Title: All the Madmen

Parts: one

Fandom: David Bowie

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: all characters of bowie, and bowie, himself as well as lyrics

used belong to him

Summary - I like being speculative. This idea hit me and wouldn't let go,

so here it is. What happens after the rock messiah and the spaceman have

outlived their use? Where do they go?

July 3, 1973

Subject admitted after attempted suicide in front of

mass audience. Shows signs of hysteria and paranoia.

Has suspicions of attempted assassination on his

person, and delusions of grandeur. Is no doubt insane.

Treatment is solitary confinement until therapy can

begin.

******

He had no idea who checked him into this place. He had

thought he had been left for dead, if not completely

annihalated after that last concert. But he had woken

up to a small room on a small bed, with no one around

except for nosey doctors and pesky nurses who kept

ducking away from his hands to shoot him up with drugs

that didn’t give him any pleasure.

They say he has no brain They say he has no mood They

say he was born again They say look at him climb

It was easy to say that he hated it here.

They all looked at him as if he was the biggest kook

on the planet. Or off planet, in his case. It was like

he was some sort of experiment gone wrong.

They say he has two gods They say he has no fear They

say he has no eyes They say he has no mouth

Even when he tried to explain what had happened, they

didn’t believe a word of it. Apparently they weren’t

music lovers. Hadn’t even heard of him. That had

angered him at first, shocked him, but he had learned

to accept it, just like he accepted the therapist’s

patient explanations for what he was feeling, or why

he said the things he did. Didn’t mean he had to

actually believe them.

1975

Subject not responding to intense therapy. Insists on

hanging to his delusions of righteousness. Has begun

displaying signs of oppulence and sexual perversity.

Interacts with others well to a certain point.

Solitary confinement will continue and interaction

will be supervised. We can assume that there is no

hope of recovery. As a side note, subject claims no

association or knowledge with two newly admitted

patients that claim to know him.

*******

He had to get out of here. He had tried to get in

touch with his former manager, tried to get in touch

with his bandmates, but it was no use. No one knew

him, or no one would come speak to him.

They say hey that's really something

And those fucking doctors were always following him

around. Always trying to tell him that he wasn’t who

he thought he was. Trying to give him some normal

name, some normal face, some normal past that he had

nothing to do with. He wouldn’t listen to them. He

refused to. He had never been of a violent nature, but

after having his drugs, his sex, his music, his status

taken away, there wasn’t much left.

They feel he should get some time

And then others had come, others like him. Well, not

like him. They shared some of his quirks, but they

were so different. There was the one that was so

isolated, so aloof, so fragile. And the cruel one, the

one who was completely obsessed with his drugs, who

went completely crackers when they started rehab on

him. He never smiled and was so completely

calculating. It scared him a little, even though he

hated to admit it.

I say he should watch his ass

But it was very obvious that he was very different

from them. Worlds different. Even they thought him

completely insane, completely fucked in the head. They

always took the opportunity to drill that fact into

him too. Between them and the doctors, it was hard to

keep faith. But he had to. That was all he had.

My friend don't listen to the crowd

He could either roll with things, find a way out, or

end it. He had come so close to the last option that

it terrified him that he was thinking about it again

so soon. The second one seemed impossible. So he was

down to the first. He would just survive, just go with

it. After all, he was really above them. He was the

naz and all that. If he could just last, he’d be

alright.

1980

New patient admitted after emergency rescue mission by

NASA after satellite intercepted feed from his shuttle

when he approached earth’s orbit. Shows signs of

dementia from prolonged solitude and over exposure to

chemicals as well as heavy drug use. We will attempt

to rehabilitate and assimilate back into society

****

They were finally removing the tubes. Thank God. How

long had they been in him? Three months? Four, six? At

least he could move without screaming. There would be

the sedatives for awhile yet, ever since he had tried

that last attempt at suicide. They watched him close,

scribbling in their little books and shaking their

heads. They didn’t think he could see them through his

blank stare.

Life was so fucking hard without his friend. It was

painful and loud. And everyone asked so many

questions. No more autographs, just questions. And the

hallucinations, if that’s what they really were. They

seemed more of a constant than the people in the

doctor coats. They had been with him through

everything, through all of it. He would hate to see

them leave. Them and the whispers in the night that

kept him company.

Major Thomas Jones didn’t blink as he was wheeled into

the small, solitary room far from the main wing, and

bound securely to the waiting bed for his own safety.

