CRASHING DOWN

I woke earlier than I thought I would. Lying next to a sleeping Gazza, with slightly sore muscles in places I didn't even know I had any, I felt content as a kitten in a patch of sun.

But the thought of the police forces looking for us made me restless, so as soon as light filtered in through the plants covering the area around the van I dressed (the corsage was really cool, but dreadfully uncomfortable to sleep in, which is why I hadn't bothered to put it back on after – well, afterwards) and was up and about. There was canned food hidden in the glove compartment, along with a map that was a crude drawing of the area and a cross that marked an old-fashioned water pump. I took a canister and got some water – it tasted kind of metallic, but I was not going to complain, really – and wandered back to the van, where Gaz was still out like a light.

I felt a fond smile creep over my face at the sight of him. He had dressed again last night, it seemed, after I had fallen asleep, but as I had woken up warm, tucked under his arm, I couldn't find a fault with that right now. A stray strand of hair fell into his face, and I swept it away, fingers lingering on his cheek, tracing his brows, his nose, his lips – god, his lips... I drew my hand away to cool my heating face as well as to not encourage any more fantasizing. There was time for that yet, when he was well-rested... plus, he looked so adorably sweet right now and I did not want to disturb him.

But a girl can only enjoy the sight of her sleeping lover for so long.

I grew restless and worried again. If the police found us, how would I be able to prevent them from hurting him, or worse? How could I protect – the penny dropped, and I felt the sudden urge to hit myself in the head for being so stupid.

The micro-transceivers!

I nestled one out from under the pillow and looked at it closely. It was small, yes, but I had seen more complicated technical devices before. Hell, I had pieced some together myself! But then again, it only made sense; after all, the police had to find new recruits among the Gaga-kids, and they were as stupid as they come. They had to be able to operate those things, and what a Gaga could operate, I could well change to suit my needs left-handed.

With a blindfold.

While standing on my head.

Which I didn't try, though, since our lives might well depend on my doing the job right, and I didn't want to play with something that was finally worth caring for.

Gee, I had gone soft.

After meticulously checking and re-checking my work, I finally switched the transceiver on. It rustled and hissed a bit at first, but after lightly tapping it with my finger, it soon worked without a hitch. I could hear screams, hissing noises and sizzling, shouting (they had no clue where we were, and seemed furious that the signal they had gotten so far was missing) and finally the hateful voice of commander piglet ordering "these creatures" (I clenched my teeth at the thought that he was talking about my friends like that) to be taken to – the Seven Seas of Rhye!

The map I had found at the rebel base appeared before my inner eye. There had been all those pins and stripes of cloth... I sorted through them in my head, grateful for my good memory, and finally found a red pin labelled "Rye" next to a lake in the Euro-precinct of Planet Mall, on the southern coast of the island formerly called Great Britain. The very part of Planet Mall that I had been born and been on to this day. I traced a rough outline in the dirt, filling in the positions of the Heartbreak Hotel and the Seven Seas, went through the way I had run with Gazza and nodded smugly to myself.

I knew roughly where we were (somewhere near a place called 'Maidstone' for some reason or other – oh, the irony), so I could find that place. Satisfied, I took off my boots and snuggled up to Gazza again, breathing in his now so familiar scent.

Despite the corset I fell asleep in seconds.

And woke up again when Gazza started trashing and mumbling. I looked around – the sun was a lot higher in the sky, but there was no imminent danger as far as I could tell, so I leaned closer to Gazza to find out what he was mumbling about. I heard "mumble no way mumble, mumble" and merely got my head out of the way when he shot up in wide-eyed terror, screaming "The Seven Seas of Rhye!"

Since that was no news for me, I decided to concentrate on the fact that he was wide awake.

"Well, good morning, Gazza!" He didn't react, only continued breathing hard which made me remember altogether different reasons for laboured breathing, and my smile grew wilful as I trailed my fingers up his arm. "Or perhaps" I purred, "I should use your full name – Shagaleo Gigolo!"

He was a bit slow to catch on, rambling about his dream, but then again, this was Gazza. The Dreamer. Plus he always needed a moment for things to reach his brain when he was rambling.

They finally did when he turned his head and was face to face with me, only inches away. He stopped mid-sentence, looking puzzled, then flattered, and for once his wannabe-manly tone when he reassured himself that he had heard right didn't annoy me, but sent shivers down my spine. I barely had time to affirm the words when he kissed me and pressed me back down onto the mattress. I wrapped my arms around his neck – this was going to be good – when he suddenly drew back. "We don't have time!" He drew me back up with him as he sat up, an urgent gleam in his eyes. "The Seven Seas of Rhye! I dreamed about Big Macca and the others..."

Oh, great.

The tingle went as fast as it had come. We were back to dreams now. I huffed and cut trough Gazza's babble. "Yeah, well, there is nothing, and I mean nothing more boring than people wanting to describe their dreams to you!" Even with prophetic dreams, especially when you found out about their content hours ago. Without all that rambling.

