When The Lights Go Down

Prologue

If you had of told FP that his life would go down this route he never would have believed you. He was always so set on never turning out like his father, he steered clear from alcohol as much as possible, he made sure to have clear communication with Gladys, he did everything his father didn't. He was determined to never let his family be torn apart by such destructive behaviours, and he succeeded, for a little while at least.

But it's hard to stay so clean when stress just seems to pile up like laundry. Between touring, record sales and newfound fatherhood, he felt stretched so thin. So when someone offered him a glass of scotch after a show, he thought, why the hell not? How bad could one measly glass be? It's not like he was going to make a habit out of it.

Except he did, it became a tradition, celebrating a good show with a glass or two. And soon enough it became a bottle, and then two, until he found himself drinking into a stupor after every show, and by then it was too hard to stop.

Everyone caught on, but he somehow managed to hide it from Gladys for a while, something that at the time he counted as a blessing but now sees as a curse. Perhaps she could have helped him sooner, before he fell so far down the rabbit hole.

Fred did the best he could, he served as both FP's confidant and manager, he started to make sure he went straight home after shows, would hide any and all alcohol from backstage. But one thing he underestimated was how sneaky someone with an addiction could be.

There were bottles hidden in the toilet tank, hidden in the boxspring of his bed, in the attic. That's how Gladys found out about the problem, when she went up to the attic to get out their winter coats and found a collection of empties with not an ounce of dust on them.

She confronted him and he told her to mind her own business, she told him he had a problem, he told her to go to hell. She leaned heavily on her friends, seeking for help from someone, but the downside to stardom is just how many people are willing to turn on you for their own fifteen minutes of fame.

Somewhere along the line she stopped trying, started resenting him for how he had hurt her and their family with his actions. She would hide his bottles from him to push off his drinking for a little while, but he would always find them. It was exhausting, especially when he stopped coming home and she found herself worried sick all night wondering if he ever would.

So she wasn't exactly surprised when the final straw broke.

Breaking news: singer FP Jones was found passed out and inebriated in a hotel lobby this evening. Residents of the hotel noticed the state of the musician and called authorities, who promptly brought him to Riverdale County Hospital. No updates on his condition yet, but it seems like this is a case of yet another Hollywood star being beaten down by the pressure of the spotlight.

FP groans as he opens his eyes, the harsh white lights of the room he's in burning his eyes and making his head ache something fierce. "You deserve that." Gladys' fiery voice spits from somewhere beside him.

He peeks one eye open and finds his wife in the doorway, cradling their daughter in her arms. "How did I get here?" He asks her, his voice hoarse and dry. "Why am I here?"

"Because you're an idiot." She tells him plainly, struggling to keep a hold on the little brown haired girl in her arms who's making grabby hands for her father.

"Come here, baby." He says to his daughter, opening his arms for Gladys to pass her over. She tightens her hold on the girl instead. His eyebrows furrow. "Let me hold her, she wants me."

"You're not in any shape to hold her right now." She storms over to his hospital bed and tosses some pamphlets at him. "These are for you." Gladys coldly.

"What are they?" He questions, picking one up with a weak hand.

"Rehab facilities." She states. "The best of the best, and far enough away that we can keep it quiet, not cause a huge media stir." Her eyes drift up towards the tv, where her husbands picture is plastered all over the news. "Well at least any more than you already have."

FP tosses the pamphlet aside and scoffs. "What are you on about? I'm not going to rehab, I'm fine."

Her eyebrow perks up, a cold, unamused expression on her face. "Really? You call being taken to the hospital and having your stomach pumped because you had the beginning's of alcohol poisoning, fine? You're not fine, you're disgusting." She spits, her voice full of contempt. "And unless you clean up your act you're not seeing me or June."

He gapes, his face growing hard and serious. "You can't keep my kid away from me Gladys, she's my daughter too." He growls, how dare she even threaten that?

"Who do you think the court would side with, FP? Me? Or her drunken, sloppy father who was just found passed out in a hotel lobby? Which by the way you weren't even staying at, nice job."

The words hit him like a ton of bricks and his eyes well up. He knows she's right, the court would never side with him, not with his past.

He looks down at the pamphlets in his lap and shoves them back towards her. "I don't care which one, you pick."

"You don't have a preference?" She points to a specific one. "This one has a pool and this one over here has a gym-"

FP catches her hand and locks eyes with her. "I don't want to lose either of you, so whatever it takes, I'll do." He tells her, unblinking, he's so serious and it makes her heart squeeze. "If you think rehab is the way, then I'll go, so just choose one."

She nods and quietly picks up the pamphlets. She's about to leave when she turns on her heels and walks over to him, pressing a gentle kiss to his head. "Thank you." She rests her head against his for a moment, while their daughter stares at him with big brown eyes so similar to his.

It's that moment that he decides he'll do whatever it takes, he'll do it for his daughter who needs him in her life, he'll do it for his wife who he's already put through so much, and he'll do it for himself so he doesn't miss out on another moment with either of them.