A/N: This is an AU fic. Some of the main characters have rearranged backgrounds, certain events like "Phantom Planet" never take place (that applies to either series), and OCs will come and go as necessary.

+Special thanks to Cordria for beta-reading the chapter.+

Now enjoy!

Chapter 1: Broken Strings

-Present-

[[PDA Log #33:]]

My birthday's tomorrow! That's right, I'm turning fifteen! Just one more step towards manhood for yours truly!

It's all planned out: first the movies, then the Nasty Burger, and finally that mind-blowing Dumpty Humpty concert that's totally impossible to get tickets for. Score one for Sam being loaded. Seriously, she needs to start flashing the cash more often.

By the end of the day, I'll be back home so that Uncle Arthus and Aunt Jordan can give me that sweet, new PDA I've been asking for, stashed in the safe behind the painting in the living room, combination: 1-27-08. They really should switch to electronic.

Speaking of which, my family has been acting pretty weird this month. Aunt Jordan's been bugging me to pick up that violin they got me when I turned ten. Uncle Arthus says the same thing.

So, from time to time, I'll pick the thing up and play for a few minutes, try to see if I can remember a few songs. Doesn't matter what I play, it always sounds like a cat going through a dish washer.

I ask them about it, but they always go into nostalgia mode about how I used to drag that stupid thing around the house when I was younger. Totally embarrassing, right?

But yeah, I'll admit I used to daydream about becoming a big-time musician when I was a kid. I wanted to set stages on fire with the best performances they've ever heard. Standing ovations and encores were going to be waiting for me all across the world.

Then I turned thirteen and found out girls didn't go for the whole "sensitive musician" tilt. Eventually hung that up and moved on to become the tech expert/suave ladies' man I am today.

And the women around the world rejoiced.

I know that the violin belonged to my father and all, but... I can't force myself to care that much. I mean, I never even knew who my father was; he went missing before I was even born. Don't have a clue what happened to my mother after she gave me up either. Is it weird I don't consider that a big deal too?

I'm not trying to be bitter or anything, I just don't want to put a chip on my shoulder for the rest of my life by thinking too much about stuff like that. For all intents and purposes, Aunt Jordan and Uncle Arthus are my parents.

They're here and theycare; always have and always will. That's good enough for me.

-Past-

"Refill, sir?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

The waitress courteously nodded and walked off to attend to other tables, not that there were a lot of other tables; not many people made it a habit to eat out at midnight, let alone in the middle of a bad downpour.

Yet there Arthus Foley was.

He was cold, wet, and tired. Four cups of coffee downed in the past hour were keeping him just lucid enough to be worried out of his wits. The only upside was that he got a chance to wear that mouth-eaten trench coat his wife had been pushing him to throw out. He pulled his fedora a bit lower over his thick, square glasses and self-consciously tried to smooth his mustache in the window's reflection, slouching lower in his chair. All the worst scenarios in the world running through his head, he sat there seemingly reenacting a scene straight from a noir film.

As he looked back into his own face, he was further reminded just how insane all of this was. He was a mid-level software programmer, not Dick Tracy! What on Earth possessed him to go through with this whole fiasco? Ever since that fateful phone call, he'd been looking over his shoulder and sleeping with a bat underneath the bed!

"Sorry I'm late."

Arthus tried not to jump. With as much self-control as he could muster, he turned to face the complete stranger taking the opposite side of his booth and wondered how he didn't hear the restaurant's door chime when he entered.

"I hope I didn't catch you off guard."

He forced his shaking hands into his lap. "No, not at all." Arthus Foley had already decided that this stranger wasn't of a savory background. An unkempt Asian man with eyes hidden behind a pair of aviators; his solid build was avocation for a physically demanding profession. His only protection from the rain was a fur-collared leather jacket and a dripping umbrella dropped to the side of the booth. Jiro Matsuda, a native to Japan and a complete mystery – except the strong assurance that he was safe.