He didn’t hear them talking as they left. The sound

was gone from his ears, had been gone from his mind

for a while. No one could hear you in space, whether

you cried, prayed, or screamed your bloody guts out.

But he did see the small green mechanical little

wheels that crept over the floor towards him. “Not

again,” he murmured before passing out.

***

Ten...nine....eight....

Can you hear me Major Tom?

Seven...Six...Five....Four..

Can you hear me Major Tom?

Three...Two....One...

Liftoff

Can you hear me Major Tom?Can you hear me Major

Tom?CanyouhearmeMajorTom?

“Oi, can you hear me over there? You ‘wake?” a low,

abnormally perky voice murmured through the thin wall.

Tom’s eyes snapped open and he sucked in air all at

once, as if coming to the surface from nearly

drowning. Sleep was too much like stasis, and the room

was so small. It was like his shuttle with all the

metallic equipment and the peephole in the doorway.

Like a little floating can, adrift in nothing.

Floating far above the world....

So blue...so far....

“You there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here,” he replied, surprised he

remembered how to speak. Had he talked to himself up

there? Talked to the voices in his head or the

visions? Had all that incessant babbling up there been

him all along?

“What’re you in for?” the voice asked in a

conversational tone through the thin wall.

“What?” he grunted, blinking from the glare of the

flourescent bulb above his head.

“You know...we’re all mad here,” the voice replied,

laughing at his own joke.

Tom blinked. There was something about that voice that

was friendly, familiar. Maybe it was just another

delusion, but it was company. “Oh. I don’t remember

what they said...I was alone in space for..” he

trailed off, tallying it up. “Eleven years? They say

I’m deranged and a junkie.”

“Isn’t everyone?” the voice muttered and the astronaut

felt his lip quirk. It hurt. How many years since he

had smiled?

“You?”

“Oh, well I’m dangerous, you know. That’s why we’re in

solitary. They don’t know what to do with us and they

don’t want us hurting any of the other inmates. So

they hide ya away till you forget you ever

existed...let ya out for therapy, doctor, and exercise

and shite. Myself, I’m delusional. I used to think I

was God.

“Were you?”

“I was.” The bitterness was unmistakable. Tom had felt

it many times himself, usually after he had shot up

and right before it kicked in; that momentariy pang of

not staying clean for a second longer. The voice was

silent for a long time, and the spaceman began to

believe it really was in his own head, after all.

“You been to space, huh?”

“Yeah,” Tom muttered, amazed that he hadn’t heard of

him. /I wish I was back there, too/ he thought.

“Far out. Ever been to Mars?” the other asked

wistfully.

“No, sorry...my circuit shorted out before I could get

to the moon.”

“Drag, man. What’s you’re name?”

“Tom, Major Tom.”

“Cool.”

He paused. Did he want to find out who his imaginary

friend was? He shrugged, realizing he had nothing

better to do. “You?”

“I don’t remember who they said I was...you better

just call me Ziggy.”

“Ziggy?” Tom asked, wincing as he attempted another

smile. Odd name, but it seemed to suit this voice.

“Yeah, man. Ziggy Stardust.”

*******

He hummed to himself. Wished he had his guitar. He

should’ve asked the new guy what year it was; he never

could remember. He supposed the space guy didn’t know

about new music since he had been cut off and all. He

wondered if rock was still around. If anyone even

remembered him.

God he needed a cigarette. Didn’t upstanding citizens

smoke anymore? Maybe they’d hlet him out in the yard

long enough next time to try and wheedle one off the

others. Not that they had much to do with him anyway.

They really didn’t like him much. Said he was too old

news. Eh, what did they know, they were as schizoid as

he was. Probably more.

Ziggy frowned as he remembered how long Tom said he’d

been away. Eleven years? Then the earth hadn’t

died...he’d prepared the way for the Infinites in

time. He really was the Messiah...otherwise he

wouldn’t even be here. He nearly laughed at his

idiocy.

Unless this was hell.

That sobered him and the familiar memories of his fans

came back to him. That last concert...Hammersmith

Odeon? Geezus, was that even still around? Those

masses tearing at him, ripping him apart for their

salvation. Gimme your hands, indeed. They had taken

his heart, his sanity, his soul. It haunted him every

so often, more than he liked to admit. It was easier

to keep the smile on.

But they had used him. Used him to foretell their

coming, their success. Let him taste fame and glory,

then nearly ripped him to shreds and left him here,

alone and insane, and without a damn cigarette.

