Okay, there's a severe lack of Trent/Courtney in the fandom, so I'm doing my part to keep the ship afloat. This is just going to be a series of oneshots dedicated to the pair. Rating and genre might change throughout; it'll be listed at the beginning of each chapter.

Summary: Trent and Courtney discuss a broken violin. Sort of.
Takes place: 1x05, "Not Quite Famous"
Genre: General
Rating: K

She's sitting at the dock, the thin film of moss digging into her pants, and feet hanging off the edge, swinging idly. Her destroyed violin, a gift from her parents, was now dead at her side, oddly still beautiful despite the atrocious condition. Her head is still pounding from the accident and the makeshift wrap that Chef had oh so gently applied was doing nothing. In fact, it was more for show than anything else.

If Trent had any intention of making conversation, he would have been more subtle. But, as he walked back to his cabin, toiletries in hand, he, like all those who were milling around, saw the brown haired girl sitting dejected on the dock. Courtney, was it? He was going to ignore her. Even Geoff and DJ, both considerably nicer than Trent, neglected to comfort their teammate. But, it was the violin that caught his attention. He wasn't aware there was another musical competitor.

"Courtney, right?" he spoke, coming up behind her on the dock, trying to sound friendly to his pseudo-opponent. And Trent was, if anything, friendly. She seemed to spring up and stiffen, hands moving from her lap to clamp onto the edge of the dock. She turned slowly, hesitantly, looking over her shoulder.

"Yes, what do you want?" she bit out, dark (almost black, he noted) eyes narrowed suspiciously. Trent tried not to frown. For some reason, he got the impression that she was amiable, especially given her kind introduction. Then again, he barely knew her (or anyone of the island for that matter).

"That's a nice violin," he commented. That was now ruined. Smooth, Trent, real smooth. No wonder things with him and Gwen were moving at snail's pace. The freckled girl huffed and simply turned back to the water, crossing her arms tightly over her chest and sitting with her back straight. Standing awkwardly behind her, Trent shifted the toiletries in his hand, taking a glance around the area. Tyler and Lindsay were down the shore, hidden by a multitude of jagged rocks while they whispered and giggled to each other, and Katie and Sadie were laying in the grass near the closest cabins, gushing over whatever it was those two talked about (which Trent honestly didn't care much for).

He should go. Yep, as simple as that. Turn around, walk down the dock and back to his cabin. Maybe have a chat with Gwen who was still moping about her exposed diary. Yeah, that sounded about right. He glanced at Courtney. Then at her violin.

"My younger brother destroyed my first guitar," he offered, shifting backwards, ready to leave after such "condolences".

"Probably because you sucked," spat Courtney, not bothering to turn and look at him. Trent furrowed his eyebrows. She was about to be on his "People to Avoid on the Island" list, which as of now consisted solely of Duncan. (Courtney had the same kind of list. Trent was number six)

"Well, no, but that's not really the point," he remarked, trying not to get short with her. He was doing pretty well, considering she was being anything but hospitable. When she didn't respond, he continued. "My dad wouldn't get me a new one, so I had to get a job to raise money for the one I have now." He paused, unsure.

"So, you can always get another," he finished, feeling like a, what was it the English said, twat? He was never one of a smooth talker, but he was never so…lame. Courtney snorted.

"This violin was four hundred dollars. That's a lot of money in case you didn't know," she sniped, turning her head slightly to glare at him over her shoulder. Trent decided not to question why anyone would bring a $400 violin to a game show.

"I'm just trying to be nice," he mumbled, "but forget it." He turned abruptly and started to walk away, his flip flops making smacking sounds on the near-rotting wood.

"You could use a little work." Trent stopped, half turning to see Courtney looking at him, this time not as defensive or threatening.

"You're not really hitting the notes at the right pitch. They fall flat. I use to do that a lot when I was younger," she stated, like a child reciting a lesson. He stared at her blankly, not exactly sure what kind of response her statement garnered.

"You can come sit down, you know," she snapped after a moment, her eyebrows dropping like falcons. She went back to watching the water, but whether she didn't want to put pressure on him or if she just didn't care, Trent was unsure of. Curious, he reluctantly made his way to her side, quietly taking a seat next to the remains of her instrument.

"Congrats on your win." It was awkward, and forced, but it seemed like the best choice at the moment. Courtney nearly broke into a smile.

"All thanks to Harold." Then she sneered. "If Bridgette didn't drop on my violin, I would've won for my team." Unconsciously, Trent chuckled to himself.

"Dropped a Bridgette on it," he said, more so to himself than her. Courtney gave him a questioning look, trying to find the humor or tricks behind his behavior.

"It's a trope thing," he explained. She stared blankly.

"Never mind. You're the only other person here that has an instrument. If it wasn't ruined, we could've played something together," he commented offhand, staring at the setting sun that gave the dinky camp a slightly more appealing appearance.

Courtney gave him a pointed look, leaning back a bit. "We're on opposing teams," she said, he voice tense, stressing the fact that they were considered enemies. Trent shrugged.

"Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean we can't be friends," he said, and, testing the waters, gave her the smallest of smiles. Her lips parted for a moment, eyes widened, before her entire expression scrunched up, her dark, dark eyes boring holes into his own lime ones.

"I didn't come here to make friends," she defended, hurriedly standing up. Why did that sound like something Heather would say? She gave him a flustered glare before turning and marching down the wooden dock, her wedges making harsh thumps on the old paneling. Trent slowly stood up, toiletries hanging loosely in his arms.

"You forgot your violin!" he called, glancing down at the mangled mess.

"It's useless now!" she shouted back, stomping off to her cabin. Trent watched her retreating figure, then returned his gaze to the broken violin.

I know nothing about music, so forgive me for any inconsistencies. If you have any requests, just put them in a review. If I like the idea, I'll go with it and credit you. :]