Hallelujah - Rufus Wainwright

If Silas had paid more attention in music theory, he'd have figured out how to play the song sooner. The chord progression - at least part of it - was in the first verse, "The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift". Chords had numbers. Pretty much every song could be broken down into a chord progression. Most pop songs were I-V-vi-IV. And if Silas had listened to Ms. Dempsey and learned which chords corresponded with which numbers, he'd have had the song figured out weeks ago instead of the night before his performance in front of the entire class.

He hated math. He wanted to be an artist and musician because they were the opposite of science, which required math. Lots of math. Math was awful.

And apparently math had invaded his music.

Silas stared at the chart at the back of his mother's dance journal (she was a lawyer and had a freakin' journal for her dance notes) and wondered if she'd taken great pains to memorize the strings of numbers (four-chord pop, five-chord doo-wop, twelve-bar blues). Mom was amazing at memorizing things, which was why she'd survived law school and still made other lawyers cry. But she was a good musician, too. Dad would pick up his bass, Mom would sit at the piano, and she'd just...play the blues. Or a pop song. Or an old-school doo-wop song. She and Dad would switch chords effortlessly, grinning at each other, bobbing to the beat, but keeping in perfect synch. How did Dad know when to switch? How did he know what to switch to? Dad was a scientist. Had he also memorized the numbers?

Silas stared at the various offerings of chord progressions and sheet music that Google had splashed across his tablet screen. Four chords. That was all. If he'd figured out the first chord and listened to the lyrics in the first verse...bam. He'd have figured the song out weeks ago.

Silas sighed and placed his hands on the keys, hoping his tablet would stay propped up against all the books of sheet music Mom left piled on the piano stand. Then he began to play.

Half an hour later, Mom swept in through the front door. Her keys jangled as she tossed them into the basket on the counter just inside the kitchen door. Silas kept playing doggedly, determined not to lose the chord progression (thank heavens it was so repetitive).

Mom began to sing along, but it wasn't a verse Silas had ever heard before. She sang as she roamed the house, performing her daily after-work ritual (shoes kicked under the table in the mini-foyer, purse on the table, jacket hung up), her voice fading and rising as she moved from room to room.

She stepped into the den and paused.

"Oh. I thought you were Dad home from the lab early."

"I need to know this for school tomorrow. It's the recital," Silas said.

Mom patted him on the shoulder. "Good luck."

"Thanks." Silas kept playing, fumbled a chord transition. Sighed. "How did you figure this song out?"

"Dad did it by ear, years ago. We used to sing it together all the time. You could've asked him for help." Mom smiled fondly at the memory.

"It's a four-chord song. Did you have to do the math, too?"

"Math? No." Mom huffed. "We go to law school because we're bad at math. Dad was always better at musical theory than me. I play what sounds good to me. Turns out what sounds good can be expressed mathematically, which is handy when you're doing improv with a group of strangers. But don't think you're stuck with the math." She ruffled Silas's hair and sang another verse.

Even though it all went wrong, I'll stand before The Lord of Song with nothing on my tongue but...Hallelujah.

Lake of Fire - Nirvana

Dying on the Third of July was key, or so Lupe had heard. At least, it was key if she had to spend her time in the lake of fire known as purgatory, floating in an endless haze of burning agony. After all, people got to come back on the Fourth of July, watch the fireworks, and saunter heavenward. Rehabilitation complete. Burning for a day or a few hours or a year - a year on earth, if not a year in the lake - was adequate punishment for anything a smart, determined, creative, and gleeful girl could get up to in one lifetime.

So when Lupe stood atop the space needle, Seattle spread out below her, a bowl of glittering starlight shot through with the illuminated arteries of city traffic, she knew that 11:59 PM on the Third of July was a really, really good idea. Just thirty more seconds, she'd step forward, and there.

Only one minute on the lake.

She hadn't accounted for her little sister Maria, tenacious and earnest-faced, scrambling after her.

"Lupe, no, don't do it. A girl like Sylvia? She's not worth it. Spoiled white girl didn't know how good she had it with you." Maria inched across the slippery surface. Her hair and skirt billowed in the wind. Everything was windy so high up. Everything was flowing, moving. Peaceful.

Lupe curled her hands into fists. "What are you doing here? It's dangerous up here."

"You're up here, and you're fine." Maria sat down a safe distance from the edge, knees pulled up to her chest, and gazed at Lupe with wide brown eyes. "You're fine, right?"

Lupe thought of Sylvia, spread out on her red satin sheets, golden blonde hair mussed from passion. Lupe thought of the skinny redheaded girl beside her, one hand curled over her, possessive. Smug.

Fireworks shot skyward beside her, and she started violently. The world beneath her feet swayed. She yelped, arms pinwheeling, and her heart skipped several beats.

But she regained her balance, stepped back. Eased down beside her little sister. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just wanted a good spot to watch the fireworks."

"It's higher here," Maria said, "but not as good a spot as that one table next to the basketball court. There's a snow cone shack there. And a taco truck."

Lupe wrapped her arm around Maria's shoulders. "Yeah. You need to eat all the tacos you can get, or you'll end up a shrimp like me."

Maria laughed and nuzzled against her. "Happy Fourth of July."

Living on the Fourth of July. That was key.

The Best Part of Me

“He still alive?” Gabriel asked quietly.

Keith pressed two fingers to Chase’s throat. Chase didn’t even flinch, and Gabriel was worried he’d gone catatonic.

“He’s barely breathing,” Keith said.

