Drum Lessons

A/N For the people who don't know, I recently lost my inspiration to write. I couldn't think up plots and my mind was absolutely blank when it came to writing. But now, I've got it back. Take this story as a sort of..."Welcome Back" to Fanfiction.

"Come on, please let me in your band!" Rigby whined as he followed behind Mordecai, who was dressed in a white shirt with a blue jacket over it. He wandered through the house, hoping to drop Rigby off his tail, but the raccoon was persistant. "I'll do your chores for a month, I'll take the rat for whatever Benson blames on you, I'll-"

Mordecai sighed as he stopped in the kitchen. He turned and leaned against the bench sink. Rigby stopped in front of him. "Dude, you know I can't let you in our band. We've tried every instrument, but you can't play a single one. Anyway, it's not even a proper band. Benson just put it together to raise money for the park."

"Aw come on, I can play an instrument." Rigby frowned and made a move to turn, but Mordecai shook his head.

"Playing the tambourine doesn't count."

Rigby looked at him, momentarily surprised at Mordecai's guess, but also slightly hurt at the way he said it; defeated. Mordecai sighed and, seeing how sad Rigby looked, bent down to his level, placing a gloved hand on his shoulder. "Look dude, I know how much you want to be in this band. I want you to play alongside me as much as the next guy, but you just can't play an instrument. He paused to watch Rigby's reaction. His eyes were on the floor, he still looked miserable. "Listen." Mordecai said gently, making Rigby look up at him. "If you can learn to play an instrument in the next couple of hours, I'll let you be in the band."

Rigby's eyes widened. "Really?"

Mordecai nodded. "Really." He straightened and walked past Rigby to the door. When the door shut, Rigby turned and cheered. He suddenly stopped to think. What instrument should I learn to play? Looking around, he spotted the tv, where a documentary on an 80s band was playing. The camera was on a guitarist but panned to a drummer with spikes on his head. Rigby smiled. I'll learn to play the drums. Mordecai didn't teach me how to play them. Besides, it can't be that hard.

"So let me get this straight." Benson said, sitting in the chair in his office, running a pen through his fingers. "You want to be in Mordecai's band and to do that, you have to learn to play an instrument?"

Rigby, who was sitting across from him, smiled and nodded.

"And out of all the instruments to learn, you chose drums?"

"Yes."

Benson leaned forward. "You do know playing drums takes a lot of practice."

"That's why I was thinking you could teach me."

"What?"

"Well, you're a professional drummer aren't you?"

Benson paused. "Well, yeah, but I can't teach you."

Rigby looked at him. "Why?" He whined.

"'Cause I've got a lot of work to do. Mr Maellard's coming to the park when the concert's set up and I-"

"Pleeeeeeease?"

Benson stoppped, to look at Rigby. He was staring at him with puppy dog eyes, his hands clasped together, leaning forward with a sad look on his face. Benson sighed, irritated. He wiped a hand across his face and dropped his pen. Pointing a finger at him, he frowned. "Fine. But you better not complain or give up because of my teaching method."

Rigby was too happy to ask exactly what Bensons "teaching method" was. "No, no I promise I won't." He jumped off the chair, just as Benson was getting up. "Thank you Benson." He said.

Benson rolled his eyes. "You'll thank me when you've learnt to play." He said, following Rigby out the door.

"No, like this." Benson repeated. He grabbed the drum sticks from Rigby and did a short beat, one that even a little kid could do. Rigby pouted in confusion, but when Benson looked back at him to give the sticks back, he smiled.

"Got it? Benson asked. Rigby showed a brief smile, but frowned when he took the sticks. Benson got off the seat and stood near him to watch. Rigby glanced at each of the drums, trying to figure out what Benson had just shown him. He had only tapped one drum lightly before Benson went red and sighed loudly.

"No." He said, walking to him. "Here, I'll show you again...for the two hundredth time." He muttered under his breath.

When Benson got to the stool, Rigby jumped down.

"Can't you show me an easier beat?"

Benson was ready to repeat the beat, but when Rigby spoke, he turned his head in disbelief. Grabbing a book near him, he showed a page to Rigby. "This is the easiest beat in the book. Even babies can do this beat."

Rigby scowled. "Hey, I'm not a baby."

"I never said you were." Benson said, placing the book next to him. "But you sure are acting like one."

Rigby frowned. "I'm hungry." Flashing a smile to Benson, he turned and bounded off to the kitchen.

Benson watched him go with wide eyes. "Don't you dare mess up my kitchen!" He called. He stood up, staying silent as he listened to Rigby in the kitchen. The smash of a broken glass made Benson sigh.