"I was busy with a few… other tasks on my end." There was only a wisp of an accent to Jiro's English. "You know of the earthquake overseas?"

"Yes, it's been in the news all week. Kyoto and a few other areas were hit, right? That's… devastating."

"Hmm," Jiro hummed in accord. "I trust you already know why you're here?" Cliché lines right out of every spy movie ever.

Arthus shifted in his seat uneasily. "Er, my brother told me some things that, frankly, I don't understand. Don't want to believe a word of it, though."

Jiro's eyebrows disappeared behind his shades, most likely furrowed in a frown. "Then it was foolish of you to come here. The danger is very real and it slights me if you cannot take this seriously." One of his fingers began tapping against the table in an impatient beat. "I do not appreciate your disrespect, Mr. Foley."

"No no! I understand how serious this is!" Arthus rushed out. "I just… wish this wasn't happening."

Jiro's eyebrows slowly rose back into place. He bit his lower lip as he turned to gaze outside the window. "I can… share your sentiment. This is not a pleasant trip for me and it seems I have a few difficult tasks ahead. Events have been… troublesome."

"Figured as much." A small smile crept onto Arthus's face. "He's a lousy cook, but you could say my brother can serve flavors of trouble for every occasion."

"He is also generous enough to have seconds prepared, I think." It was almost unnoticeable, but the sides of Jiro's mouth curled a fraction.

The rain seemed to let up for a brief moment before Jiro turned from Arthus and flagged down a passing waitress. The man mumbled an order for a large cup of black coffee, which the waitress just so happened to be carrying with her back towards the kitchen. She poured a steaming mug to the brim and delicately set it down in front of him. Just as Arthus started mentally reciting the waitress's customary warning about scalding temperatures along with her, Jiro snatched up his cup from the table with his bare hands and drained it in one, long drought.

Both Arthus and the waitress could only stared in amazement as the man set the mug back down without so much as a burn or a look of discomfort. He licked away the remnant stains from his mouth in a noisy display, showing all the grace of a parched dog.

The waitress gave a half-hearted smile before rushing away as quickly as she could.

Unsure of how to respond, Arthus decided to try stumbling back on to the subject. "Yes, um…" His fingers anxiously rapped against the table. "Is it time to go now?"

Arthus received an extra dose of shock when Jiro smacked his lips a couple more times before taking off his sunglasses. The man's eyes were blood-shot and ring-laden with exhaustion. It looked as if he hadn't had a good night's rest for days on end. Jiro's appearance was indeed surprising, but the thing Arthus noticed before all of that was the strange mixture of emotions pooling from the very depths of the man's eyes. He saw glints of anxiety, a bone-deep weariness, and a sad resignation.

"Yes," Jiro said. "The time is now."

-..-

His heart leaping into his throat, Arthus threw the steering wheel hard to the right and barely saved his car from rolling into a ditch. It was already hard enough to maintain control on the rain-drenched dirt road, but being forced to chase Jiro's tail lights at such precariously high speeds just frayed his nerves without mercy. He could feel the vehicle's wheels literally skimming across the muck as he weaved to avoid the plant-life greedily hogging the road. Finally the trial came to an end, Jiro throwing his car into a 180 degree spin and coming to a stop in front of a dingy cabin. As Arthus parked his car, hunched over the steering wheel, he couldn't help but feel a small tremor of amazement at Jiro's driving abilities.

Jiro stepped out of his car without bothering with his umbrella and gestured for Arthus to follow, but marched off without even waiting for him.

Arthus took a bit longer to get moving, trying not to step in areas too muddy so as not to ruin his loafers. He made a mental note to buy a pair of boots when this was all over. After fumbling with his umbrella, he quickly waddled out to the cabin and passed through the open door.

