"Could you just stop moving for one second?!" Enrique Gonzalez shouted at his co-drum major furiously in response to her sudden yelp, yanking the needle away swiftly.

"Maybe I would if you stopped stabbing me, Hun, I'd move less!" Mary Reid's washy blue eyes fixed him with a look of a fiery contempt to rival that of dictators past. Her ridiculous Texas drawl, however, was probably a trait Hitler did not possess.

Mind you, George was under the impression that she was a good drum major. Maybe the better one. Just kidding. Her conducting was obviously inferior to his glorious command of all notes played before his confident hands. Such was his opinion on the matter, at least. She also had something of a temper when provoked. And if stabbing her with a needle wasn't provoking enough, he didn't know what was.

Though, these thoughts did not run through his head until much later. At the moment, he was focused intently on the hem of an unabashedly white skirt resting on a very freckled thigh, as well as the infuriating personality of the consciousness connected to that thigh.

A huff of indignation was heard from one – both – of them after a moment of silence. The huff was in such unison that a bystander might mistake it for the sigh of one alone. The reasoning behind the exhalation differed between the two drum majors. Hers because he did not retort quickly enough to her liking, his because she had once more shifted impatiently. He'd narrowly avoided stabbing her with the needle and another confrontation.

"3 minutes 'till half-time and I'm under the stands fixing your uniform skirt. Maybe you should learn to sew, Miss Second Rate. Or at least take better care of this thing!" He furrowed his brow and set to work again.

"We never got our audition scores, Darlin'. You might be the second rate one here!" Her blatant small-town Texas drawl was certainly not uncommon in these parts, nor was her use of endearing pet names for EVERYONE. However, it drew such stark contrast to his ever-so-slightly noticeable Spanish accent that one would think the pair made an odd commanding duo.

Eyes like liquid chocolate confections rolled with hurried irritation. "I don't need scores to tell me I'm better than you. I'm definitely better at keeping my uniform in top shape." He said haughtily. This statement was met with a snort emitted from the pixie-like nose of the girl before whom he was kneeling on one knee.

Mary saved her question for a moment after her mildly swine-like noise. Her attention fixated on the expert attentiveness the long brown fingers paid to fixing her drum major skirt. The tear that had been rapidly growing was now being sewn away with ease, the day saved. All thanks to the mystery that was her co-drum major. Where had he, Mr. Arrogant Bastard himself, learned to sew? It certainly did not coincide with her image of his favorite pastime, belittling her.

"Where did you learn to sew?" She hadn't realized she'd voiced her thought until he glanced up and met her gaze inquisitively. Her tone was not angry, which was a bit confusing. Her expression held nothing tempered or mirthful or even mildly annoyed. Enrique noted that his co-drum major had relaxed into a state of earnest curiosity, maybe some confusion. It wasn't a look he'd often seen on her since they'd become partners in leading a new and growing band of fifty. His gaze returned to the work at hand after a split second, mind reeling.

Before this year, there'd always been one drum major. The former leader proclaimed – at the band banquet several months ago – "Your new drum major is Enrique Gonzalez!" The crowd had cheered, five or so disappointed candidates could be picked out of the crowd. But everyone in that audience knew he'd deserved it. He worked so hard, and he'd obviously been the best. Then, over the applause, that former drum major - the equivalent of a Fate of mythology snipping his life line - smiled devilishly and added, "Your other new drum major is Mary Reid!" The sick pleasure one took at dealing a death blow to two people is one so rarely acquired but always enjoyed.

The upheaval that followed was a storm of un-drum major like behavior. Shouting matches outside the view of the band members, whispered insults. He was cocky; she was defensive. He wasn't born here and had only become a full-fledged citizen two months ago; she was American as apple pie. He spoke two languages with near flawlessness – working on a third; she hardly could annunciate her first and only one without that cursed drawl. It was the death of him, their differences. Also the drawl itself. It was…well, for lack of a better term, cute. Even in as small a town as this, people rarely had accents so deeply country.

He almost respected her temper as the counterpart to his lack of attentiveness. He'd get lost in the music, ignoring the little freshman trombonist who missed his set by eight steps. Her voice commanded authority, let her not soften, and that tone let her take care of the discipline of the band. They were certainly one of the most disciplined bands in the state. "Eight steps?! You think a judge won't notice that?! Trombone section, 5 laps, learn to pay attention to your section!" She'd shout in that accent of hers, brows furrowed. You'd think that they'd rant and complain, but something about that accent made it sound like an endearing command. Like she were asking if they could pick up chocolate chips for the cookies she was baking, since they were going to the store already. This was a trait he admired, and trying to reach her level brought out the best in his leadership skills.

He almost wanted to draw out the silence further, retreat into his thoughts, but this all needed to go faster. He caught the thread in his mouth and ripped it. A quick knot later, he stood, towering over her.

"I just kind of taught myself. I guess my mother got me started, though." Something of a smile played at Enrique's lips. Mary's gaze flickered to them for a moment before she had a matching smile. He was not giving off the air of arrogance. He was not belittling her. He was not commenting on her lack of ability in the sewing arts, or even comparing himself to her at all.

She respected him like another half of her. He cued with his left hand, she cued with her right, and the band came together wonderfully. They were two halves of the same whole, though he liked to think he was the better one. She was mentally just fine with that, though she'd never admit it. Confidence was an admirable trait, not often seen amongst adolescents. Her co-drum major was secure in everything that he did. Why should he worry, he was perfect in his own mind! This was a trait she admired, and trying to reach his level brought out the best in her conducting.

"Interesting." She said, tilting her head with that same smile. Her musings matched the mood.

"FIELD. NOW." The voice of their band director boomed out from around the corner of the stands, leaving both drum majors to jump a bit.

They looked at eachother and grinned, neither of them saying the truth suspended in the air between them.

"See you on the field?"

"Not if I see you first."

"Not if I see you better."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Shut up."

Author's Note (2012): I'm waiting for Curiosity to land, band camp starts tomorrow. So temporarily out of hiatus. I might trash this. Haven't written in awhile. Leave a review, maybe I'll be typing out some more little one shots with their little implied romances sometime.

UPDATE (2013): I totally wrote this a year ago with intentions to do my read-it-the-next-day-to-spot-errors thing. Now I've just found it a year later, but I think it is good enough for an upload.