I know you guys are all probably waiting for an update of POHH. Trust me, I'm not giving up on that story, nor am I giving up on Lost, But Found. However, I really want to get back in the hang of writing before I update POHH, especially with the turn I plan to take the story on. Hence, here comes this little diddy. It's actually something I've been waiting to write for a long time.

If you guys don't know, I'm a huge Broadway nut. I've always wanted to find a way to tie Broadway into Ezria and I'd like to thank Emily (writer of El Tango De Fitz and other many great stories) for helping me out in figuring out a plot. I'd also like to thank Lyndsey for her constant support in my writing.

So, here goes! Please leave me your reviews and let me know what you think! 10+ will get you another chapter quicker!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything. I wish I did for so many reasons.


Ten Years Earlier


"Why can't you come over today?" Ezra Fitz listened to his girlfriend, Rose prattle on about the necessity of his presence as she tried on the dresses she'd picked out for prom. He'd always figured seeing a girl's prom dress had the same superstitious equivalent as seeing a bridge in her wedding dress before she walked towards him down the aisle.

He shrugged, closing the metal door of his locker with a slight slam. As much as he liked having someone to keep him warm when he watched movies, Ezra was starting to second guess ever asking Rose out. They'd met in his Film Studies class and while she seemed to be interested in the things he talked about, Rose came up short when Ezra brought up a book of a classic black and white film. She didn't make him feel alive.

"I have my mentorship today, remember; with Byron Montgomery?" Landing one of the top Broadway book writers as a mentor could only be the result of going to a prestigious private school on the Upper East Side. However, Ezra wasn't going to blow this like he assumed many of his classmates would. He dabbled in composing here and there, but becoming a playwright was his dream; learning from Byron Montgomery would be taking a step in the right direction.

"Oh right, the guy who writes all the scripts for musicals," Rose replied nonchalantly, chomping on the stick of gum she could now chew after school hours. "I forgot."

Ezra rolled his eyes. He expected nothing less from the blonde standing to his right. Rose's company was starting to dull just as much as her brain had over the course of high school.

"I don't see why you couldn't intern at Daddy's. Every guy in school would kill for a position in the corporate world…"

"Except for me," he replied, cutting Rose off before she could finish her sentence. It was always the same conversation with anybody – his girlfriend, his mother, his aunts and uncles. Why don't you join the family business instead of going out on a limb in a field like writing? And every time, Ezra would roll his eyes and simply tell them he'd rather do something that made him happy. "I've really got to go," he said, slinging his backpack onto his shoulders. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

The blonde scampered after him, trying to deter Ezra of his mentorship plans and lure him into her bedroom. Any teenage boy would be nuts to give up a proposed romp in the sack with Rose, however Ezra wasn't like most teenage boys. He preferred Shakespeare to action movies and studying films to playing ridiculous video games. Ezra didn't call himself pretentious – he called himself passionate.

Over Rose's beckoning, he continued to walk whilst running a hand through tufts of his curly, jet black hair. "I said I'll talk to you tomorrow," Ezra yelled as he pushed open the door and exited out into the bright sunshine that New York could only offer.


A brick townhouse was Ezra's new place of study. He'd half expected Byron to live in a large penthouse at the top of building made out of only glass. But then again, his new mentor seemed to be more on the edge with what he wrote. A penthouse didn't seem to do for his writing style. Ezra pictured Byron Montgomery to be a bachelor who sat by a fire and drank scotch while typing out his latest creation on a type writer.

He used the brass knocker to knock on the door of the townhouse. Ezra tapped his foot nervously on the small front stoop, surrounded by an iron gate. He'd buzzed himself in so someone had to come let him inside eventually. Perhaps it would be Byron's assistant or maid of some sort. The boy chewed on his bottom lip as he waited for the dark mahogany door to pull back and grant him entrance to the world of playwriting that was right at his fingertips.

Leaning back against the wrought iron banister, Ezra whistled a tune as he loitered. It was a piece he'd tinkered out on the piano a few weeks back out of frustration with Rose. The sour memory of his girlfriend was conjured up in Ezra's mind. Quickly, he shook it from the confines of his head. Rose wouldn't ruin this for him.

Finally, the door pulled back and he braced himself, regaining his stance of an eager student rather an impatient teenager.

"You must be Dad's mentee." The last person Ezra ever expected to greet him at Byron Montgomery's house was a little girl. His blue eyes flickered down to the petite girl standing in the doorway. She was tiny, tinier than any person he'd ever seen before. Dark, thick hair rested against her shoulders and curled down to her waist, although half was pulled back into a ponytail at the back of her head. She had pouty pink lips that were pressed into a thin line as she waited for his response and her hazel eyes seemed to size Ezra up in a way he felt a little girl shouldn't be doing. "Are you going to answer me or do I have to call the cops?"

