Chapter Text
Mid sentence, as she’s blabbering to Adam about a part of one of their very old songs, which Davey cannot even remember the lyrics to, which she loves to play because it’s super punky and fast, a man who looks to be about in his late 20s, walks up behind her. Uncertain whether Margeaux knows this man or not, Davey, along with Jade and Adam, watches the man places his hands on her waist, slide them down her hips, and into her pants. The article of clothing is stretchy enough that he can do this. Davey’s eyes widen as much as Margeaux’s, and she stops speaking abruptly.
“Who the fuck…?” she starts.
She turns around, and it is immediately apparent that she doesn’t know this man. Jade swears out of the corner of his mouth as Margeaux yells at the pestering prick.
“Don’t fucking touch people! …Don’t fucking touch people!” She kicks this man square in the center of his chest.
“Oh, shit,” Adam states, the men standing there shocked. She kicks the man again and this time he falls to the ground, flat on his ass. She proceeds to knee him in the face so hard that it draws blood, sending him to his back. The next thing the men know, Margeaux is saddled on the stranger, punching him in the face and screaming at him,
“Don’t fucking touch people ! Do you fucking like it?!”
She asks. He doesn't have a chance to answer before she decks him again.
“Huh? Do you fucking like it?!?! You little bitch!”
The front man of her band, and older cousin, approaches, yelling in Spanish. Something glints in Margeaux’s hand, something she had pulled from her pocket. She flicks her wrist, opening a switchblade.
“Oh, fuck!” Adam yells, and Davey is about to step in when her bassist comes running after her cousin. Many onlookers have begun to film this incident with their phones. Margeaux’s cousin and bassist pull her bodily off this man, who is clearly now injured, bleeding freshly through his nose, his lip gashed. She kicks him again in the process of being pulled away, just in time before she manages to slash him with her knife. She and her cousin start yelling at each other in Spanish, and Davey can only make out a few words.
“Walk the fuck away,” Cousin Mateo yells at her repeatedly. He had somehow gotten the knife from her, holding it out of reach.
“You’re gonna go to fucking jail if you don’t walk the fuck away–people are fuckin’ filming, cous!”
She seems to be completely out of control, but when her band’s bassist, Brett, calmly tells her she needs to walk away, she finally starts to storm off. The men look at each other with wide eyes, in disbelief. The man on the ground is groaning, swearing that this bitch broke his nose. Davey doesn’t feel badly for him. An onlooker was, in fact, calling the police, and Davey has never felt more turned on in his life.
“You fucking deserved it,” Davey states.
“If she had been my daughter, I would have let her stab you,” Adam states.
“We’re gonna lose our fucking drummer,” Mateo says worriedly, shaking his head.
Of course, she and Davey have a lot in common. They both love broad rimmed hats, using sunscreen, moisturizer, and have a sense of fashion. Of course, they would create a clothing line together. She defended again why she went back to and ate eggs a few times a week, and this was a point she and Davey sometimes still argued over. This time, it had become heated, and Davey had made her cry. Needless to say, he had felt awfully and simply wanted to immediately fix things when she walked away crying. She had turned around at the sensation of Davey’s hand on her shoulder, shrugged him off, and emphatically said, “No! Maybe I’m not, and that doesn’t make me evil!” glared him dead in the eyes. It stung. Davey never wanted to see her look at him this way ever again. He felt sorry instantly. Maybe it was her assault from not many hours prior that had kept her in a bad way. She wasn’t as bubbly as usual, and they had not argued like this before.
When she stops talking to him before she goes onstage with her band, he knows he had fucked up royally. It doesn’t feel good. He feels his bandmates eying the two of them, wondering what exactly happened that made her walk away from him so angrily. They had gelled seamlessly in the beginning. Davey stares entranced at her speedy slams on her kit with a set of Vic drumsticks. The movements she makes in line with the bass are a little more violent now. Not like how he remembers her playing previous nights on this tour. She steals a glance at him between songs, twirling her stick in her left hand. She doesn’t smile at Davey. It guts him.
He thinks she’s still probably still on edge from the previous afternoon.
Davey laments that she hates being so damned beautiful. Her cousin had shooed men off so much that Davey didn’t think he could ever get to this point with her. When she talks to him, he finds himself totally mesmerized. Even as a few tears drip down her angry, unreal beauty that comprise her face.
“It’s like a curse,” she says before sniffling, “Everywhere I go, no matter what I do, men just fucking harass me, I can wear a trashbag and it still happens. I’m gonna get a fucking burqa.”
“Isn’t that a bit extreme? You should be able to dress however the fuck you want to…I wouldn’t have let him hurt you. And I don’t think the guys would have either. You were holding your own, Marg.”
Davey watches her eyes widen and cheeks flush. She looks away from him, and he sees a small smile on her face. His heart races. Margeaux abruptly hugging him, her face in his chest, surprises Davey. Hoping that this means she has also forgiven him for their previous argument, he gently embraces her.
“Thank you,” she says, her nose running as she sniffles, “Fuck–I ruined your shirt,” she says, pulling away.
Davey grins. His heart is still thumping. He likes how innocent and genuinely sorry she looks, gazing up at him with her verdant, alluring eyes.
“It’s okay,” he says, “I’m just glad you’re alright.”
He loves making her smile, and blush, and she seems somewhat resistant to expressing how she clearly feels on her face.
“I would do anything for you,” Davey says, clutching her shoulders in his warm hands. Typically, she would have avoided touch from anyone she really didn't know that well. Especially men. But this was Davey. As soon as they'd started talking, she felt like she knew him. Her eyes widen again. Davey releases her.
“Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” he says sheepishly, “Did you not like to be touched that way?”
She throws herself into his brawny arms as a response, Davey utterly rejoices internally. That he makes her feel safe becomes very apparent to him. When he later learns through watching an interview Margeaux gives, that she is a rape survivor, through so many words in the lyrics to one of her band's songs that he had grown very fond of and had severely misinterpreted before finding this out, it all starts to make sense to him. Suddenly, her freak out on the creepy fan that molested her starts to make perfect sense.