Stupid fucking Infinites.

*****

Ziggy frowned as he noticed the lack of people in the

activity room. He hadn’t realized the others had begun

to get released, not that he really cared much. He

liked them as much as they cared for him. But he

longed for the outside, for the dirty streets, for

simple things like music and telephones, and ice cream

parlors. Even for the blank, tired stares of mothers

taking their children on their way to market.

He glanced idly at the blank TV screen and shuddered.

He looked so thin and drawn lately. When had he become

so thin? At least his hair was relatively the

same...the barbers had learned not to argue with him.

Those had been the few times he had ever gotten

violent...in the end it just wasn’t worth it to them.

Otherwise, he was mostly harmless, and sometimes

amusing.

But God he missed the makeup. He looked so naked...so

abnormal without it all. They had said he had to stop

hiding behind the mask of the persona, he had to be

himself again. He knew who he was dammit..he was Ziggy

fucking Stardust, Messiah for the Infinites, saviour

to the world, and rock god in the process. No one

would know who he was without the makeup. How the

Spiders would look at him now. And this white pajama

getup he had to wear all the time. Who the hell

dressed like that? Unless Big Brother really was

watching and this was the dress code. He had begun to

wish lately that the TV screen would just swallow him

up and take him down some rainbow way where he could

be happy again, but he was never that lucky. His eyes

were suddenly drawn to a new figure to the common

room, and he perked slightly.

Maybe he was lucky, after all.

******

Tom sighed with relief as his personal nurse left his

side for the moment. He didn’t even have an urge to

put to use all of those fantasies he had come up with

during his eleven years of hell, at least not on her.

That was just more proof he had lost his mind, or that

he was at least impotent. But it was more than just

that. God, how he hated being followed around

everywhere. If it had been out of awe, or respect, it

would have been one thing. But the gazes he caught now

were filled with pity, distrust, shame. He supposed he

was a fallen hero, but did those eyes have to follow

him everywhere, even in his dreams?

The room was sparse, with a few objects of interest

laying about. Mostly tables with magazines, a TV with

some chairs round it. Nothing that anyone could harm

themselves with. The thing that caught his immediate

attention, though, wasn’t a thing, but a...man. He

thought it was a man. He wasn’t quite sure what it

was. He was as tall as himself, and obscenely thin.

But he was well muscled and toned, nevertheless. His

hair was an odd cut, a style that he must have missed,

and he had never seen such a flamboyant red on

anything but box color before. But his face...it was

all wrong. It just didn’t belong on that body. A face

with that man should be colored like a convoluted

geisha, not drawn and pale and sad. He had high, rigid

cheekbones, thin lips that looked like they could

speak so many witticisms, do so many wicked things.

But his eyes...they were blue, though he couldn’t be

sure, for one had a permanently dilated pupil that

gave it a different cast. He wondered briefly how that

had happened. They were sharp though, and cunning, and

had the man not been in here, he would have sworn they

were the eyes of a perfectly sane, maybe more than

perfectly sane man.

He must have heard Tom’s approach, because he was

instantly out of his chair and gliding across the

room. He was so graceful he could have been a woman,

or a feline. “Haven’t seen you round here before...you

must be the spaceman, finally released from his cell,”

he murmured, his voice far perkier than his face.

Tom’s face screwed up slightly in alarm as the man’s

eyes began a slow, easy study of his body, trailing up

and down in plain view. When he made no reply, the

strange creature chuckled and extended a hand, his

wrist suddenly straight. “We’re neighbors.”

“You’re Ziggy? My God I thought I made you up,” he

admitted. Even after months of shared conversation, he

had begun to think it was his own mind creating an

imaginary friend. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Ziggy grinned, a sight that made Tom’s stomach twist

slightly. “Nah, if someone created me they’d have to

be a genius. Come on, take a load off,” he added, and

the astronaut soon took a seat in a chair next to

Ziggy. “So how’s it feel to be out and about?”

“Strange...I’m used to enclosed spaces,” he admitted,

glancing round nervously. They, like his visions, had

become something to count on.

“Yeah? I like being out, meself. That’s how they make

me behave, they say I’ll be better with the promise

that I’ll be let out every day if I’m good.”

“Does it work?”

Ziggy shrugged. “Dunno. Don’t have much else to do,

really,” he admitted, leaning over the arm of his

chair, his fingertips brushing the astronaut’s arm

lightly. “It can get so boring in here,” he purred,

and Tom felt his cheeks flush rapidly.