“What happened?” Gabriel leaned down, tried to meet Chase’s gaze. It was impolite to go prowling into someone else’s mind uninvited, and besides, Chase was mundane.

“She’s gone,” Chase said faintly.

“She who?” Keith fished in his pocket, ostensibly for a penlight to shine in Chase’s eyes, but Gabriel batted his hand aside.

“Asia,” Chase said.

Gabriel blinked. “Where did she go?” He glanced at Keith, and he knew they were both thinking the impossible had somehow become possible. Hagalaz had them on the run, scrambling like rats for the nearest holes to the sewer. There’d been fire and crossfire and Asia had ordered it, every man for himself.

“I woke up and all of her things were gone,” Chase said. “Everything. Her keys, the receipts and change from when we ordered take-out last night. It’s all gone. It’s like she wasn’t even here.”

Gabriel felt something tighten in his chest. He hadn’t known about Asia and Chase. None of them had. That it still hurt, after all these years, to find out that she’d given her affection to someone else, was pretty pathetic, but it hurt all the same. Keith looked equally grim at the notion. That Asia had come to Chase in the aftermath of all that happened had to mean something. Didn’t it?

Gabriel shot straight across the Web to speak to Keith. I wonder which hurts more, thinking that she died or knowing that she walked away voluntarily.

In our case, we got hit with both – first one, then t’other, Keith said.

“Chase,” he said aloud, “pack up your essentials and run. We come bearing orders from Tops. Deep cover.”

“How long?”

“Till he says otherwise,” Gabriel said.

Chase blinked and shook his head, stood up, but he still looked dazed. “Fine. Where are you going?”

“Deep cover,” Keith said. “Unless we run into each other by accident, it’ll be as if you never knew us.”

“Fine. Just let me get my –”

A knock at the door startled them. Chase reached for his gun before he answered. His sharp intake of breath was all Gabriel needed to know about who was on the doorstep.

“You came back.” Chase’s voice choked on the last word.

“Not permanently.” Asia sounded perfectly calm. “I’m here for my team, actually.”

“But we’re splitting up,” Keith said, and he sounded angry.

“Not us. Just him,” Asia said, and Gabriel felt the viciousness of her smooth words like a punch to the gut.

“Me alone? Why? What am I supposed to do...?”

When the best part of me was always you, Gabriel thought, and Keith nodded his assent. Asia had a way of taking the best of a man turning into the worst – the best of the worst.

From each of them she had taken love and turned it into murder.

(499 words)

(Break Even by The Script)

Science and Faith - The Script

Christian wasn't the smartest on his team by any stretch of the imagination, but he'd hung around Tobias and Keith long enough to learn a thing or two about science. Whenever an emergency evacuation order came down, most men drew their guns and laid down cover. Unfortunately for Christian, he had no gun - just his wits and his smile.

"Phenylethylamine, dopamine, and oxytocin," he said.

Leighanne blinked. "What?"

"Love," Christian said. "It's three chemicals that your body produces in reaction to another person - or eating chocolate or skydiving, depending on your preferences."

"Are you saying you don't believe in love?" Leighanne looked both surprised and hurt by his declaration, but He saw the subtle slump of her shoulders, her disconsolate sigh. So she'd sensed he was distant, and she was right about the distance if not the cause. She thought he didn't love her anymore. He'd never loved her at all.

"I realize I come with a country drawl and I like Jim Carrey movies, but when push comes to shove, I'm a rational person. I understand science, and I know that science, unlike emotions, produces quantifiable results." Christian hated Brian's country drawl, but if he played his cards right he would never have to use it again. "I prefer to make decisions based on quantifiable results rather than the whims of emotions, which are chemical projections anyway."

Leighanne stared down at her hands for a long moment, then up at him. "What are you saying?"

"After four years the body becomes accustomed to the chemicals that flood the brain and attraction wanes. There's no way to counteract the body's acclimation," Christian said. Tobias would have been proud.

"We've been married for four years," Leighanne said.

Christian nodded.

"And you want to throw it away on the whims of chemistry?" There was anger in her voice. Good. When Christian was done breaking her heart, she would never speak to him again, and he could work without fear of reprisal. Christian wondered if this was how Asia had done it all those times, framed the breaking of a human heart in terms of priority and mission efficiency. He wondered if she was pleased at her success. He knew he would succeed, and already he disliked the situation immensely.

Disliked the situation immensely. He'd been around Asia for far too long.

"I think you're lying, that something else is going on here," Leighanne said. "But if you're telling the truth, there's something I have to say before you go."

Christian reached for the bag he'd packed. "Speak your piece."

"You can break everything down to chemicals, but you can't explain a love like ours. You love me, and I love you, and even if it defies rationality or explanation, it's true, and it always will be."

Christian nodded. He wouldn't tell her that their love never was, and it could all be explained by a slip of paper that landed on his desk one day titled "orders".

(497 words)

Exit Wounds

DJ’s hands were cold, his body numb. He was in shock. “What have you done?”

The gun fell from Torin’s hands, clattered against the pavement. “I didn’t mean –”

“For what, for anyone to get hurt?” Casey snarled.

DJ’s heart was pounding, his vision blurred. Søren’s mouth was moving, but DJ couldn’t hear a word. He fell to his knees beside Celia, gathered her into his arms. Her shirt was soaked with blood, and her eyes were wide, surprised. DJ pawed aside her jacket, shoved her t-shirt up, searching for the entry point where the bullet went in.

“I don’t know how much blood you’ve lost,” he said.

Celia made a low choking noise. “I don’t know how much love my heart can lose.”

