Post London Calling.

(One – Shot )

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Based loosely on yet another Katy Perry song 'Thinking Of You'. Snippets occasionally though the fic, marked when used. Enjoy! 

I wasn't sure who I hated more; him, or myself. I'm talking, of course, about little Tommy Q. That man had been in and out of my life for years, his gelled-hair leaving marks on my sheets and those polished shoes sauntering in and on my heart. I left him months ago, found someone new in my little London flat, and was enjoying the rock star life I had carved out for me. So, since I had everything I wanted, why wasn't I happy?

A painting, done by the guy sleeping in my bed a few feet from where I now stood, hung above the mantel we have made. A tree; juicy red apples ready for the picking, seeds decorating the ground, and the skies are blue as they would ever be. There were three apples and I had named them all. Tommy, Speed, and Jamie. Tommy's was the biggest.

Where was the new beau you ask? He was the seeds. He paled in comparison. Especially to Tommy.

--"Comparisons are easily done
Once you've had a taste of perfection
Like an apple hanging from a tree.
I picked the ripest one, I still got the seeds."—

Was this what settling felt like? Tommy couldn't be sure even as he combed his fingers through that already gelled-to-perfection hair. A sideways glance revealed a napping Sadie. The older Harrison sister was a beauty, no doubt, but she was no Jude.

'Seeds to an apple', Tommy thought as he stared at those tanned features. Kwest had moved away, but not on. Sadie and her ex still communicated through e-mails, and Tommy knew there was more to it. He didn't even care that Sadie was cheating on him. Whatever thrilled her, he supposed.

Jude had left –him--, so why was he standing here? Her move to London had been a clear sign – Move on and forget her, Quincy. You've done it a million times, so why can't you do it now?

Because he couldn't stop thinking about her.

Because he was still irrevocably in love with Jude Harrison.

--"You said move on, where do I go?
I guess that second best is all I'll know."—

"Jude? You coming back to bed?" Sleep had made his voice deeper, the baritone suggestion calling me away from my daydreams.

Tearing my attention from his painting, I looked to Douglas and smiled. "Of course." Tugging my pajama shirt down and my pants up, I chanted this mantra to myself: "You love him, not Tommy".

It didn't help. And when I dreamed, it was of him. I hated him.

No, I didn't.

I loved him.

Douglas rolled over, his thin (not at all like Tommy's slight, but muscled forearm) arm settled over my waist, pulling me closer. Long tendrils of brown hair tickled the back of my neck as I settled against him. Tommy would never let his hair get so long. He was obsessed. And so was I.



--"Because when I'm with him I am thinking of you
Thinking of you.
What you would do if you were the one
Who was spending the night
Oh I wish I was looking into your eyes."—

I dreamed that night. It was about the time when I was dating Speed. Cute guy, at some point I may have convinced myself he was more my type than Tommy would ever be. We connected, he was closer to my age, played guitar loud and didn't give care, yet had a soft side. Like a nougat bar. I do love nougat.

But Tommy. Tommy was a hard candy. A jawbreaker. You bite into them and you expect pain, but you can't stop trying to finish it off. I expected Tommy to have a hard center but he didn't. It was soft, bubbly, a complete surprise.

And every time Speed kissed me, I tasted that nougat and found myself yearning for the pain, for the hard bite. Every touch, every hug, every look left me longing for something else, something more. I was horrible, an addict, and it disgusted me.

…Yet here I was. Miles and miles from my former home, from my friends, from that addiction and he was –still- all I could think about.

--" You're like an Indian summer in the middle of winter
Like a hard candy with a surprise center
How do I get better once I've had the best?
You said there's tons of the water so the waters I will test
He kissed my lips. I taste your mouth
He pulled me in, I was disgusted with myself"—

JUDE. What are you doing? Why did I write music? Why did I choose to live this life? What compelled me to sing, to draw my fans in? What quality was I missing now, that I knew I had, that I cherished so much? Oh, that's right – expressing myself, being honest with myself, with my music, with my heart. How did this make me honest?

It didn't.

I slid from the bed, careful not to alarm the slumbering Douglas. He slept through everything anyway. Retrieving my guitar and its case, a few clothes and shoes, I quietly shut the door to my flat and left that life behind.

--" You're the best and yes, I do regret
How I could let myself let you go
Now, the lessons learned
I touched and I was burned
I think you should know"--

Three planes later and I was home. Sadie had kept the house we owned, and had actually made it cozy. Curiously, she had splurged and bought herself a viper, not unlike the one Quincy used to have. Shrugging off that thought, I went into the house.

Sunlight danced from the kitchen windows, highlighting the kitchen floor. Shoes, men and women lined the rack and mine were soon added to it. The guitar was slid from my shoulder, against the wall and I crept further in. It was strange – I felt like a stranger in my own home. Was it still my home?

In sock feet, I took the stairs two at a time and ran to my room. It was just as I had imagined it, but there was someone in my bed. Curious, but cautious, I snagged a nearby book and crept closer. It snored. It was a he, spiky hair decorating my star-covered pillow. I gently pulled the blanket back and was immediately shocked; the book slipped from my fingers, falling on his head.

"Oh, shit! I'm so sorry!" Putting my hands to my face in mortified shock, I awaited the reaction from my very own Goldilocks.

"What the hell Sadie? Why'd you drop a—" He didn't finish his sentence, for after he blinked those sleepy eyes, he realized it was the wrong sister. "Jude?" Disbelief. This was a dream, had to be.

"Little Tommy Q?!"

" … Little is not a nickname I'd like to hear when in a girl's bed, Jude." Astonishment attempted to soften the hard edge in Tommy's voice, but I still flinched.

"Uh …. You're in my bed." Way to state the obvious, Harrison. Grimacing, I peeked from behind fingers to study him. Aside from that dashing five o'clock shadow, he hadn't changed.

A smirk, one that had become famous because of him, appeared on Tommy's full lips. "You must be a detective back in London, eh? Not a rock star."

"De-detective. I'm not a rock star. I'm just a…" I looked out the window. What was I? A coward, that's what. "I'm just a girl who is in love with you, Quincy. You may have some other girl or plans or some rock star life of your own to lead, but I thought that you should know that."

--" Your eyes- looking into your eyes
Oh won't you come through, and burst through the door
Take me away
No more mistakes
Because in your eyes I'd like to stay"—

His hand found hers, and that slender appendage was grasped tightly in his larger one. Words failed him. He couldn't even form sounds to stutter our some incoherent reply.

Sensing his hesitancy, Jude groaned. "Oh, I knew it. You're taken. Probably married with kids!"

"Jude, you've been gone for months, not an entire life. And yea, I'm engaged…"



He'd watch as a tear slid down her face, and standing from her bed, he'd look amused. "To who?" She asked of him, quietly, lost.

"But I couldn't get married. Y'see, the bride-to-be took off to London so I've been waiting on her to return."

A snort of disbelief and a sudden hop of delight had Jude Harrison back in the arms of Tommy Quincy, a sight that had too often been witnessed by everyone else.

It was a scene that would be broadcasted on television days later, but this time they were in more formal clothing and the setting a church. Quincy's bride had come home, and while Jude never stopped thinking about Tommy, the thoughts were far more pleasant.