The cabin's inside was modest at best. A crackling fireplace was keeping the place warm and there was only a single carpet in the middle of the living room. The living room itself made up most of the cabin, and there was only enough space for two rocking chairs and a two-cushioned couch. A light coming from the back showed where Jiro had gone, but he seemed to be preoccupied with something at the moment. Arthus decided to discard his trench coat and hat on the coat stand next to the doorway and take a seat on the couch. He could hear at least two other voices besides Jiro's, both speaking what he assumed to be Japanese.

Arthus started to get a bit fidgety as he reevaluated his decision to come out to the middle of nowhere with a man he knew nothing about to engage in business more than a bit questionable. So questionable, in fact, that he honestly didn't have a clue what it would entail. He half-expected a portly Italian guy in a sharp suit to come out and make him an offer he couldn't refuse. In short, he was panicking like he'd never panicked before. The couch's plush material gave way to his fingers as he sunk them into the armrests with a grip that could rival an osprey. It was all he could do to anchor himself against the rising urge to rush back out into the rain, jump into his car, and leave this whole mess behind.

A few minutes passed and Jiro finally came back out to the front, throwing himself into the rocking chair closest to the couch. Before Arthus could question him, the man tossed a large, manila envelope onto Arthus's lap and wearily put back on his sunglasses.

"This is yours," Jiro stated simply.

At first, Arthus felt an instant apprehension that kept him even from attempting to touch it. The envelope had a bit of weight to it, indicating more than a few papers and definitely something else. When he ran his hand over the envelope's surface, he found something rough just push against the package's material from the inside.

Slowly gliding his finger beneath the seal, Arthus snapped the envelope open and began unbundling several pieces of paper neatly folded horizontally inside of each other. As he unfolded them piece by piece, he unconsciously held his breath. His eyes widened at the instantaneously recognizable handwriting on every sheet. There were easily more than a hundred pages in his hand, with many pages still tucked away in the envelope.

"You'll want to read page one, first paragraph," Jiro suggested.

Arthus shot him a sideways look, expressing the question just how Jiro knew that. The seal didn't look like it had been tampered with or replaced with another. He let it go only because the first paragraph took up more than half the page. It would already be an effort to figure out half the handwriting. His brother's idea of penmanship had always been "the flashier, the better!" Still, the fact that his brother put in the effort to write up a mock novel sent anxiety buzzing through every fiber of his being.

The only sounds for the next hour were that of the fireplace and the pitter-patter of the rain against the cabin roof. Jiro stared vacantly into the dancing flames without a word while Arthus slowly read with pursed lips. He had long since gotten past the first page and continued on to the others. Every few minutes, he would flip over to another part of the letter and be immersed.

He gave up after about ten pages and slowly folded back up what was left, sliding them back into the envelope with quivering hands. All of the fears and concerns for his older sibling's safety had forced themselves into reality on sloppily scrawled words. The ten pages played themselves over and over. They were a few of the last pages his brother would ever write.

Arthus dug out a handkerchief and snatched away his glasses. He was quick to cover his face when the tears became too much to fight back. The voices in the backroom had gone noticeably silent at just the right time.

"…I'm sorry," was the most Jiro could give.

Arthus didn't bother removing the handkerchief to talk. "… How did it happen?" He managed to get out with a waiver.

Jiro took in a deep breath as if to sigh, but couldn't quite release it back out. It roughly unhitched from his chest in a grunt. "His death was 'job-related'. I am not at liberty to tell you."

Arthus snatched the handkerchief off and wheeled around to face Jiro with eyes burning with tears and rage alike. "The hell you can't tell me! My brother's dead, I have the right to know why! I have the right to know how he even got into… whatever the hell his 'job' was!"

"The answer is in his will." Jiro replied simply. It appeared he was trying to sound sympathetic, but came off more apathetic than anything. He obviously wasn't used to situations such as this one. "Elder Foley requested it as such. He went knowingly to his own death… I must honor that."

