Disclaimer: Austin and Ally is not mine.

A/N: This story is AU. Austin and Ally haven't met, and Ally's a bit broken when he meets her (you'll see). It starts at Christmas but it's not really going to be a Christmas fic. I hope you guys like it, it's quite a bit different than anything I've attempted before. Blame Nada, it was her idea. :P

She hasn't slept through the night once in twenty-six months.

She's had the same dream every night for the past twenty-six months.

She hadn't actually been there but she can see it.

Her son. Her husband. A haze of smoke and the screech of tires and a blaze of red, orange, yellow, burningburningburning until everything she ever loved was lost.

Tonight is no exception. She bolts upright in bed, covered in sweat, and she hasn't cried in three weeks but she does now because the smoke was especially dark and the screams were especially loud and she just can't anymore.

She collapses on the bed and tightly grips the pillow next to her and presses it to her face, trying to smell him, but he hasn't been there for over two years. And that makes her sob harder, until she can't see and she's exhausted.

"What am I supposed to do?" she whispers, over and over and over. "You left me. You both left me."

Ally doesn't go back to sleep.

"Hey, Ally!"

Ally turns around and grins. "Hi, Trish! It's been two months!"

She hugs her best friend and steps back. "You look great!"

Trish smiles. "New York is just where I belong, you know?"

"I can tell," she says kindly. "Come on, I can close up for lunch and we can go catch up."

Sonic Boom is hers now. Her dad had retired years ago and she'd taken over. She loves it there, loves teaching music lessons, and loves being surrounded by instruments. She'd even sold three songs to a major record label, although she hasn't been doing any writing since…since the accident.

She and Trish wander over to the food court, for old times' sake, and Ally listens to her best friend tell her about an amazing new guy she just started seeing and her exciting new job and how she's having the time of her life in a brand new city.

"How are you, Ally?" Trish asks quietly.

"I'm good, Trish," she says, but her voice is a little too perky and her smile just a little too bright.

"Ally…"

"I'm okay," she says firmly. "It's been a little over two years. I'm doing better."

Trish frowns. "You don't have to hide, Ally," she says. "You can't keep it all inside."

"I'm not hiding."

Trish hesitates. "Ally, look, you've been saying you're 'fine' since a week after the…accident. And you've been acting like nothing happened. And it's been tearing you apart for two years, we can all see it."

Ally narrows her eyes. "What do you mean I've been acting like nothing happened? Just because I'm not crying and moping around doesn't mean I don't think about it every single minute."

"You never let yourself grieve," Trish says softly. "You never dealt with it. You went straight back to work and didn't talk to anyone and we're all worried about you."

"Yeah, well, because you all know how it feels to lose a husband and a son, please, Trish, tell me how I should be dealing with it," she says sarcastically, her eyes blazing. "None of you know what I went through, what I'm still going through, so maybe you should just leave me alone."

Trish looks hurt. "Ally, I'm not—"

"I can't do this right now," Ally says, standing up abruptly. "Can we just talk later? I'm glad you're back for the week."

"I—yeah," Trish says, her voice defeated. "Bye, Ally."

But Ally's already too far away to hear.

Sometimes, Ally finds herself wondering if she'll ever feel normal again, and then she immediately feels guilty for even imagining normal.

Because normal was spending lazy days with a picnic at the park cloud watching with her two year old son and talking about books and making homemade pickles with her husband.

It was writing songs and playing the piano for fun and singing lullabies about butterflies and watching silent French films cuddled up on a couch.

It was a normal that was quiet and perfect and romantic and planned and everything she had ever wanted and she had loved it.

And she'll never get that normal again.

"Excuse me, how much is—oh, shit!"

Ally looks up with wide eyes as half of her drum display comes crashing down, crashes and booms and clangs filling the previously quiet space.

She looks up from where she had been cataloguing her inventory to see a tall, blond guy who she guesses is probably around her age, standing there, surrounded by drums at his feet with his mouth open, a lone cymbal in his hand.

