pale Irish skin contrasts against the dark water. His form cuts through the water like a knife.
Suddenly, he’s too far away and her chest seizes up with panic. Her heart feels as if it could explode, fear seizing her limbs. She slows her forward crawl even more, turns over on her back and just floats.
She tries to breathe through the panic, as tears trickle down her face and she blinks up at the stars.
She’s not sure how long she floats but eventually she swims back only to discover that Nicky has made it back to shore.
“You abandoned meeeeeee,” she slurs, pushing his shoulder and sending him off balance.
“Wife, I would never.” He swears, kissing her cheek and holding her close. He’s still damp from the swim, but he’s managed to re-dress. His white linen shirt clings to him in damp patches, showing off his beautifully defined chest.
She lets the response slide. If she can’t believe him today, when can she trust him? She shuts down that line of thought immediately. That’s a question her brain has no interest in asking.
He drags her onto the dance floor, and his friends teach them a folk dance that has her laughing again.
Somewhere amid the chaos, Simone and Bernie disappear. Daisy is too caught up in the dance to notice.
The party goes on late into the night, but they make their excuses. “Thank you for coming but I think it is time that I take my wife home.” His accent just the tiniest bit thicker as he puts the emphasis on the word "wife".
“Wife, shall we?” He turns to her for agreement but he’s not really asking.
“Yes, husband.” As the words fall from her lips, she marvels at the strange sound. Seven letters which imply devotion, desire, commitment, and obligation.
She starts to laugh. She has a husband! She’s fucking married!
When they stumble into their bedroom that night, everything is in the same place. She notices it more because it seems insane that they left as two separate people this morning but returned as one unit, bound by laws.
They tumble to the bed, shedding clothes and shoes in a rush.
His hands brush across her skin lightly in contrast to his more forceful mouth. Her tongue chases the lingering taste of champagne in his mouth.
When he hilts himself inside of her, he groans out the word, “Wife.” She whimpers at the ownership in the tone, the fullness of him inside her, the idea of belonging to someone.
If she expected that tonight, he’d be more focused on her pleasure than his own, she’d be sorely disappointed. But still, the sex is good. They both take what they need. She doesn’t come but it still feels good.
After, he kisses her chastely and tells her how happy he is that she came to Greece, how they’re connected by the divine. When she stumbled and fell into his lap that first night, it was the universe bringing them together. She doesn’t point out that it was probably more of a function of high heels, jet lag, and too many drugs. It’s nice to believe that there is a plan for her, for them.
The morning, they sleep in late. They begin their first day as a married couple with a morning bump of coke and a languid fuck. This time she does come, moaning around him, eyes closed against the bright sunshine.
After they shower and dress. Daisy chooses a coral caftan. The dazzling colour reflective of her mood. Nicky has a light breakfast set out for them and their guests. They eat, basking in the sunshine and the view. In some part of Daisy’s mind, she still can’t believe this is her life.
It’s only when Simone discusses her travel plans that Diasy begins to spiral. Talk of work and gigs has no place in this little sanctuary she has built. She wants her friends to stay a little longer. Why does reality have to intrude? She’ll miss them if they go.
She pleads with Simone. Then she tries negotiating. What if Simone and Bernie stayed another three days? As each tactic fails, she becomes more desperate. Desperate for the party not to end, desperate to keep everything as it was yesterday. Yesterday when so much seemed possible. She inhales her cigarette morosely.
Nicky sensing the increasing friction between the pair excuses himself, offering to make tea.
“Some of us need to work our damn asses off to get even half the breaks you’ve gotten.” And in that sentiment, all Daisy can hear is, “talent like Daisy’s is wasted on someone like Daisy.” It stings.
Simone reminds her off her past, when she was too scared to share her songs with the world. Tells her that she knows that Daisy doesn’t write songs just to write, that Daisy needs that sense of connection. Tells her that she needs to go back. How can she choose to stay here when she has a hit record climbing the charts?
Daisy’s protests fall of deaf ears. She doesn’t want to go back, can’t go back. There is only forward. She can’t face the past.
When Simone mentions Billy’s name, Daisy feels like screaming. It’s not as simple as fearing Billy fucking Dunne. She fucking wishes it was a simple as that!
It’s a million things that she can’t name in the moment. The thoughts come in a rush, filling her head with a roaring sound as loud as the ocean.
It’s the needy, pathetic person she becomes in proximity to him. Desperate to impress him. It’s how he can bring out the best in her and the absolute worst in the next second. It’s the way that he opens his mouth to lie or judge as easily as he opens his mouth to sing. It’s the way he resents her talent and her presence and pretends to need neither. It’s the way she can feel his eyes on her the second she enters any room and the way he acts as if it means absolutely nothing.
It’s the pressure from the label, and even from Teddy. The pressure to be great, to deliver something incredible. It’s the thrilling and terrifying thought of splitting herself open, night after night for audiences who might not understand what she’s trying to say.
It’s the idea of going back to a place where she’d spent so much time feeling alone and empty. Damn right she’s afraid!
These thoughts give her no peace, not that excuses what she does next. She lashes out. Nicky’s cruel suspicions cross her lips as easily as if those thoughts were her own.
Simone’s first reaction is stunned silence. Maybe that’s why Daisy does it in the first place so that everything can be quiet for one damn second.
As soon as the words are in the air, she hates herself. She knows what she said was untrue.
Simone loves her, yes. But Simone loves her like an annoying little sister, like the best friends they are. Nothing like what she’s accusing her of.
Simone’s next reaction is hurt. It crosses her face as clear as day, the flinch of her body, the glassy gleam in her eyes.