After a few ragged breaths, Arthus gave up trying to find the composure to continue and slumped back into his chair. He tried to swallow an uncomfortable lump that was actually threatening to choke him. Stuttering became the best he could do. "He's gone, just like that. Dear God, just like that… just like… God why…"

"He… did not have regrets, I think. I was there when he passed on… He was still smiling." Jiro's words were meant to ease the pain at some miniscule level, but they only made it so much worse.

Arthus brought the handkerchief back to his face, pressing tighter.

-..-

Another hour passed before Arthus had calmed himself down enough to talk. In a way, he was thankful that Jiro silently allowed his agonizing stretch of grief to go unbothered. He needed the period to let the cold, unforgiving facts settle in. Dabbing his eyes one last time, now as bloodshot as Jiro's, he placed back on his glasses with what little of his will remained. Everything about him, from his face to the very air around him, had fallen to a dismal state. "So… do you know about a woman named Maya? Maya Kagami," he queried half-heartedly. "… You know about her, right? The few times we talked, my brother always mentioned that name. She was his lover… Claimed something weird about her being the 'second half' to his 'soul song'… I was told awhile ago she was carrying his child."

Jiro nodded slowly.

"Recently, I mean several months ago… God, I can't remember how long anymore… Anyways, how close is she to delivering?"

"Um, she gave birth quite some time ago."

Muscle control was sapped from Arthus's body in an instant. The world was frozen in frame as sheer befuddlement posed him into a perfect, unmoving model. His breathing resumed only when everything began to take on a stifling shade of blue.

"… You were not told when it happened?"

Arthus took back off his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I… I can't believe this. Damn it. God damn it! That reckless bastard couldn't even tell me when he became a father?"

Jiro actually looked uncomfortable. "The circumstances of the birth were very… peculiar. It did not take place in a hospital, and for reasons connected to our… our 'profession', the child could not be registered properly. The birth certificate had to be forged a month later."

"Fantastic." Arthus propped up an elbow to lean on and scowled heavily into the fireplace. "My brother left behind an illegitimate child all the way in Japan with a woman I've never seen before. What the hell am I supposed to do about that?"

Jiro got up without saying anything and disappeared into the backroom. After an out-of-earshot exchange of words, he came back with a black attaché briefcase and two more people plodding behind him; a bruiser of a man and a child. They both carried something in their arms as well.

The new man, wearing a loose t-shirt and black jeans, was Asian, most likely Japanese like Jiro. His choice of dress was ill-conceived for the weather, but perfect for showing off his intimidating, stone-like physique. Trailing behind him was a young Japanese boy, probably no older than twelve years of age by the looks of him. His presence was only made stranger with his style of clothing. The boy's white dress shirt and brown slacks held up by suspenders gave him all the looks of an old-timey paperboy, topped off with the matching hat.

Jiro reclaimed his seat, but the man and the boy decided to take their places standing in front of Arthus with their offerings.

"Here." Jiro tossed the briefcase at Arthus who fumbled with it before getting a good grasp. "That contains thirty-thousand U.S. dollars that elder Foley wished you to have on hand in case of an emergency. Inside, there is information needed to access the account his funds were wired into for his 'work'. It contains more than one-hundred thousand dollars. That, however, is a very conservative estimate."

The boy stepped forward and presented a beautifully crafted violin and bow, both items shimmering like topaz in the faint light. A rich gloss complimented their beautifully immaculate designs. The only decoration upon the violin was a pair of small, cherubic wings protruding from either side of the scroll. "This was his most prized violin, the Bloody Rose. It is one of a kind, crafted by his very own hands."

Still dazed from the sudden inheritance of wealth, Arthus took the violin and bow without much protest. He set them both on top of the briefcase and blinked dumbly.

Jiro gave the Arthus a moment before ushering the broad-shouldered man forward. "For most of her pregnancy, Maya Kagami was forced into hiding. There were certain powers and syndicates that elder Foley, I, and my associates were dealing with at the time. If these groups discovered Ms. Kagami's condition, the consequences would have been dire, to say the least."

Arthus nodded, trying to absorb everything he could.