“Can it? Don’t you watch the tele or something?” he

choked out, his breath stalling as the feline in a

man’s body leaned closer, those lips smirking with so

much confidence, so much promise.

“Nothing ever on,” he whispered, his fingers ghosting

over the major’s cheek. “I bet it got so lonely up

there all by yourself.”

“Ziggy,” he gasped softly, his eyes clenching shut.

“Yeah?” his neighbor whispered, and he was so close

that Tom could feel his breath on his lips.

“No..this isn’t right, you can’t...no,” he stammered,

leaning back suddenly, his eyes snapping open. The

other man wasn’t even phased, he just sat there

looking at him with a bemused expression. “I don’t

even think those parts work anymore...and I have a

wife,” he added hastily. Strange that that thought

should occur to him so belatedly.

“Of course,” Ziggy drawled, nodding as he became

interested in the collection of marking pens on the

table in front of them. “Has she been in to see you

since you arrived?”

“No,” he admitted, wondering if she knew he was back.

Maybe he wasn’t supposed to have visitors yet. Maybe

she had moved on...He had told her he had loved her so

much...he thought she knew.

“Pity...you know what happened to her?” Ziggy asked,

half paying attention as he began to use the markers

as if they were designer cosmetics.

“No,” he whispered, his eyes momentarily caught in the

past, in her face and laughter before being drawn back

to the present. He winced as he tried to smile at the

other man’s new appearance. His eyes peaked out from

dark black lines and bright red planes, and his cheeks

shone brilliant pink. A glamorous gold circle graced

his forehead. It seemed right somehow.

“Better?”

Tom nodded. “Much...beautiful even,” he felt compelled

to add. Ziggy smiled knowingly. He knew exactly what

he was doing...he knew what he had and how to use it,

damn him. Tom was supposed to be a family man, a

loving husband. Though he was supposed to be a hero,

to be a lot of things, none of which he had become.

“Not again,” an aggitated voice sighed, and both men

looked up at a wall of a nurse looming over them. She

looked pointedly at Ziggy, her eyes accusatory as she

studied his face. “I thought we had talked about

this,” she almost snarled. He gave an innocent shrug.

“Markers are for paper,” she added, and this was

apparently a mantra the other man knew all to well.

“But Margaret, what is man but a blank canvas?” he

chuckled, standing easily. She grunted and looked at

him disdainfully. Tom was sure if she really wanted to

this woman could snap him like a twig.

“Time for your therapy. Doctor’s not gonna like that,”

she added.

“He doesn’t like anything fun,” Ziggy replied,

smirking as he sauntered after her. “Catch ya later,”

he added, blowing a kiss in Tom’s general direction

before disappearing down a sterile cooridor.

***********

“Didn’t we talk about this?” the bald man with the

spectacles sighed, leaning forward in his chair.

“Probably,” Ziggy admitted, his lips twitching in

amusement. Good to know he still got to some. If he

ever lost that ability life would be truly boring.

“Come on, Doctor Parker...you don’t know how boring it

gets in here. All I’m asking for is a little

self-expression,” he cajoled. “Besides, I look better

this way.”

“Some would say you look ridiculous,” the little man

sighed, but Ziggy wasn’t affected.

“Some would say you look ridiculous,” he shot back,

smirking as the doctor took notes. That would earn him

a comment about being ‘disrespectful and

uncooperative, but he didn’t give a fuck at the

moment. “Every man has a choice as to his image.”

“But some images are just not acceptable these days,”

he was reminded much to his chagrin. God how he hated

that word. Acceptable. Almost as much as he hated this

whole damn place.

“Got to do something to stay interesting,” he purred,

leaning in so he could rest a hand on the doctor’s

knee. The older man jumped away, squeaking, and had to

pause in the session to dab at his forehead with a

hanky and fix his glasses.

“And things like that..you cannot do that!” he

berated, and Ziggy tilted his head.

“Why not? Don’t you like sex doc?”

“You’re a male, Mr...Stardust,” the professional added

disdainfully, having too much experience in not

getting a response with the man’s given name.

“Last time I checked, so?” he purred, his tongue

wetting his lower lip as he cast a meaningful look in

the therapist’s direction. God, so he was reduced to

this. Seducing enormous nurses and annoying doctors

when he used to be able to have anyone he came in

contact with. Maybe he had lost his touch. Nothing had

been the same since...