"S—sorry," Ezra said in a flustered manner. She was aggressive for such a little thing. "I'm Ezra, your dad's mentee. Is he home?"

"Don't look too shocked," the girl replied. "The great Byron Montgomery does indeed have a daughter. He just doesn't want me in the spotlight." She shoved out an equally petite pale hand towards Ezra. "Aria and no, he isn't home. He was just out grabbing some new ink for his typewriter. He told me to let you in though, should you show up on time."

At least Ezra had been right about the typewriter part.

"Well, thank you," he said as Aria moved aside to let Ezra in. She shut the door behind them with a bang and ushered him into the kitchen. It had high ceilings and a checkered floor. There was a huge oven in the corner of the room with a brass vent overhanging the gas stove. An island rested in the middle of the kitchen, laden with various cookies and bags of junk food that could only belong to Aria.

She pulled herself up onto the island and swung her tiny legs back and forth. "Do you want something to eat or drink? I'll let you break into my stash, but only because I'm depending on you to help me put it all away before Dad gets home." Aria raised her eyebrow teasingly, moving a box of Entenmanns cookies under Ezra's nose as if to tempt him.

"How could I resist," Ezra said, nabbing the box from Aria's hands. He plucked a cookie out of the cardboard and broke off a piece, popping it into his mouth. He'd forgotten how good things like cookies tasted. Life with Diane Fitz, his mother, was a life of organic and homegrown things she had the maid pick up at overpriced grocery stores. No cookies, no chips, no junk food. She had even put a ban on coffee. "I'm not allowed to have this at home."

"Seriously," Aria asked, disbelief coloring her face as she dug into a bag of Lay's Barbecue Chips. "I mean, my dad doesn't really like me eating all this crap, but I think he's figured out my stash by now – just hasn't said anything. How old are you anyways? You look old enough to make your own choices when it comes to eating."

"I'm 16," Ezra replied as he popped another cookie into his mouth. "And like my mother says, until I'm 18, my choices are under her jurisdiction."

"That's not very fair." Aria sighed, chomping down on a chip.

"It's not, but what can I do," he shrugged, closing the box of cookies. "How old are you? You look a bit too young to be making such brash statements."

The girl hopped off the counter and went towards the stainless steel fridge. A cold blast came from the inside as she opened up the door and rooted around for something to drink. "I'm 12, but when you grow up alone most of the time, you learn to be mature."

"Alone?" Ezra raised an eyebrow. If Byron was never around, where was her mother? Or a nanny? "No mom, no nanny?"

"My mom died when I was born," Aria murmured as she poured herself a glass of Coca-Cola. "And my nannies only come round when Dad has to go to London to help mount one of his shows on the West End. So it's really just me most of the time. But I like having you here. It gives me someone to talk to."

Just as Ezra opened his mouth to speak, a clanging of keys sounded from the front door. Aria downed the glass she'd poured herself and then shoved the 4 liter bottle of soda to the back of the fridge before slamming it shut. "Quick," she said while running towards the island. "All this needs to go away before he gets in here."

Ezra gulped nervously. Here he was aiding and abetting his mentor's daughter in getting away with eating junk food. But even against his better judgment to let Aria get caught, he helped her out; they'd made a deal after all. He grabbed the box of cookies and tossed it into the pantry, following it up with a bag of Hershey kisses and another bag of chips.

"Hurry," Aria chimed as she poured them both two glasses of water. "Act natural."

Closing the pantry door lightly, Ezra made it back to a stool around the kitchen island just before Byron could walk into the kitchen. He'd seen his picture a few times, but only from his earlier years before his career really took off. Byron's hairline had begun to recede and there were bags under his eyes from the constant nights of work. But none the less, he placed a jovial smile on his face and walked towards Ezra with an outstretched hand.

"You must be Ezra. Thanks for keeping Aria company; I hope she wasn't any trouble." The man's eyes flitted towards his daughter suspiciously as she sat with an almost too innocent smile.

"She was fine," Ezra nodded, looking back towards Aria as she sipped from her glass. The girl winked at him before pushing off the stool and going to pick up her backpack from the corner of the kitchen.

"I'm going to do my homework. It was nice meet you, Ezra. See you around." The little brunette left the room with an air of grace that Ezra hadn't ever seen from an 11 year old before.

Byron chuckled, leaning against the counter as he watched his daughter leave the room. "Quite the character, isn't she?"

Ezra couldn't have agreed more. Aria had most certainly been a character. But he hadn't expected to feel more alive with a little girl than he did with his gorgeous blonde girlfriend.