"As requested by your brother, my associates and I took special precautions to keep Maya Kagami relatively out of sight. When she gave birth, she did so in private with the aid of certain individuals whom I cannot divulge." The broad-shouldered man revealed a bundle delicately wrapped in a small, white blanket. He lowered himself slowly to Arthus's level and gently peeled a part of the blanket back, giving a clear view of what was being so carefully hidden.

Arthus's breath hitched in his lungs. Before his eyes was an infant with only a few stray hairs on its otherwise bald head. Its eyes were shut tight in a deep sleep, squirming a bit, but showing no signs of waking up anytime soon. Arthus found it impossible to fight back a tear with the small, but undeniably shared details the infant's face had with its father.

Jiro crossed his arms and continued. "The child's birth went unrecorded along official lines for reasons I am sure you can appreciate. We have prepared documents that will grant the child American citizenship. These documents are located within the envelope."

Arthus slowly reached out and, with all the care in the world, took the child out of the broad-shoulder man's arms. He cradled the child close, just staring down at its napping face, oblivious to everything around him. "This… this is my brother's child?" Arthus's head was spinning. "My nephew?"

Jiro nodded. "The adoption papers we have for you to sign will have his father's name, but we created a pseudonym for the mother. Maya Kagami chose to remain in Japan... to act as a distraction, while I and my associates came here to America. Contact with her is impossible, even for us."

A sharp chill ran up and down Arthus's spine. "So… he's all alone then?"

Jiro chose not to say anything.

"What am I saying? No he's not… he's not at all." Arthus stood up carefully and began to pace around the room, rocking the infant in his arms. "I'm going to have a time on my hands explaining to my wife that we're parents now."

"I am sure all the papers you were given will be sufficient to explain everything," Jiro claimed. "However, once you leave here with that child, our job is done. We have our own business to attend to."

Arthus stopped to stare Jiro directly in the eye. "…Am I ever going to have to see you again? My brother's… 'career'… isn't going to come back to cause trouble?"

Jiro, the broad-shouldered man, and the boy exchanged solemn glances amongst each other. "… Ideally, no."

Knowing he wasn't going to get a better answer, Arthus accepted what he could take. "Does the boy have a name?"

"Tucker Arthus Foley was the name your brother requested," Jiro responded almost automatically, "though if you wish to, you may change it. We can easily edit his papers."

Arthus wouldn't dream of totally discarding the name that his brother had given, but he still felt like it could be improved.

He knew just how.

"I want his middle name to be changed to his father's first," Arthus said. "I want him to be named...

-Present-

Anyways, I should probably wrap this up. Gotta catch the bus or I'm going to get stuck walking.

Tucker Otoya Foley; over and out.

[[Log End]]

"Tucker, hurry up and get your breakfast! It's almost time for you to go!"

Spell checker indicated a clean read, so Tucker went ahead and saved the new entry with a click of the stylus. With the PDA tucked away in his pocket, he bounced off the bed, grabbed his backpack off of the desktop on the way out, and leapt down the attic stairs. He silently groused at having to hop his way down another stairwell before he landed near the front door and made his way to the kitchen. His aunt and uncle were already at the table with their meals almost finished.

It seemed his noisy entry had gotten his uncle's attention. "Morning, soon-to-be birthday boy. Ready for a new, productive day?" He was too engrossed in the morning paper to look up, but didn't have a problem guiding his fork to his food without seeing it.

"That depends, Uncle Arthus." Tucker forwent a plate in favor of two pieces of toast, hurriedly assembling an egg, sausage, and bacon sandwich. "My idea of a productive day has me sleeping in, not being up this early for the sake of public transportation." His uncle chuckled lightly and munched on a piece of cut cantaloupe.

His aunt sized up the double-decker special Tucker had just finished packing an extra sausage into. "Goodness, it wouldn't hurt to balance out your diet a bit, Tucker. At least take an apple with you for lunch," she voiced her disapproval.