He wished Ronno was still around. Now there had been

electricity there, and not just onstage. Oh how he

missed the after shows, with the groupies, the

band...it had been sin and bliss. And now he was left

with a raging sex drive and no decent place to channel

it, save his own hand, and he got marked up for that

as well.

The doctor leveled a glare at him and he sighed. Come

on, Doc, don’t people have sex anymore or are they all

too busy being respectable and integrated into

society?” he sighed, smirking at the doctor’s

expression as his own words came back to bite him on

the ass. “Don’t you fuck your wife?”

“That’s personal!” he sputtered.

“Where I come from that would be something to be proud

of.”

“And where do you come from?”

Ziggy opened his mouth, closed it, knowing better than

to start this game. He’d say Mars, sent by the

Infinites to save their puny planet or something along

those lines, and it would immediately rev the doc to

try new prescriptions. And truth was, nothing was as

good as the stuff he had in the old days. How he loved

earth’s vices...maybe too much. And now in this

purgatory he had nothing. His only high was from

constantly clashing with authority. And even that was

getting too familiar.

Day after day They take some brain away. And tell me

that it's real Then ask me how I feel

So he just stared back at the waiting therapist. The

clock ticked softly, and the doctor, sensing he was

getting nowhere, called it a day. Ziggy rolled out of

his chair, smirking to himself as he headed for the

door. There was always Tom, when he thought about it.

True, he didn’t seem keen on him at the moment, but he

had time. That was one thing he had more than enough

of.

***********

1990

Patients Thomas Jones and one referred to as Ziggy

Stardust apparently forming some sort of bond over

years of treatment. Seemingly harmless, and perhaps

helpful to the former. The latter seems still caught

in the throws of his madness, unwilling to try and

recouperate. Jones still caught in paranoia, though

more stable than when first admitted. We think the

latter has tried sexual advances at Jones, but Jones

is either unwilling or incapable. This doesn’t seem to

affect their friendship. Both will stay in solitary

until further notice.

In a further note, institution benefactor came to

inspect and took a particular interest in these two

cases. Wants to try new form of therapy. Will review

to see if this is conducive to objectives.

************

Tom lay on his bed, looking up at the ceiling

listlessly. Over the years they had stopped binding

him once they were sure he wasn’t going to maim

himself. Truthfully, he didn’t know why he just didn’t

go ahead and do it. It was obvious he was never

getting out of here. Obvious that wherever his wife

was, she wasn’t coming back to see him. Obvious that

he had no future on the outside.

But he was used to doing nothing. Used to sitting, and

waiting. To take his life in his own hands would take

a courage he didn’t possess anymore. The last time he

had had that sort of will was walking through that

door...

He frowned as he heard footsteps outside in the hall.

He didn’t think it was time for medications or rounds.

Frowning, he got up off his bed and walked to the

door, listening. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

He shrugged and went back to counting the tiles on the

ceiling.

********

Ziggy was dreaming. He had to be. He was back on the

streets, preaching to the people, trying to save them

from themselves, from the nothingness of their future.

But this time they weren’t listening.

Five years stuck on my eyes

Five years what a surprise

They kept walking, kept crying, kept ignoring how good

life could be.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go..this wasn’t why

he was sent.

Five years my brain hurts a lot

Five years that’s all we’ve got

He looked on with startled eyes as a young woman ran

over to where a group of children were playing ball,

and immediately started battering them. He tried to

run over to her, to stop her, to play his guitar and

make her fucking listen, but he couldn’t move. There

was no one else to stop her, they didn’t want to stop

her. And those tiny bodies began bleeding, and

crumpled, and stayed there on the sidewalk, waiting

for the rain to wash them off.

My my how time does fly when it’s in another pair of

hands...

His throat was raw, his eyes were stained. And he knew

he had failed. Turning, he could see Them staring

disapproval into his eyes. They had come, and no one

was ready. He would never go home now, he would never

go anywhere. It was all his fault.

And delusioned I will be for I’ve never been a sinner

la de da

They took him, and he was strapped to a table,

writhing in pain, at the bright lights, at the drugs

being pumped into him as he was made to forget, to

remember, to realize how he had fucked up.

And a loser I will be for I’ve never been a winner in

my life...

His mind wasn’t his own. His body didn’t belong to

him. He was theirs and he would pay.