He notices her looking at him. "Please don't tell me you have a you-break-it-you-buy-it policy," he pleads.

"How did—why did—I don't think I even wanna know how you managed to do that," Ally stutters, once she recovers. She raises an eyebrow. "And of course that's the policy."

He groans dramatically. "Damn it."

She can't help but giggle at the look on his face and he sighs forlornly at her as she walks around the counter to survey the disaster zone.

"I don't think any of them are actually damaged," she concludes after a few minutes of thorough inspection. She turns to him after she puts the last one back on display. "You got lucky. You picked some of the most expensive ones to knock over."

He pumps his fist. "Yes!" he exclaims. "But can I actually buy this cymbal now?"

Ally looks at him warily. "Are you sure you know how to use it?"

He frowns indignantly. "Of course. I'm an awesome drummer."

She gives him a disbelieving look. "If you say so."

"I am! Here, I'll prove—"

Ally reaches out and grabs his wrists before he can cause any more damage, ignoring the light shiver that runs up her spine. It must be static electricity or something. "I believe you."

He narrows his eyes at her and she releases his wrists. "You totally do not believe me."

"…Do I have to believe you to sell you the cymbal?"

He looks stumped. "I guess not," he says, obviously disappointed. "But you should know that I can play anything. I'm the best at drums and guitar but I can even play the trumpet. Through another trumpet."

She furrows her brow. "That sounds just crazy enough for me to think you didn't make it up."

"Yes!" he cheers. "Where's your brass section, I can—"

She laughs nervously. "Um, I actually have to close up soon! For um…for…Christmas Eve Eve!"

"You know that's not a thing, right?" he says, raising an eyebrow. She opens her mouth to respond. "But I can take a hint, don't worry," he continues, grinning.

He walks with her to the register and digs for his wallet while she wraps up the instrument.

"So, do you own this place?" he asks, leaning both hands against the counter after he gives her a credit card.

She nods as she rings him up. "Yeah. My dad used to, but he retired so I took over. Why do you ask?"

He grins. "You're just really lucky. Surrounded by instruments all day? Man, I wish I could do that."

Ally looks at him curiously. "But this is a pretty expensive cymbal. Isn't that a pretty big investment if music's just a hobby for you?"

"I'm kinda between being a nobody and a kind of maybe somebody right now," he says, sighing.

She tilts her head. "How does that work?"

"It works like you-technically-have-a-recording-contract-but-the-label's-lost-interest-in-you-at-the-moment," he says, rolling his eyes. "Basically, I got signed about six months ago but nothing's happened since then. So I'm trying to get a bunch of songs ready for when they finally decide they want to remember I exist. I mean, the clock's ticking- not a lot of people get their big break at thirty-one, you know?"

So he was her age.

"That sucks," she says sympathetically. "What about another label?"

"No dice," he says, shaking his head. "Thirty-one, remember? No way another label's gonna take a chance on me. It was hard enough getting this one to sign me."

She hands him the bag with the cymbal and his receipt. "Well, good luck," she says. "Maybe I'll hear you on the radio one day."

He grins as he accepts the items, and she feels something again when his fingers brush against hers. Definitely static electricity. "Oh, you definitely will," he squints at her nametag. "—Ally. I'm Austin. Austin Moon. Don't forget that name."

"Great, now I can put a name to the face of the guy that almost destroyed my drum collection?" she teases. "Thank you, Austin."

He laughs. "Well, at least you'll be able to say you had a once in a lifetime encounter with the one and only Austin Moon."

Ally rolls her eyes. "Yay me," she deadpans.

Austin winks at her before turning around to leave and she laughs despite herself, shaking her head as she turns back to her inventory spreadsheet.

And then she freezes as she comes to the realization that during those fifteen minutes with Austin, the first fifteen minutes in twenty-four months and sixteen days and thirteen hours and two minutes, she hadn't thought even once about…it.

That night, she doesn't have the dream.

So that's the start. I think it'll be a pretty slow build up and the updates miiight be kind of slow too (sorry), but I will do my absolute best. Please review, I'd love to see what you think!