"She's right, kid," His uncle threw in. "You got your youth now, but you're going to wish you'd taken care of your body better when you reach my age. I'm getting clogged arteries over here just looking at that thing you put together."

"Hey, my body is a well-oiled machine maintained by the goodness that only meat can provide. Rabbit food would void the warranty." Tucker took a big bite of his sandwich, producing an audible, juicy squish as his teeth sunk into layer upon layer of pork and egg.

His aunt grimaced in revulsion. "Ugh, maybe you should just take that thing with you. I'm serious about what I said; take a piece of fruit with you for lunch."

Tucker waved lazily while still munching a mouthful, snatched a pear out of the refrigerator, and headed for the door. He left out of the house with his sandwich in hand, half-eaten and dripping bits of scrambled egg on the sidewalk. A few more bites were all it took to free his hands up so that he could get his PDA back out and start updating its applications, just in time to reach the bus stop where the bus had already pulled up. He didn't even bother looking up from his device as he moved in line behind his peers and boarded the yellow transport.

One bumpy ride later and the bus came to a stop in front of Casper High. The students were already up and shuffling into the aisle before the doors even hissed open. Tucker hit the curb trotting straight for the main entrance, the usual meeting area for his friends.

Today was no exception; Danny was idly leaning against a wall and Sam sat perched off the side of one of the main steps, kicking her heels against the sides. The other students about the yard walked by to and fro without giving them as much as a passing glance, wrapped up in their own affairs. That seemed to be just fine with the two as they were engrossed in a world of their own, trading small, coy smiles every now and then. That was starting to be their custom when they were alone nowadays and Tucker almost felt awkward interrupting it.

Danny was the first to spot Tucker coming. "Hey, you're finally here!"

Tucker could see that Sam had already put on her usual greeting face; a half-smile hiding her eagerness to take a friendly jab at the first thing he said. It was like watching a lioness preparing to snark its prey to death. "Yeah, what took you so long?"

Tucker gave a casual shrug. "Not all of us have a personal chauffer that can drive us to school in secret," he moved in closer to the two and lowered his voice, "or just take a commercial ghost flight."

"Nah, I got a ride from Jazz," said Danny. "It's just one of the small advantages to having an older sibling with a license. Uh… big gum wad on your hat."

"What?" Tucker snatched his beret off and made a face at the gooey, unwanted ornament sticking to the back. The saliva strands falling off its surface showed just how fresh it was. "Ugh! Dude, I just washed this thing two days ago!"

"Hmm, could've surprised me," Sam said in a sardonic but off-handed way. She pulled a packet of tissues out of her backpack and held them out in offering. "Here's for the gum. You're on your own with the dandruff."

Tucker shot her an irked look, but accepted the gesture with a grumble. "Humph, wondered why the people behind me were giggling so much."

Danny tried to cheer him up. "Come on, lighten up! By this afternoon, you won't even remember this."

"Yeah, don't let one stupid prank ruin your day this early," Sam added. "Besides, you've got bigger things to think about, like what else you want to do before we go see Dumpty Humpty."

As the group entered the school together, Tucker tossed the balled-up napkin used to clean his hat in a passing trash can. "I dunno. I thought between the movies and the Nasty Burger, we'd be able to kill enough time."

"Yeah, but you know, if there's anything else you wanted to squeeze in, you should probably tell us now. It's your day tomorrow," Danny said, "make the most of it!"

"Uh, I can't really think of anything else," Tucker said. "I mean, there's not a lot that could top damaging my hearing via Dumpty Humpty Live." He brightened up with an idea. "But if the offer still stands a month from now, there's this big tech expo that'll be coming to town—"

"Sorry, one-day special," Sam immediately shot down.

Tucker sighed and pulled on his backpack's shoulder strap. "Now all I have to do is get through the day, and I know for a fact Dash has already planned out his traditional pre-birthday wailing."

"You have to give him a bit of credit though. You don't usually expect a bully to keep track of your birthday. It's almost considerate in a weird way," Sam reflected.