Research has pierced all extremes of my sex research

has pierced all extremes of my sex research has

pierecedI’mderangedI’mderangedI’mderangedI’mderangedI’mderangedI’mWhat

a fantastic death abysswhatafantasticdeathabyss

tell the others

telltheotherstelltheotherstelltheotherstelltheotherstell

He woke up, sweat streaming down his face, and his

first reaction was that his makeup would be fucked to

hell before he remembered where he was. His head

throbbed, and he curled up on his bed, forehead

resting on his knees, cursing softly. He should tell

the doctor, see if he could get something for these

nightmares. But he knew he wouldn’t.

He raised his eyes slowly as the viewing hole on the

door was slid open. Ziggy squinted, trying to make out

the face in the dark. His eyes widened as what he

thought had been a memory or a product of his mind

slowly came into view. His chest tightened, his mouth

slackened, and he suddenly felt the need to scream or

cry in relief.

It gave a truly sympathetic smile, and its eyes seemed

to say that it wasn’t time yet.

“Take me with you,” Ziggy whispered, his eyes pleading

quietly. “Take me now, take me with you.”

“Hello spaceboy,” the figure whispered softly before

the door slid shut again, and he was left in darkness.

*********

Tom frowned at the sudden wails from the other side of

the wall.

What the fucking hell...He quickly walked over to the

wall, pressed his hand up against it as if this would

have any impact on anything. “Ziggy? You alright?” No

response save a quiet keening. “Ziggy?

“They left me...he left me here...he came and he left

me...”

“What? Who left you? What is it, man?” the astronaut

asked softly, smiling despite himself at he realized

that he had apparently picked up the other man’s

phrases after all these years.

“The Infinite...he was here, I saw him, and he fucking

left me again,” he heard through the wall. He had

never heard the other man sound so desolate, so empty,

and he knew that he was crying.

“It was a dream, man..just a dream..”

“He woke me up from a dream..I thought...maybe...”

Ziggy murmured, groaning as he pressed up against the

wall. Tom sighed and found his hand wandering over the

barrier.

“It’s alright...just a nightmare...you’re safe...”

“Safe?” the word was a bitter laugh. “Safe and fucking

stuck. I want out of here, man.”

“We all do,” Tom assured him, though he didn’t think

he did. He didn’t want anything anymore. Now that he

was relatively clean, it was enough to get from day to

day without having an episode. If there was something

more to life, he hadn’t found it yet.

He looked up from his hand at the quiet scraping of

the viewing door opening.

“Who’s there?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he

pulled away.

Time and again I tell myself I’ll stay clean

tonight...

“Tom?” Ziggy murmured, swallowing loudly. “Tom, what

is it?”

I’m stuck with a valuable friend

“Nothing..just a sec,” he dismissed the other man as

he stood, drawn to the fragments of light filtered

into his little room. He slowly approached, squinting

to see the face.

“It’s time, Tom,” a quiet voice said, a voice that he

knew. He had heard that voice over the speakers during

lift off, had heard it for eleven years.

I’m happy hope you’re happy too

“You,” he whispered in recognition, a slow, wary smile

spreading over his face.

Loved all I’ve needed love

“It’s time to come down...time to go home,” the voice

murmured.

One flash of light no smoking pistol

“Tom? Tom, what’s happening?” Ziggy’s voice was so

distant in the astronaut’s mind. Without a second

thought he reached up to the little window, gasping at

the other’s eyes, and the way they seemed to envelop

him.

*******

Footsteps quietly echoed away from his door, and Ziggy

knew he was alone. “Tom?! Tom, say you’re there

man...say you’re there...Tom!!!” He felt himself

screaming the man’s name over and over, his fists

beating against the wall until a guard came running to

his door.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” the giant of a

man hissed and Ziggy blinked through blurry eyes up at

him.

“Where is he? Where did Tom go?”

“The Major? He’s gone.”

“Released? No one’s fucking released this time of

night!!”

“Not released, just taken.” A slow chill crept over

Ziggy at those words. It was so much like what had

happened to the others over the years. They’d be there

one day, the next they’d have vanished, the only

explanation being that they were gone. He would have

been scared had he not been so suddenly lonely. The

guard slid the door back into place, and the mystical

man in the cell wept openly at the loss of the friend

in the room beside him. Through his pain, he began to

softly sing a song that he could not remember ever

learning.

My mama said to get things done you’d better not mess

with Major Tom

My mama said to get things done you’d better not mess

with Major Tom

My mama said to get things done you’d better not mess

with Major Tom...

