Hartford Manor, San Angeles, California (2007)

Kira had to admit it. She was homesick. She missed New York, the music scene, and, worst of all, the gigs. Never in a million years did she ever think she would miss the gigs. They were getting better, and she'd even earned enough to cut her latest demo. If things went well, she might even have a real album in the future. However, this was the present, and usually, she was playing gigs. They were degrading, in scummy taverns or opening up for the "real" acts at underground indie concerts, but listening to the mix CD she'd made her last week of high school, she was reminded why she got into that scene in the first place.

Curled up in one of the excessively comfortable armchairs in the Hartford's rec-room, Kira pressed repeat on the CD player. She closed her eyes, just for a moment, remembering how much she loved this tune when she'd first heard it. Avril's voice tingled in Kira's ears as the song came to the bridge. Isn't anybody trying to find me? Won't somebody come take me home…

This was the kind of music she wanted to write, not that punky-pop crap her agent was shoving at her. She turned it up, and tried to tune out the world, but she couldn't forget about everything. How long was this ranger thing going to last this time? In high school, it seemed so much more important to her. Of course, it was important now, but she couldn't help but feel this wasn't her battle. She had a life now, but she also had a past, and that past just so happened to involve super powers. Kira knew she shouldn't complain, but there came a point when she just wanted to move on. She sometimes wondered why the dino gem had chosen her at all. Reflexively, her hand flew to her left wrist, making sure it was still there. Opening her eyes, she studied its facets and color as she had so often three years ago.

"Kira? Are you okay?" She was surprised to hear a voice over the sound of her music. Pulling the headphones from her ears, Kira sat up straight, nearly letting the player tumble to the ground. She looked up to see a rather concerned looking Andrew Hartford raising his eyebrows at her. "You look kind of… upset."

"I'm fine!" She managed to blurt out quickly, even though it wasn't exactly true. Muttering under her breath, she added, "I'd be better if I had my guitar…"

"Did you say guitar?" He asked, face lighting up. Not even bothering to wait for her answer, he began to walk out of the room. "Follow me," he called over his shoulder. "I have something I want to show you."

Reluctantly, Kira pulled herself up and followed him down a long hallway with high ceilings. Nearly reaching the end of the hall, Mr. Hartford suddenly stopped. He turned to Kira, face ominous, and began in a hushed tone. "Behind this door is the accumulation of thirty-five years of searching, trading and perfecting. It's my guilty pleasure, and I think that you'll really appreciate it." He gave the brass doorknob a turn and pushed, revealing the most spectacular room Kira had ever laid eyes on.

"Oh. My. God." She breathed shallowly, almost on the verge of hyperventilation. "I've never seen anything so beautiful in my entire life. It's… It's wonderful." Mr. Hartford's guitar collection was displayed proudly on tiered platforms. Each was beautifully crafted and skillfully polished. Stepping in, she could feel herself being embraced by the spirit of each instrument as though they all were greeting her and begging her to admire them.

"Thanks, Kira," Mr. Hartford chuckled at her enthusiasm. "I've been collecting vintage guitars since… well ever. My dad used to collect them, too. Some of these are actually his. I don't really play much, anymore, though. I feel bad leaving them all cooped up in this room, alone."

Breaking her stare, she turned to him, grinning widely. "Would you mind if… If I played one a little? I mean, I totally understand if you don't want me to, these are way expensive, I just thought that maybe…"

"Why do you think I brought you here?" He said, encouragingly. Gesturing to the collection, he smiled. "Go for it. Just be careful, okay?"

Stepping reverently, Kira made her way to the one that had been calling to her since the second she stepped in: Yellow wood body, acoustic, twelve string, Gibson. Lifting it slowly from its brace, she pulled the strap over her shoulder and sat on the edge of the tier. This guitar felt so right, so comfortable. It was made for beautiful music. She plucked out a few chords to warm up, but found she didn't really need it. There was magic in these strings.

She let her fingers fall on the frets in the familiar pattern of one of her favorite songs, but it had never sounded quite so good before. She hadn't intended to sing, but she couldn't help it. "Tears and fears and feeling proud, to say 'I love you' right out loud… Dreams and schemes and circus crowds, I've looked at life that way…"

Bridge was passing by when he caught the melody. His inner detective had to investigate. Poking his head in, he saw Kira, lost in her own little world, guitar sitting proudly on her lap. She mesmerized him in that moment. This was how people should always be, he decided. Never before had he seen someone so in their element. When it seemed that she had played the final chord, he couldn't help but clap. Mr. Hartford and Kira jerked their heads up to look at him, standing in the doorway.