“Not love - blood,” DJ said. “You’re bleeding.” He lifted his head. “Someone call an ambulance!”

Celia lifted a hand, curved it against his jaw. “I love you. Remember that, okay?”

“Why will I have to remember it? You’ll tell me every day,” DJ said. “You hear me? Every day.”

Celia shook her head. “I’m blacking out, baby. Shutting down.”

DJ threw a desperate look upward. “Did anyone call an ambulance?”

Casey, Søren, Torin, Tiger and the others - they were all shouting at each other, and any moment they would start swinging at each other again.

DJ scooped Celia up into his arms and staggered to his feet, stumbled toward the mouth of the alley. An eternity, an instant later, he fell through the doors of the emergency room.

“She needs help!” he shouted. “Somebody help her.”

Several nurses shot him irritated looks, and a baby started to cry. One man cleared his throat.

“Sonny, everyone here needs help –”

“She’s been shot,” DJ said. “Please. Somebody!”

Nurses and doctors swarmed over him, and someone plucked Celia from his arms, placed her on a gurney. There were frantic shouts in angry Chinese mixed in with English, but DJ couldn’t understand any of it. As he knelt on the cold linoleum and watched them take Celia away, he felt himself shatter into a million pieces.

(346)

No Second Chances

"Just a minute," I called towards the door when I heard the knock. I could feel my brow crinkle with confusion. Nobody that I knew would be coming around in the afternoon; they all had regular jobs that kept them busy. 'It's probably some door to door sales person,' I thought absently as I quickly finished typing out the last paragraph that I was working on and closed the lid to my laptop. I pulled a sweater on over my thin shirt as I stood up; the weather had gotten chilly recently and I didn't want to get sick. I was way too busy for that.

The knock sounded again on the pale oak of the front door.

"Yes? How can I..." My words died on my lips as my eyes fell on the man standing on my doorstep. A man I hadn't seen in four years.

"John," I whispered in shock.

"Hello Chris," he said, his mouth pulling into a crooked smile. A smile that I knew as well as if it were my own.

I was too stunned to even respond. A thousand memories and feelings connected to that smile stampeded across my mind.

"Chris?"

It was almost as if I heard him from a distance, his voice faint, an undercurrent to the rush of blood in my ears. "Chris? Are you alright?" he asked when I didn't move.

I jumped like I had been electrocuted when I felt his fingers brush my arm in concern.

My eyes once again focused on what was in front of me, "What are you doing here John?" I took a step back so that I was firmly out of reach. I didn't know how he had found me or even why he was here.

"I wanted to talk to you," he said as he folded his arms across his body, as if to keep his hands to himself.

"So talk."

"Chris, I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry," he began.

"It's Christina," I interrupted him, "please don't call me Chris. Nobody calls me Chris anymore."

'Nobody since you,' I thought to myself.

"Okay, Christina," he almost stumbled over my full name, "I wanted to tell you that I was sorry, that I was completely in the wrong..."

His voice faded into the background again as the memories of that night so many years ago played across my mind.
********

Most of the memories of that day were fuzzy, distorted, and even missing, but what I did remember was that it had been raining that day, the moisture was thick in the cool September air and the sun was playing peek-a-boo in the clouds. I remembered waiting for him. He had promised to meet me, that he had something to tell me. I remember sitting on our bench in the park, my coat pulled tight around me, and waiting.

I was still waiting when the sun went down, and when the rain began to pound harder. I remember being puzzled, and then worried, and then angry. And I remember realizing that he wasn't coming. So I went home.

I expected him to call. He never did. And I never saw him again. Until today.

"Can you forgive me Christina?"

I focused on him again. "I'm sorry John, but it doesn't work like that. You don't get to destroy someones life and then get to waltz back in as if nothing had ever happened."

"Chris..."

"It's Christina!" I almost shouted. "Chris stopped existing a long time ago. She stopped existing the day you left," I finished quietly, barely more than a whisper. I could feel the tears beginning to pool, but I would never let him see them.

"I'm sorry John, but there are no second chances," I said as I slowly closed the door on my past.

(sorry this one ran a little long, but I rather liked the way that it was turning out.)

If You Ever Come Back - The Script

Tobias opened the door at the top of the stairwell and paused. The hallway light over James’s door was on, a bright beacon to welcome a weary traveler home. At three a.m., Tobias had it on good authority that James wasn’t expecting anyone home. Unannounced visits were usually the best way to assess James’s condition, and Tobias was without peer when it came to dropping by unannounced. He prowled down the hallway toward the door, footsteps silent. The door to James’s flat was ajar, and - there, Tobias could see a gleam of metal. The door had been left on the latch.

Tobias nudged the welcome mat aside with the toe of his sneaker and glimpsed more metal - the spare key.

James was asking for a home invasion.

Tobias palmed the knife from the small of his back and eased the door open. The bedroom and bathroom were dark, but there was light from the kitchen. Tobias headed for the kitchen, still moving silently, ready for whatever criminal disaster James had got himself into. Tobias pressed himself against the wall next to the kitchen door, ready to kick it down and dispatch with any would-be kidnappers or murderers. He slid a hand toward the doorknob and –

“Asia, is that you?”

Tobias flinched at her name.

James tugged open the kitchen door. “Asia?”

“No, it’s me.” Tobias slid his knife back into its sheath and straightened up.

James’s bright smile dimmed, but only for a moment. “Oh, hey Tobias. What brings you to London?”