The vulnerability is gone in a second, before Simone excuses herself to pack, leaving Daisy alone on the patio with nothing but silence and her choices.
Despite the lingering tension in the wake of their argument, she escorts Simone and Bernie to the dock as they prepare to leave the island.
Her goodbye with Bernie consists of nothing but a head nod. It’s clear that Simone has at least shared part of what happened earlier. Daisy tries to make small talk and is met with cold disapproval.
It makes her feel even smaller. ‘Good,’ she thinks to herself. ‘It’s good Simone has someone in her life who is so protective of her, who cares so much.’
Before they board the small boat, Simone tries one more time to change her mind. She tells Daisy that she loves her and that is why she is telling her the truth, even if she doesn’t want to hear it. Tells her that’s what love is even if Daisy can’t recognize it.
She forgives the dig at her newly minted marriage almost as soon as it’s said. She’s tempted to defend herself, defend her marriage, but when she reaches for words, she finds air instead.
How can she judge Simone for lashing out when she’s been even crueler herself?
Daisy doesn’t want to leave things like this. She can’t leave things like this even if she’s hurt. She knows Simone is doing this because she thinks it’s right for Daisy. But even if her motives are good, that doesn’t make Simone the authority on her life.
Before she can overthink it, she’s running down the dock, practically tripping over the hem of her caftan.
“Wait! Wait!” Louder this time, “Fucking wait!”
Simone stops, turning around eagerly. “Have you changed your mind? Are you coming with us?”
“No. yes, I don’t know. But Simone, I’m sorry for being awful earlier. I’m so fucking sorry! I didn’t mean anything I said. I knew it was wrong the instant when I said it.” She tries to infuse her voice with all the contrition she feels.
Simone regards Daisy for a long moment. Arms crossed and full pink lips pursed before saying, “Then why the hell did you say it?”
She can't share Nicky's awful suspicions with Simone. It will only make her hate him even more.
“Because I wanted to hurt you, to shut you up, to end the conversation. I was an asshole and you didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry, Simone. Thank you for coming all the way here for my wedding. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for looking out for me.” She finishes by this time; tears blur her vision.
“Daisy, you hurt me. Just because you don’t want to hear something, you don’t get to pull this shit.” Simone shakes her head as the boat captain motions that it is the final call to board.
Daisy nods, still crying. She leans into hug Simone, tightly wrapping her thin arms around her. Simone doesn’t reciprocate but she doesn’t push Daisy away either.
“Just because you know me, just because you love me, doesn’t mean you get to make my choices for me.” She squeezes Simone extra tight before letting go.
She watches the boat for a long time after it launches. Watches until the image grows smaller, and smaller against the horizon.
She walks back to the house as slowly as the short distance will allow.
When she catches sight of Nicky, she is stuck by his handsomeness. His lean, tall figure, the immaculate way he wears his clothes, his even features.
When she greets him, he’s holding a paper in his hands.
It takes her longer than it should to realize what exactly he’s holding. Her stomach plummets to the floor when she does.
He shows her the black and white image of her and the band contained therein and Daisy is immediately reaching for it. Her hands shake as she balls up the paper as best as she can, destroying the pages as if she can keep that world from bleeding into this one.
“I didn’t realize you were this famous.” A statement and an accusation.
“Daisy, I overheard your conversation earlier.” A confession.
“Was she right about this need of yours to connect?” A question.
She honestly doesn’t know, she had been thinking about it the entire walk back.
Were the journal entries she had written in her room any less valuable than the songs she and Billy had written together?
She thinks of the elation she felt the first time she heard her own voice on the radio.
She thinks about reaching millions of people. She thinks of being more than the muse or the groupie.
Then she remembers the way music had made her childhood less lonely.
She shakes her head as if to deny this question, deny this conversation. However, she can only delay for so long.
“Yes, I think so. But I’m not sure the band is the only way or even the best way to do it. Fuck, I do love writing music and of course reaching an audience matters, I’m just not sure it’s the only thing. Not anymore. Part of me wants to go back.” She whispers, wrapping her arms around herself as if trying to protect her lithe frame.
He reaches for her then, caresses the side of her face before dropping his hand.
“Maybe she’s right then.” He concedes, looking into her eyes for confirmation.
“She could be. I know her intensions are good but maybe she’s wrong. Simone wishes she had a hit single and a magazine cover. She’s trying to make it in music as well. Maybe she just can’t imagine not wanting those things? Maybe she can’t imagine walking away if she had those things? I hated my life in LA! I felt so alone.” Daisy sighs. She hated herself in LA, but she doesn’t admit that part out loud.
“Is it about him? The man who you let in and fucked with your head? The one who called you a headcase in that article?” His voice which had been so understanding suddenly contains hints of anger.
Christ, she hasn’t been married for a full day, and she’s found herself in two conversations about Billy fucking Dunne! An ocean between them and still no goddamn space.
“Maybe a little bit. It really fucked with my head but that was only part of the reason that LA was bad for me.” Daisy thinks now of the endless parities, the countless strangers, the lonely cottage she slept in each night.
“Besides, I once wanted to be a poet, then a writer. There are a million ways to tell a story. That's what I really love. Who’s to say, I wouldn’t find a way to connect with people here singing my songs on the docks each day? I’ve been happy here these last few weeks. I don’t want to lose that. I can’t lose that.” She grips his hand like a tether, as if he can save her from drowning.
He nods, relieved. “Ok wife, then we stay.” He pulls her into his arms, pressing a firm kiss to her mouth.
Inside Daisy is shaking with a mix of relief, disappointment, and something else she can’t name.
This time when he calls her wife, it somehow doesn’t sound quite as good as it had only the night before.