***************

2002

Patient known as Ziggy Stardust becoming unresponsive

and listless. Behavior seemed to have started with the

absence of Major Thomas Jones, who was located in the

cell next to the patient’s. Does not respond to any

medication or therapy. There are concerns as to his

failing health. Benefactor will tour again, and will

be the deciding factor on the further treatment of

this patient.

*****

Ziggy sighed, his eyes unfocusing slightly as he

stared up at the ceiling. It was the same day in and

day out now. There was no real point to it anymore.

Time takes a cigarette puts it in your mouth

The drugs in here were nothing compared to things he

had once tasted.

You pull on a finger, then another finger, then the

cigarette

He had no reason to talk about his feelings to people

who would never believe, let alone understand what he

was going through.

The Wall to Wall is calling, it lingers then you

forget

Why even seek nourishment when he was bound to die in

here, anyway? If he was brave, he’d speed things up,

he’d find a way to do himself in. That’s what they

thought he had done in the first place, anyway. It

wouldn’t come as a surprise.

Too old to lose it...too young to choose it

There was nothing left for him anymore, save maybe

accepting the fact that he deserved to be in here, and

to try and create voices in his mind for company. That

had always seemed to keep Tom going. But it was better

not to think of him. Nothing changed. He’d never get

out of here. No one remembered him. No one cared.

And the clock waits so patiently on your song

He sighed, his eyes sliding closed listlessly as he

counted down the seconds till the next day. He wasn’t

even sure what time it was at the moment. The walls

were getting to him...but he didn’t have the energy to

be out and about anymore. All he could really do was

contemplate.

You're watching yourself but you're too unfair

Maybe he had gotten carried away. Maybe he was so

obsessed with the glory and adoration he had found in

his act, that he had forgotten that he was paving the

way for something more important, something greater.

Maybe this was his punishment, something worse than

sacrifice. An eternity in confinement to realize what

he had done.

You got your head all tangled up but if I could only

make you care

His fingertips flicked idly against the mattress. It

must be his fault...if he had done a good job at

things, he would have just been killed and maybe

rewarded.

No matter what or who you've been, No matter when or

where you've seen

But instead he had been brutalized, left to rot in

this place where know one believed what he was, no one

knew what he was, and no one even cared if he existed.

All the knives seem to lacerate your brain

He was just another loony, just another patient to

look after and placate. It had been amusing for

awhile, in a morbid sort of way, though Ziggy could

often take amusement from most anything. But now it

was boring. And too quiet. And lonely. And pointless.

I've had my share, I'll help you with the pain You're

not alone

“Hello again, Spaceboy,” a voice breathed from the

shadows, and Ziggy nearly shot through his skin,

nearly fell off the mattress. The voice chuckled

softly, and the inmate felt his entire being tense. It

wasn’t time for therapy, or meals, or medication. And

he hadn’t heard anyone enter at all.

“Where the hell did you come from?!” Ziggy demanded,

trying to make out the form in the shadows of the

room.

“I’ve been around,” the voice admitted. “I’ve got

special interests in this place, so I can come and go

as I please.

“Who are you?” At that, the figure in the darkened

corner slowly

“I’m many things. Been many people,” he replied, and

Ziggy’s eyes widened impossibly at the familiar face

that studied him with empathy, amusement, and

interest.

“It’s you,” he breathed slowly, licking his suddenly

dry lips. “The Infinite.”

“I wouldn’t say that, though I’m sure some would,” he

replied, smiling dryly.

Recognition came hurtling back at the former rock god

as he studied the face, worn from years, but good

looking nevertheless. He remembered him, knew him

well. It all came tumbling back into his

consciousness, the pieces falling into place.

“You remember now?”

Ziggy nodded, that fateful day at Hammersmith Odeon

burning bright in his mind. “Yeah...it was you. You

were the one that ended it.”

“I had to. You were very potent...you nearly did the

same to me.”

“You put me in here.” It should have been accusatory,

but it was just a statement.

“I did. It wasn’t always pleasant for me, either. I

did what I had to do.”

It strangely made sense. “I know...you’ve come back

for me?”

“Of course.“ He paused, frowning as he tried to form

appropriate words. “I couldn’t ignore you, Ziggy.

You’ve never been one to be ignored, though I tried.

But it’s time. They want you back, want to hear you

again.”

“I’m remembered? Out there?” Ziggy asked, his voice

just a whisper as he tried to process those words.