“DJ had a runway show.” Tobias smiled cautiously. “I thought I’d stop by and say hello. I didn’t think you’d be awake, but the front door was open –”

“I’ve been a night owl as of late.” James beckoned. “Come on in – I have the kettle on.”

Tobias followed James into the kitchen and saw that it was just as quirky as Asia had kept it, with jars of herbs and spices lining the window sills and ledges in perfect alphabetical order. There were two places set at the bar, but it looked like only one had been used for a meal.

“Were you expecting someone?” Tobias asked. “If I’m interrupting, I can go.”

James shook his head, shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting anyone, exactly.”

Tobias heard hesitation in James’s voice. “But...?” he prompted.

“In case Asia ever comes back,” James said. “Thought I’d leave things how she likes them.”

Tobias opened his mouth to tell James, for the thousandth time, that Asia was dead (and she wasn’t, not really, but she was dead for James, and he had to face that reality sooner or later). But Tobias remembered waking up and realizing he’d never look into her eyes again, and he smiled at James, more brightly this time, and said,

“How about a cuppa, then?”

(467 Words)

(click on the title to hear the song)

I Put Something On Your iPod

Asia awoke abruptly when she sensed someone ducking out of her hotel room.

The only people who could get into her room totally unnoticed were on her team. Anyone else who might sneak into her room in the wee hours of the morning without disturbing her had to be someone familiar, someone she instinctually knew was safe.

The only people she could think of were the principal actors, and if they were sneaking into rooms, pranks were bound to ensue. Asia crept around her room, checking nooks and crannies, her luggage and furniture and even the door for any prank rigging, but there was nothing. She scoured the bathroom before she dared shower, but as it turned out, nothing was amiss. She scooped up her iPod and went to pocket it, and that was when she noticed the sticky note on the screen.

I put something on your iPod, it read. She’d know that handwriting anywhere. Asia immediately turned on her iPod and thumbed through the “recently added” list, but she saw nothing. Then she thumbed through her videos, but again, nothing was out of the ordinary. And then she spotted it, a brand new playlist labeled Jamie. At first she was tempted to scroll through it and see what songs James had deemed worthy of representing him on her iPod forever, but then Asia decided she wanted to be surprised.

She put in the earbuds, grabbed her training bag, and decided to walk to the castle. No one had to know that she didn’t take a car. As she walked, she listened to the songs he had cobbled together: Rest in Peace by James Marsters, because James liked Buffy; Sweet Child of Mine by Guns’n’Roses; The Prettiest Star by David Bowie, and --

Asia went still, closed her eyes, and drank in the sound of James’s voice.

As soon as she heard the words The Wart she knew what book he was reading from even if she’d read the book a thousand times over the years. Asia stood in the middle of a wooded glade, head tipped back, lost in the cadence and rhythms of the voice that led her from her nightmares.

When the words ended, another song kicked on - Baby Can I Hold You, the Boyzone version - and Asia resumed walking.




For the next week, anyone who spotted her listening to her iPod would occasionally notice that, randomly, she would stop whatever she was doing and close her eyes, go completely still, and lose herself in whatever she was listening to, and then when it ended she would go on as if nothing strange had happened.

As Asia listened to James’s voice, she determined to find some way to hint to him that next time, he should read her a sonnet.

(463 words)

Living This Way

Scott stared down at the diary open on his knee, at the fragments of sentences he’d scribbled while drunk. What had he been trying to say? He scooped up his guitar and tested a few chords, then squinted down at his journal some more.

He paused, scooped up a pencil, and drew line breaks between some of the sentences and phrases.

Then, alone on the cold empty floor of his house, he began to sing.

“Wake me up and I'm tired again.

A good night’s sleep is around the bend.

I know in your arms is the only place I'll be disarmed.

I smoke to much so I'm trying to quit.

It's so hard, with no one to quit with,

Back on track with an insecure wrath.

How do I keep on living this and

Why do I keep on living this way?

I look in my diary almost every day,

See how bad life's been

And how much better things could be.

I can't face the truth ‘cause then I'd be facing you.

How do I keep on living this and

Why do I keep on living this way?”

Scott considered the diary some more, then reached out and grabbed a nearby bottle of vodka by the neck. He unscrewed the cap with his teeth, spat it aside, and then took a long pull.

After a few deep breaths, Scott picked up his guitar and tried the song again. It had sounded, oddly enough, better when he was sober. That was a good sign. He reached out and turned on the cheap little recorder he’d bought.

Once the song was done, he turned the page in his diary and considered his writing some more.

(285 words - lyrics from Kissing & Bleeding by Scott, Clint, and Bob Moffatt)

All Gone

Days off mid-tour were heaven-sent. As much as Bob and the others loved playing live, the constant energy necessary for photo shoots, interviews, appearances, and concerts was draining. Tomorrow meant twenty-four hours of freedom, and Bob planned on savouring every one.

“We’re going to a club. Wanna come with?” Clay paused by the door.

Bob flopped back on the bed. “I’m beat. I don’t know how you two do it.”

“Scott and I are love machines, man.” Clay grinned and flashed him a thumbs up. “See you in the morning!” And he left.

Dan poked his head into the room. “I’m going to the lobby to do my homework. Later.”

The lobby had a baby grand piano. Bob knew precisely what kind of ‘homework’ his brother was doing. He closed his eyes.

“You look tired,” Carolyn said. She was leaning against the doorframe, still in her crew uniform.

Bob lit up. “Not too tired for company. Wanna watch a movie?”

Carolyn kicked off her shoes and climbed up onto the bed beside him. “You speak German?”