"More like a totally unwanted, sadistic way."

Danny got his locker open without a single pause in between lock combinations. "Relax, I'll take care of it," he assured with a cheery smile. "I'll go intangible and sneak us out by the end of the day. He'll be left scratching his head for half an hour before it finally hits him that we're long gone."

"Well someone's had their cereal laced," Sam commented with a wry grin. "Why are you Mr. Sunshine this morning?"

"Because as of today, I've been getting a full night's sleep for the last three months," Danny replied brightly, "which is about as long as the town's been without a major ghost attack. I actually don't have rings under my eye! They were starting to look like tattoos!"

"Now that the topic is finally out in the open, that's probably something you should be more concerned about."

"My lack of eye tattoos?"

"No! The fact that the ghosts haven't done anything for so long!" Sam fell into a serious tone. "They've never been this quiet for this long before! Did it ever occur to you that one of them might be, I don't know… building up to something serious?"

"Or Danny's kicked their butts so many times, they finally stop beating a dead horse," Tucker threw out.

"See, I like Tucker's way of thinking, less stress involved." Danny closed his locker back and stuffed his books away. "I have beaten almost every ghost that's come out of the Ghost Zone more times than I can remember. Maybe my reputation's finally working for me."

Sam just gave him an arid look and droned dully, "…After everything we've been through, you think it's going to start being that easy?"

"Well… yeah, why shouldn't it be?"

"Optimism is the new black!" Tucker stated.

Heaving a frustrated huff, Sam pushed passed the two and headed down the hall towards the first class of the day. "Wow, when did rose-colored glasses start getting made out of lead?"

"Ah, don't be such a downer." Danny caught up to her left side just as Tucker caught up to her right. "You said yourself; the only thing we should be worrying about is how we're going to make the most of tomorrow."

"Ya got that right! You guys are gonna have your work cut out trying to commemorate the glorious day of Tucker Foley's birth!" Tucker turned his gaze upwards as he drifted off into possibilities only existent in his daydreams. "I wonder if Dumpty Humpty would pull me out of the crowd if I told them it was my birthday. Heck, they'd invite me on stage to play a solo! I'd totally rock the stadium off its foundation!"

Sam rolled her eyes, "Okay, even accepting how totally plausible that scenario is," she said with every word dripping sarcasm, "I've never seen you touch a guitar in my life."

"Ah, poor, naïve Sam," Tucker began with a disappointed shake of his head. "Don't you know that true rock isn't something you learn? You have to feel it deep down in your soul, and then let it out in what can only be called a 'face-melting' riff!" To demonstrate, he began wildly flailing his fingers along an air guitar. "Besides, playing a guitar can't be that different from playing a violin; you mess with the strings until you find something that sounds good."

"Inspirational, isn't it? It's almost as if he knows what he's talking about," Danny whispered to Sam teasingly.

Sam sniggered. "Yeah, shame he has to waste all that charisma on being… him."

Tucker, who had obliviously wondered off ahead of the two in his faux performance, snapped back around. "Hey, I can hear you two! For your information, I choose to focus my talents on certain priorities." He pulled out his PDA and hugged it close to his chest in his usual, creepily adoring way. "My sweet, sweet priorities…" The other students passing through the hall shot him weird looks as they chose to stick close to the lockers rather than go near him.

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Would one of said priorities involve the four page assignment due in about five minutes?"

That snapped Tucker back to reality. "Oh geez, that was due today?"

"I think someone's priorities need straightening out," Sam concluded glibly as she passed his stupefied form to enter the classroom.

Danny could only offer him a pat on the shoulder as he followed after Sam. "Extra credit's your best friend, Tucker."

For Tucker, the rest of the day couldn't end fast enough.

A/N: That's it for chapter one, sorry if it was too short. Updates might take a bit of time, but I'll be as fast as I can about them.

Thanks for reading, look forward for more!