“Oh yes, they want to hear you again.”

“The Spiders still around?” he asked hopefully, and by

the look on the other’s face, he knew his answer.

“Pity,” he sighed. He would miss Ronno, miss the

others. “It won’t be like it was, will it?” he finally

asked, already knowing the answer.

“No...it can’t be...you won’t be as strong.” Ziggy

nodded.

“But I’ll be out of here?”

“Yes. Back with me.” A soft thrill went up the

inmate’s spine at that thought.

“Will I be with Tom? With the others?” he asked,

almost as an afterthought.

“Yes, they’ve been back for a while...you were the

hardest to get control of...you had to be last, I’m

afraid. But I’m ready now. You’re ready, and they

can’t wait to hear you again.” Ziggy smiled at those

words, was totally relaxed as the man walked slowly

forward, sharing the former messiah’s nostalgic smile.

“You’ve put on weight,” he noticed, raising his head

slightly, tilting it as he took in the other’s form.

“You’ve lost a bit,” the other man retorted, his eyes

darkening as he took in the weak, prone body. Perhaps

he had waited too long. He shouldn’t have been put

through this much.

Ziggy shrugged. “It happens. You’re hair’s better than

it was though. I like it better than mine.”

“You should have seen some of the other styles I’ve

tried,” the other quipped, leaning over him, fingers

softly running through the bright red, spiky wisps of

hair.

“Got a cigarette?” he asked hopefully. The man shook

his head ruefully.

“Sorry, finally quit.”

“Drag, man. You’ve gotten all responsible.”

“Only in some ways,” the other man chuckled, looking

at the patient on the bed fondly. The figure lay still

for so long that the other wondered if he had been too

late, after all.

“Are we happy now?” the patient asked, his eyes

opening suddenly, focusing with alarming clarity on

his counterpart’s face.

“Very...you will be too once you come with me. Are you

ready?”

“I’ve been ready...do it. Take me home.” The man above

him nodded, and he smiled gently, enjoying just

looking at those eyes that were so much like his, but

that held so much more wisdom. The hand stroked

through his hair again, and he smiled as the soft

voice that had so much more control than his had began

to sing softly, crooning a lullaby worthy of a rock

savior.

“Space boy, you’re sleepy now...your silhouette is so

stationary.” Ziggy let his eyes slide closed as his

breathing began to relax. He didn’t need to look at

him anymore. Hearing him was enough. He could slowly

feel his head being raised as the man took a seat

behind him on the bed, pulling his upper half into his

lap. “You’re released but your custody. Don’t you want

to be free?”

“Yes I want to be free...” Ziggy felt himself whisper.

God, he wanted it more than anything. But to be free

with him. Not on his own anymore. In his custody, it

wouldn’t be painful. It wouldn’t be like the old days,

but something told him it could be better.

“Do you like girls or boys,” the other continued, and

Ziggy could feel the sympathetic smile that beamed

down on him.

“It’s confusing these days,” he admitted, sighing as

soft fingertips gently ran down his porcelain cheek.

“But moondust will cover you, cover you, cover you...”

the other soothed, and Ziggy smiled faintly. Oh, to

hold a guitar again. To reach out and touch the hands

of the faithful that meant him no harm. To look out

into adoring faces while singing sweet, sinful music.

“This chaos was killing me,” he breathed, nearly

purring as the fingertip traced down his cheekbone,

over his jaw and against his lips softly.

“So bye bye love...yes bye bye love...bye bye

love....” They continued until it wasn’t clear if one

was singing, or they shared the same voice.

At last Ziggy was still, his expression completely at

peace. The other man smiled fondly and leaned over

him, hugging him tenderly to his chest before pressing

a soft kiss on his forehead. The two figures seemed to

melt together, to blend into each other in the most

unique and loving of embraces.

***

He walked slowly out of the facility, confident that

he would never have to return. Ziggy had been the

hardest to reclaim, but it had been worth it. He felt

lighter inside, more complete, happier. It was good to

have things back in place now that he was more

experienced, more capable of handling things. He

paused to glance back at the old building as he waited

for the car to pull up. He caught his reflection in

the window, smiled knowingly as a hint of an old

sparkle long missed flashed in his eyes before he slid

on a pair of sunglasses.

As the car pulled away, David smiled to himself, idly

looking out the window, humming a bit of a song that

he hadn’t had the urge to sing in ages.

“Ziggy played guitar...”

End