He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “You could translate for me.”

She wound an arm around his shoulders, kissed him back. “I could. But that’s no fun.”

“I sing for you sometimes,” Bob pointed out.

Carolyn kissed him again. “Now that sounds fun.”

“I’ve been singing all night.”

"I've been translating all night."

“Touché.”

“And here I thought you were learning Spanish.” Carolyn smiled.

Bob wrapped an arm around her waist, tugged her back against his chest. He rested his chin on her shoulder so he could whisper in her ear.

“It’s just us.”

She whispered back. “I know.”

He sang softly, "Baby, let’s do something we’ve never done. We’ll break a few rules and we’ll bend some.”

Carolyn turned to look at him. Her dark eyes were wide. “Robert?”

He wound his other arm around her waist and kissed her again, soft, questioning. Carolyn pulled back, searched his gaze. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to her throat. Her breath hitched, and he could feel her pulse fluttering.

He whispered against her skin, “We can take our time, take it on, take it all in till it’s all gone.”

She turned and pressed herself against him. They kissed, deeply, all open mouths and twining tongues.

Bob reached out and fumbled for the lamp on the nightstand. “All gone,” he whispered, and the light went out.

(408 words; I confess, I don't always go for the subtle undertones of a song)

Finally In A Place

I sank down on the cot in the back room and flung my forearm across my eyes to block out the light. I was tempted to plug into my iPod and let some music carry me away, but then I’d miss it if my pager went off, which meant the other boys would bang down the door when a call came in, which meant I’d have to endure another month of “boy-band wannabe” jokes, and...most days, I wasn’t sure why I’d come back to White Horse, other than to escape Dad.

I’d considered calling Dad and ratting Bob out, telling Dad that little Bobby was running halfway around the world to essentially beat a dead horse. But calling Dad wouldn’t have been fair. If Bob wanted to chase down a wasted dream, that was his choice. I was done with dreams, anyway. Time to sleep.

Only maybe dreams weren’t done with me, because my phone was ringing. Clay had already busted up my shift, and I still had scratches all up my face and arms from the girl I’d been watching. White Horse was a boring enough town to induce suicide, but really. I groaned, heaved myself up, and scooped my cell phone up off the floor.

Bob was calling me back. He’d probably chickened out.

“Y’ello.”

“Dia duit. I need your opinion.” Bob sounded irritatingly cheerful, for someone who was about to grovel.

“Yes, you’re an idiot. Go back to Thailand before Clay freaks out and tells Dad, and yes, Carolyn is probably dead. Good-bye.”

“That’s not why I called, but at least I know you’re in an honest mood.” Bob actually laughed. Softly, but it was real laughter. When was the last time he’d laughed? “I’m going to put you on speaker, all right? Tell me what you think.”

What was going on? I sat up and rested my elbow on my knee, waited. I could hear a lot of noise in the background - Bob was somewhere crowded. The airport, maybe? And then I heard an old man, say,

“Shush! He’s playin’ fer his brother!”

Bob had never been the best guitarist. After me, Clay was the handiest with a guitar, but then he played the bass. Even Dan was good with a guitar with a pinch, but Bob...had been learning from Clay over in Thailand. Some of his transitions were sketchy, but his chords were solid.

“Well it took a little while to remember how to smile
It takes time to give it up when you love someone that much
But I’m finally in a place where I can think about your face
Without feeling the pain
Without missing you again...”

I blinked and sat up straighter, pressed the phone to my ear. In the main bunker, some of the other idiots were playing foosball, and loudly, so I pressed a hand to my other ear to block them out.

It sounded country, like we hadn’t sung since we were twelve, but - it was good. Immediately I felt ashamed for being surprised that my own brother was a decent songwriter, but I concentrated on the lyrics a little more.

The song ended, and cheers erupted in the background. I listened to Bob fumble with the phone, wondered what I could say.

“So...what are you going to say to Carolyn?”

“I don’t think it matters anymore,” Bob said.

I swallowed hard. “Are you and Clay coming home, then?”

“When this is done.”

Done. What did that mean? “It’s a good song, Bobby.”



“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks. I’ll call.”

“Ghráim tú."

“Slán.”

(598 words; lyrics unabashedly snitched from Two Bullet Parade's "This One's For You")

Slapstick

Mark settled into his seat in the darkened theater just as the beginning credits were starting to roll. Wednesday was his favorite night to go to the movies. Old black and white and silent films were the best. Grinning from ear to ear Mark popped a a few pieces of popcorn into his mouth the antics started.

The theater rolled with laughter when the brush became stuck to Hardy's face. They continued to chuckle at Laurels attempts to remove it.

Laurel was just getting to the point of shaving his friend when Mark's phone went off. Glancing at the screen on his phone he saw a text message.

From: Major Cole
To: You

Mission. Leave immediately. Flight to Africa at 1100.

Mark glanced at his watch. It was now just 1000. He would have to leave now to get to the base to get his gear and still make his flight. Mark stood up and edged himself out of the row.

Walking up the isle he allowed himself one last glance at the screen before hurrying out into the night.

(I know it's not technically a song, but there is music.)

All For You

“All this. All for me?” Bob gestured a the fallen bodies, the charred buildings.

Carolyn emptied her handgun, tucked it into her pack.

“All my life was for you.”

Bob blinked rapidly. His breath hitched in his chest. “Did you ever really love me?”

Scott and Clay glared daggers at her, daring her to answer any other way than yes.