"That was really pretty," he gushed, as he stepped in. "Did you write that one?"

Mr. Hartford let out a small laugh. "I guess it's just a little before your time, Bridge."

"Seriously?" Kira asked, befuddled. "You seriously don't know who wrote that?"

"I'm guessing that means it wasn't you?" Bridge said, becoming slightly puzzled himself. It sounded like the kind of music she would write.

"It's Joni Mitchell." Kira said bluntly.

"Who?"

The last time she'd met someone that didn't know who Joni Mitchell was, he was six foot two, played soccer and wore red t-shirts (hold the sleeves). While Kira had been able to quickly corrected Conner McKnight's taste in music, she couldn't really blame Bridge. He was three years old. He probably liked bands that wouldn't get together for ten or fifteen years, and Joni was already considered "oldies" music. "I'll forgive you, this time," She said with warning in her voice. "On one condition." He nodded eagerly in reply. "The second—I mean the very second—you get back home, you have to listen to Joni. Promise?"

"I promise," He smiled. "Especially if that's the kind of music she writes…"

"Hey, Andrew. You ready?" Adam said, knocking on the open door. "I think I've got exactly what we need downstairs."

"Great!" Mr. Hartford exclaimed. "Excuse me, kids. Kira, feel free to use these anytime." With that, he and Adam left. Kira assumed it had something to do with whatever was in that freaky crate they picked up on their last outing. She pulled the guitar strap back over her head and placed the guitar—the beautiful, beautiful guitar—back in its stand.

"I guess I'm going to get going, then," Bridge said, trying not to sound awkward. He took one step towards the door before Kira stopped him.

"No, wait!" She called. "I want to ask you something… If you've never heard of Joni Mitchell, what other people haven't you heard of?"

"It's hard to say," He answered slowly. "Most of the people I haven't heard of… I haven't heard of. That makes it a little bit difficult to discuss."

"No. I wanted to run some names by you." She laughed. Half the time she couldn't tell if he was making fun of her or not. "Have you heard of The Smiths?" The puzzled look on his face told her that he hadn't. "No? What about Avril? Avril was my favorite in high school. She's flawless."

"Avril? As in Avril Lavigne?" He clarified hesitantly.

"So you have heard of her!"

"Yeah, I guess… But I'm not a very good gauge of music popularity. I don't really know a lot of music." She raised her eyebrows disapprovingly at him. Bridge quickly added, "You have to understand, when I was growing up my parents were kind of stern. I was on a strictly kosher music diet. I didn't even know there was good music until I entered the academy. Back in the rookie days, my best friend was Sydney Drew, and I mean she still is one of my best friends, but the point is when it comes to music, I've mostly heard Sydney Drew and the stuff she likes."

"Wait, Sydney Drew? Is that like Nancy Drew?"

"Who?" Bridge was lost. He had hoped that talking with Kira would be easier, but they just kept falling in the same pattern. What it came down to was that they were just from two different worlds. Well, the same world—Earth—but different times. Maybe time did matter, after all.

"Don't tell me you've never heard of Nancy Drew. She was the world's classiest teenage detective? There were like 300 books in that series..."

"I've never heard of her, but I still beg to differ. I think I was the world's classiest teenage detective." He laughed again. "But no, Syd isn't a detective. Well, I mean she is, sort of. She's SPD. Pink, as a matter of fact, but she's done lots of other stuff, too. She's an amazing singer and she has great taste in music. I just wish she'd sing her own stuff every now and again."

Kira sighed at his last statement. He didn't understand. She couldn't blame him for that, either. He'd never tried to get a recording contract, or at least she didn't think he had.

"That's the problem with being a musician," She began. "It's a constant battle. If you want to play your own sound, no one wants it. The big labels don't want what's you, they want what's now, and tomorrow, you're yesterday's news."

"But not you though, right?"

"I don't know…" She said, feeling her face fall. "I mean, music is my life… I couldn't stop playing if my life depended on it. It's just really disheartening, you know? It's hard to live in a world where everyone is telling you it's just not enough."

"Just… don't give up, okay?" He wanted to tell her that her third album was Syd's favorite. The two of them had listened to it on repeat for three months straight when they were studying for the SPD academy's qualification exams. He wanted to tell her that he knew every word to every song on that disk, but he couldn't. Bridge was forced to keep it to himself. She could never know how well she would do in the future, or how much her music had made him feel better.

"I'm not planning on it," She said with a grin. "Hey, are you hungry?"

"I could go for some—"

"Let me guess: Toast?"

"How'd you know?" He mocked surprise, and the two left for the kitchen, closing the door behind them.