"Don't worry dude, I got it!"

More glass was heard breaking in the kitchen. Benson groaned. He sat back down and tried to ignore his idiotic employee trying (and failing) to make a sandwich.

Benson looked at the drum set. Then at the sticks on one of the symbols. He picked them up and a sudden shot of electricity went up his arm, making him throw the sticks on the carpet. He got off the stool to retrieve them then sat back on the stool, clutching one stick in each hand. Glancing from the stick in his left hand to a drum, he tapped it, and smiled.

Half an hour later, Rigby was walking to the spare room, bits of broken glass stuck in his fur. In his hand was a plate with a messy PB&J sandwich, the filling leaking out on the plate.

"Geez Benson, how many breakable glasses do you have?" Rigby asked with a smirk, but when he got to the room, his eyes widened, and he stopped in place.

Benson had his eyes closed, his mind fully focused on the drums. He was playing them like a pro, beat after beat, that only the best could do. Rigby almost dropped the plate, his eyes mesmerized by the drums. He walked over to the spare stool and began eating the sandwich.

Benson opened his eyes, his mouth twisted in concentration. He looked like a completely different person; like a younger version of himself. The longer Rigby watched him, the more the scene came into focus.

He was dressed in a sleeveless brown jacket, his body became smaller, so small that his feet couldn't touch the pedal. He wore black pants that stopped at his ankles, his arms and hands became smaller and when he smiled, it was a smile that hid broken promises, white lies and sleepless nights.

Benson suddenly stopped, making the image vanish and the scene go back to normal. Benson wiped his forehead. "I haven't drummed like that in years."

"Woah..." Rigby whispered, swallowing the piece of sandwich.

Benson looked to his side and almost fell off his chair. "Rigby! What-"

"I didn't know you could play like that."

"What do you mean?"

"You..." Rigby placed the plate next to him. "You...changed."

Benson looked at him. "What?"

"You...changed into...a younger version of yourself."

Benson shook his head and sighed. "I guess...I just have a lot of memories with this drum kit. I got it for my 16th birthday and joined Hair To The Throne a few years later. When I got kicked out..." He paused. "I stopped playing the drums. It was probably the only thing that bought me happiness to my horrible life." He sighed, dropping the sticks on a drum.

Rigby, meanwhile, just felt his heart drop. It was probably the only thing that bought me happiness to my horrible life. So what he had seen could be true. He could've been given broken promises, told white lies and had sleepless nights. But what surprised Rigby was the fact that his boss had just opened up so much to him. He doubted he had told any of the other employees this (except for Skips, of course). Vowing to himself to keep it a secret, he suddenly got off the stool and walked over.

Without a word, he gently pushed Benson off and grabbed the sticks. Benson went to the stool and watched him play. Soon, Rigby had performed a perfect beat and Benson was amazed, his eyes wide.

"Rigby." He said when Rigby had looked up at him. "That...that was a perfect beat!"

Rigby smiled. "Wow...it was." He glanced at the sticks. "That was awesome!"

"Yip. You're definitely ready to join Mordecai's band." Benson stood and went to the door. Rigby jumped off and followed. They walked down the hallway. After a few moments of silence, Rigby began playing beats on his legs, creating a sort of rhythm.

"Don't even think about taking up drumming."

Rigby smiled and looked at him. "Don't worry dude. I wouldn't dream of it."

"Good. 'Cause if you do, I'll have to fire you." He said jokingly.

Rigby smirked. Benson let out a light chuckle as they reached the elevator. The doors shut in front of them and Rigby pressed the "G" button. When the elevator moved down, Benson looked at Rigby.

"I'm serious."

I have a sort of headcanon that Benson's relationship with Rigby is like a father/son relationship. If they were alone in a room and Benson was depressed, I feel like Benson would confess everything to Rigby and even though Rigby isn't that good with comfort, he would try his best to be sympathetic.

Back to school tomorrow! Hope my teacher likes my history article *fingers crossed*

This is just one of many fics that I have in progress, two of which that I am basing off pictures which won't be written for a while.

Requests are still going. I won't accept any Mordaret, BenSkips or Character/OC ideas. PM me. If you want any ideas of what pairing to send me, check out mah stories! :D

Oh and vote for my poll! I really need your guys' votes to finish "Perfect". Tell your friends, tell your friends friends, tell your dog- No don't tell your dog. Anyway, go vote guys! But only if you've read the fic. It won't make sense otherwise.