She stepped closer to Bob, then closer again, and leaned up. He leaned down so their foreheads were touching, and she curled a hand around the nape of his neck. For a long moment they stood there, just breathing with each other, a whisper away from a kiss.

Then Carolyn spoke, too softly for the other boys to hear.

“I picked up a gun when I was six years old, first killed a man when I was ten. I learned seven languages and how to withstand torture, just so I could keep you alive. They taught me everything I know, but the one thing I never learned was how to love.”

Bob’s eyes slipped closed, and a sob caught in his throat.

Carolyn whispered, “Thank you for trying to teach me, Robbie.”

Bob tilted his head forward, and their lips brushed, not quite a kiss. He settle a hand on her waist to tug her closer, seal their embrace, and then someone said,

“Agent Pierce!”

And she was gone. Carolyn spun away before their mouths could meet and shouldered her pack. She snapped off a salute at a man in a uniform and fell into step with him.

Bob let his hands fall to his sides and opened his eyes, watched her walk away. Dan went to put a hand on his shoulder, but Clay shook his head.

“What just happened?” Scott asked, voice faint.

“I think,” Bob said, voice thick with emotion, “that she just saved my life.”

“Think we’ll ever see her again?” Dan asked.

“Except for the past twenty-four hours, I don’t think we ever saw her at all,” Clay said.

Scott put a hand on Bob’s arm. “Come on. We’re going home.”

(347 words - "The Funeral" by Band of Horses)

On Our Own

Scott was sure this was a nightmare. He’d had one just like it as a child. He’d wake up in his bedroom and find his brothers slaughtered in bed beside him, throats dripping with blood. Only he was in a hotel room this time, and his brothers were yelling at the sight of black-uniformed men sprawled across the beds and floor, throats cut. Carolyn stood in the doorway, holding a knife. Her hands were covered in blood. She cast the knife aside and drew a gun from somewhere beneath her jacket, and then she shouted for Bob.

“Robbie! Come on - we have to get out of here!”

He hesitated, then scrambled off his bed. He yelped when he accidentally kicked one of the bodies.

“What about us?” Dan asked. He was breathing rapidly, but he was calm.

“John’s on the way - he’ll make sure you’re secure. Bob’s my priority.” Carolyn held out her hand. “C’mon, Robbie.”

An explosion rocked the building.


The dream-like buzzing that had filled Scott’s head since he’d awakened cut off abruptly. “What’s going on?”

John appeared in the doorway, and he was armed with a gun as well. “We’re federal agents. We have the situation under control. Come quickly and quietly.”

Dan obeyed first, and he had to tug on Clay’s arm to get him to follow, which he did, dazed.

Carolyn laced her fingers with Bob’s. “Let’s go.”

Bob stared down at the blood that stained her hands. “Did you kill all those men?”

The chatter of machine-gun fire broke him out of his dazed. John flung himself to the floor and fumbled for his walkie-talkie. Carolyn tackled Bob down, and Dan dragged Clay down to the carpet, so Scott followed suit. He didn’t even know where the sound was coming from.

John flipped his walkie-talkie on. “Agents Simon and Pierce. We’re on the third floor under heavy enemy fire, and we have the package. Requesting backup immediately.”

The only response was static.

John swore. “Combat command’s been hit. Raid the corpses.”

Scott could only stare as Carolyn reached out and tugged an assault rifle off of the nearest fallen body.

“What’s going on?” he asked again.

Carolyn patted the body down for more ammo. “We’re on our own. How are you with a gun?”

(385 words - "Spybreak" by Propellerheads)

Internet Phenomenon

Bryan sat typing rapidly at his computer. Nothing seemed to be going right today. Bryan glanced up at the clock again and sighed. He knew he was not going to be able to leave for another forty-five minutes. He was going to be late for his date.

Shaking his head he turned back to his computer. He knew that there was no way he would be able to get this done faster, and Mark had flatly refused to file the report for him.

Bryan opened another browser on his computer and quickly searched out the site and file that he needed to complete his report. He clicked on the link that would give him the information that he needed.

Suddenly sound blared out of his computers speakers.

Never gonna give you up
Never gonna let you down
Never gonna run around and desert you
Never gonna make you cry
Never gonna say goodbye
Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you

Bryan jerked back and desperately tried to close the window, his computer seemingly frozen, the song still playing loudly.

Suddenly the music cut out, the screen going blank. Bryan turned in confusion. He saw Steve holding the power cord for his computer.

"Dude, did you just get Rickrolled?" Steve asked in disbelief.

"I guess I did," Bryan groaned and dropped his head to the keyboard.

"It's not as bad as all that. Annoying, but not anything to get worked up about," said Steve, patting Bryan on the shoulder.

"That's not it. I have to do that whole report again," Bryan said, lifting his head and dropping it again onto the board.

What You Seem

Dan leaned in the doorway and watched Carolyn kick her duffel bag under the bed. She was good, and no one had noticed that it wasn’t the same duffel bag where she kept her books and CDs, but Dan was more observant than his brothers usually gave him credit for. Carolyn went to tug the gun from its holster in the small of her back, and then she turned.

“Danny.” Her expression was - blank, completely devoid of emotion, and she looked curiously adult. She held herself with a strange assurance that Dan had never seen before, because whenever she was hanging off of Bob’s arm insisting he couldn’t beat her at Tekken, she was the unsure tomboy in a skirt, never comfortable in her own skin. Whoever she was here, she was completely confident of her capabilities, and Dan couldn’t begin to imagine what they were.

“No one else has noticed,” he said.

She kept her hand near the gun. “I must be getting sloppy.”

“I know you’re not - what you seem.” Dan took a step forward, hands raised in a gesture of surrender. “I just --”

Carolyn’s expression shifted, became wary, and then she pushed past him, closed the door. Then she turned to him, and though her mouth was still curiously blank, her dark eyes were feverishly bright. “Danny, I can’t tell you what’s going on, but I promise you that my ultimate goal is to protect.”

“Protect Bob, right? I mean, Scott’s half in love with you, and Clay would slit his wrists over you if he were an emo boy, and you know all that. But you stick with Bob. I -- do you love him?”

Carolyn’s eyes fluttered closed, her lashes forming a dark crescents against her cheeks, and she took a deep breath. “I’d die for him.”

That wasn’t the same as loving him, but Dan knew, instinctively, that Carolyn was telling the truth. He tilted his head to the side. “How long?”

“How long what?”

“Have you done what you’ve done?”

A small, sad smile curved Carolyn’s lips. “Studies show that children around the age of six learn fastest, especially for things like marksmanship.”

Dan felt cold horror shiver down his spine.

But then Carolyn shrugged. “At least I know you’ll listen to me if we end up in danger and I take over.”

“Yeah,” Dan said faintly.

“I know about you, too, by the way.” Carolyn drew her gun and checked it.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re taught to observe interpersonal relationships, and...Michael has no clue how you feel, and you’d best not tell him.” Carolyn met his gaze.

Dan felt his throat close. “I --”

“Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” Carolyn holstered the gun again. “Trust me. One day your life might depend on it.”

Dan nodded. “Okay. And - thanks.” He started for the door.

Carolyn reached out and caught his wrist. “I do love Robert. I want you to know that.”

“Why?”

“Because no one else ever can.”

(498 Words - "Leave Out All The Rest" by Linkin Park; I had song ADD tonight and the song I originally wanted to use was not on YouTube)

First Solo

Joe fidgeted with the zipper on his jumpsuit. His body made jerking movements as if he was not sure if he wanted to run, or if he was just eager to get started. Joe was dressed in a one piece jumpsuit, his helmet on the ground beside him. His fingers twitched as he mentally checked off procedures in his head.

"Hey Joe, how's it going?" Brian asked, grinning from ear to ear. He noted Joe's fingers twitching, and smiled wider. "Nervous much?"

Joe shrugged, taking a deep breath and stilling his hands, "it's my first solo flight."

Brian suppressed the urge to razz his younger teammate. Mark and Brian had taken their qualifying flights the previous month. "Don't worry about it," Brian said, "just do as David taught you, and you'll be fine."

"I know that I know this, but that doesn't stop me from being nervous," Joe said.

"Are you ready Joe?" David asked, as he rounded the corner into the hanger.

"I guess as ready as I will be," Joe said, snapping off a salute.

"Okay. Jump into the Falcon over there and taxi out to the runway," David said.

"Yes Sir." Joe snapped off another salute.

Joe climbed into the cockpit of the fighter jet and checked his instruments, letting the taxi pull the jet to the runway.

David's voice came crackling over the headset into his ear. "Okay Joe, just like you trained. Take a deep breath. You can do this. You know the procedures, you know the maneuvers. Take it slow and do it right," David said.

"Yes Sir," Joe said, nodding, even though David couldn't see him.

Joe pulled back on the controls when he was given the all clear and the flag man had retreated.

The jet rocketed down the runway, gathering speed until it was airborne. Joe climbed swiftly into the sky, grinning at the feeling of freedom.

Joe settled himself and looked at his panel of information. He knew that David would be his spotter on the ground, and Steve would be the air observer. He was not sure who he would be flying against.

Joe rolled his jet to the left as his honed instincts noted the barest movement from the corner of his eye. He banked his jet in a tight turn and climbed steeply, trying to get a visual on his opponent. He saw the other jet below him as he did a roll to the right as his sensors picked up the mock gunfire.

Joe dipped his jet into a controlled dive so that he could get beneath the other fighter pilot. He punched in the code that would send signals to the other pilot of his strafing run. the other pilot looped around him to come up from his tail.

Joe stalled out to slow down enough so that the other pilot would over shoot him. As Joe came up behind the other jet he let loose a volley. A direct hit.

David's and Steve's cheers were drowned out by Joe's own enthusiasm. Joe did a victory roll and streaked back towards the runway.

As Joe exited his plane there was an enthusiastic group waiting for him.

"Way to go Joe!" Mark said, pounding him on the back.

"Good job. I knew you could do it," David said, punching him in the shoulder.

"I think a celebration is in order," Steve said.

"Absolutely," David said, leading the way away from the hanger.

Caught

Walking was the only way to properly digest a heavy Italian meal. It hadn’t been horrendous, by any means - just heavy in the way that made you want to curl up on any semi-soft surface and go to sleep. Heavy, but content.

So, they were in the park again. Jamie thought it a bit strange that a majority of her time spent with Miles happened to be in Central Park, but it was a beautiful night, and it was by his suggestion that they walk there.

“So on your scale of Italian cuisine how did that rank?” Miles had a crooked, boyish smile on his face that Jamie was forcing herself not to dwell on. She might get caught staring.

“That was actually pretty close to authentic-style cooking. I’m impressed. They’ll definitely get a good review.” Of course, Jamie wasn’t thinking about the food anymore at this point. She concentrated on the sound of their footsteps, the way his arm would brush hers every few seconds… the silence of their suddenly stopped conversation. “What did you think of it, Miles?” She turned toward him and stopped walking.

He shrugged. “It was good, but to me, food is food. As long as I’m fed, I’m a happy guy.” He took a few more steps forwards before he realized Jamie wasn’t keeping pace.

“What else makes you happy? I feel like you know a lot about me, but I know hardly anything about you.” They’d spent a lot of the meal chatting about her job and the traveling she had done. He didn’t like to talk about himself.

He looked like he was searching for an answer, his eyes getting wide for a second as if he was remembering what made him happy… like he had forgotten at some point. “Writing…” he started, “writing and just observing people. It’s amazing to just see us, people like you and me, in our natural comfort zones. And it’s the small things that say a lot, you know?” He stopped, coming out of his reverie, and noticed Jamie smiling serenely at him. “But that’s just me.”

Jamie took a few steps toward him. “So, people make you happy then?” She tried to mask the fact that her heart was thumping so hard it felt like it might explode from her chest.

“Yeah, I guess I’m a sentimental guy that way.” He closed the distance between them.

“What about me, Miles?” Jamie was nearly whispering now. She was stumbling forward into something she hadn’t felt in a long time, something she dare not think or speak of for fear that it would disappear and soon as the thought conjured or the word fell from her lips.

“You know the answer… don’t you?”

He kissed her then, and the moment their lips touched the word ‘love’ popped in and out of existence in Jamie’s brain, and Miles was still there in her arms.

(487 words, Ben Folds - Sentimental Guy)

Alive Beside Carolyn

(play it low)

“Hey, wake up.”

Clay hated waking up like this. Carolyn’s voice was soft and gentle, and Clay knew if he opened his eyes he’d see her kneeling beside Bob’s side of the bed, a mug of hot chocolate in hand. Everyone thought Bob was such an early riser because he was disciplined or some kind of morning person, but Clay knew that Bob was out of bed first so he could have fifteen minutes alone with Carolyn in the kitchenette while she fixed breakfast for the rest.

Clay kept his eyes closed, and anyone looking at him just then would’ve thought he was still deep in sleep and not listening to Carolyn and Bob share a brief, sweet good morning kiss. Anyone who looked closer would see Clay had one hand curled into a white-knuckled fist from the effort of staying still.

Two sets of footsteps faded, and Clay finally opened his eyes, rolled onto his back. Their dad insisted that none of them date so they weren’t lying when reporters asked the damned girlfriend question, but hell if everyone didn’t know that Carolyn was the default girl, the one each of them were supposed to fall in love with so they’d stay out of trouble. And hell if it hadn’t worked.

Clay had seen Carolyn deep in conversation with Dan after a long day of press work, heads bent close while Dan dealt cards and Carolyn swindled him out of pocket change. No one knew what they talked about, but every now and again Carolyn would make a casual comment and then she and Dan would share a secret smile. And Scott - even though he professed grand detachment from Lady Caro, he’d hover over her whenever she wanted, showing her how to hold his favorite guitar, lacing his fingers with hers to show her how to lay a chord. At best, Carolyn smiled at Clay once in a while, teased him about flirting with girls on venue crews, and Clay smiled back, because it was all he could do. But she never talked to him like she talked to the others, and he was lucky if he could earn more than a passing glance in a single day. He felt utterly helpless whenever she looked at him, and he wondered how he’d missed it when they were children, when it was still all right to tackle her in a flying leap and pin her to the grass, tickle her till she shrieked with laughter.

Scott and Dan woke themselves up because they smelled food, but they wouldn’t bother to try to wake Clay. Everyone thought he was the late sleeper. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t asleep - he was steeling himself for another day of being alive beside Carolyn without living with her, without really being in her life.

(472 words - "Who Do You Love" by The Moffatts, and yes, Clint totally sings lead on this one - apropos, I thought)

Help is on the way

(the song should be low in the background. I know it may be a bit dramatic, but....I needed something foreboding...Skip forward to about the 1 minute mark)



"Lieutenant Blackwood." Steve answered the phone.

"Steve!" A panicked voice came over the line."

"Rachel?" Steve was surprised to hear his sisters voice.

"Steve, you've got to help me." Rachel's voice quiet, as if afraid someone would overhear her.

"Rachel, what's wrong? Where are you?" Steve was starting to get more than a little worried. His normally unflappable sister sounded on the verge of a panic attack.

"I don't know where I am. Please you have got to find me." Rachel sounded like she was almost in tears.

"Okay, Rachel, calm down. Where were you last? Where is Mom and Dad?" Steve was kicking into operation mode, trying to get all the facts.

"I was out with some friends, We were going to a bar at the edge of town. I don't know where Mom and Dad are."

"Okay Rachel. I want you to stay calm. I'm coming to find you." Steve said, reassuring his sister.

"Please hurry Steve, I'm scared."

"Hey, have I ever let you down?" Steve asked in a lighter tone, trying to dispel some of her anxiety.

"No," Rachel whispered.

Steve was loathed to hang up on his sister when she needed him, but he had to find her as fast as possible.

Steve tore into the bunk room, grabbing clothes and equipment and stuffing them into a duffel bag. The rest of the team were standing in surprise at the state of the normally calm First Lieutenant.

Steve was running out the door when he ran into David.

"Commander, I have to leave. My sister is in trouble. I have to help her." Steve spoke very fast, trying to edge around his leader.

David nodded, "Let's go men, grab your gear and we will be out in two minutes."

Steve looked at David with gratitude. "Thank you Major."

"Your family is my family Steve," said David, as the team jogged out of the barrack and down the hall towards the aircraft hanger.