Gazza seemed stumped for a minute and started to protest, but I cut him off again. "No, trust me on this!" I had gone through hell in school every morning when I had to listen to all the Gaga-Girls piping on and on about their dreams, so this was a bit of a touchy subject with me. Dreams made me upset. "Kills relationships stone dead." Mine at least. "God, the day one partner wakes up and starts to say: 'It was amazing! There was a rabbit in a bowler hat cooking an Omelette!'" (I had a fair collection of nonsensical dream stories thanks to years of airhead ambience – even Gazza looked taken aback by this particular foolishness) "That is when love dies!" I was aware that I was venting a bit, but then again, it was better to get the message across now.

Failing dismally.

"But Scaramouche, I'm sure of it!" I got that, thank you! "The Bohemians are headed across the Seven Seas of Rhye!" "I know!" I cut in, to no avail.

Gazza simply continued ranting.

Busying myself with the second transceiver I waited for my words to sink in while I tried to find the other reason why "Seven Seas of Rhye" sounded so awfully familiar.

Finally my words sunk trough Gazza's dream-hazed skull. "What?"

I sighed. "I know about the Seven Seas of Rhye!" Something clicked in my head as I said the name. After a particularly bad day of mocking I had hacked into the site of the police to find out what happened to people who did not fit in. I had seen a map of a lake labelled "Geneva" with seven rivers supplying it with water. I only had read a few things, about the sea-level rising and endangering the place, and something about "very strong spirit of Rock", which made a lot more sense now than it did then. I told Gazza all that, more details coming to mind as I spoke.

Satisfied with my memory and my technical prowess, I dangled my legs, grinning smugly to myself as I noted the flabbergasted expression on Gazza's face as he exclaimed that "this is incredible, Scaramouche!"

Why, thank you!

Fiddling with the transceiver, I felt my smug smile wash away with his next words.

"We've had the same dream!"

I was too stunned to correct him while he rambled on about how we were soul-mates and all that jazz, taking a moment to collect my disappointed, broken pride in my abilities.

"Gaz, I didn't have any dream!" How utterly ridiculous! Dreams were his job. According to his puzzled expression, they were also the only way of gathering information he could think of. Well, welcome to my world then. "Nah, I just reversed the polarity on one of Kashoggi's micro-transceivers! I've been monitoring Police Headquarters!" At the thought of how I turned one of his own devices against Commander Pervert the smug smile was back.

"Gee." Gazza sounded sullen, which made me look up. He certainly didn't look like he appreciated my efforts. "You certainly know how to make a guy feel inadequate!"

Ooh, crushed pride, was it, now?

I blushed a bit, because hidden in there was a compliment. "Bless..."

Well, I could work with crushed pride... Slowly trailing my fingers up his arms, I whispered: "You could let me ...make it up to you..." His heartbeat sped up, his fingers closed on my arms and I felt his rapid breath caress my lips – but then he shoved me away.

Again.

"No!" He looked flustered and almost annoyed, which stung a bit. "I have to go to the Seven Seas of Rhye!" He dug for his boots, beginning to pull them on, and I started a last manoeuvre to keep him. "Well, it's pretty dangerous! The police are bound to still be looking for us! I say we just hide out here..." oh, the possibilities... "on this mattress..." I sank down, "for a few days..."

Gaz really was impatient now. His "NO, Scaramouche!" sounded almost like an order. I obediently got back up and grabbed my bootees to pull them on. He proceeded by explaining that he still hadn't "found what I'm looking for", which was a valid point. He was the Dreamer, after all, and if he and Brit and Macca were right, his destiny was yet to be fulfilled. I slipped into the first bootee when he continued. "I can't get no satisfaction!"

After last night that kind of – hurt.

It certainly did nothing to propitiate me, either.

Only when Gaz sputtered out some utter nonsense about pushing pineapples and shaking trees did I allow for the possibility that it could have been one of his 'phrase-phases' again and that he meant no offense.

Still – what was that about pineapples?

"Pardon?"

Shaking himself out of his phrase-induced stupor (seriously, he looked like even he had no idea what he just said) Gaz quickly murmured "Nothing" and continued to lace up his army boots.

I slipped into my second Bootee when he stunned me into motionlessness again by saying that he would be back for me. (I really was glad, at that point, that I had forsaken the army boots in favour of the bootees. If I had had to lace up the boots, I would never have been done with it at the rate Gazza went in freezing me up).

He wanted to go alone.

Gazza, the guy who would probably drop into the first hole he encountered, wanted to leave me behind and run headfirst into danger all by himself.

"Hang on!" Better stop him, perhaps make him think... though with a head like his that probably was a futile try. "What do you mean? There'll be police all over the place!" The thought about Gazza near any of those pigs made nearly all my irritation vanish. The thought of Commander Pervert in triumph was almost more than I could bear. There was no way I would ever let that happen. In a sudden realization I worked out the perfect plan. "I should go, not you!"

Because there was no way in hell I would ever betray Gazza's location even if I was caught, and if I wasn't, then I could free the Bohemians and we could get Gaz and set the revolution rolling. Or just go back into hiding again. As long as I was with Gazza it was pretty much all the same to me (Though the thought of all the Gagas learning the error of their ways was quite tempting indeed).

Gaz did not seem to get the sheer brilliance of the plan. "Forget it, Scaramouche! This is my fight."

"Excuse me?" That sounded an awful lot like he wanted to exclude me. "How'd you work that out?

He actually had the audacity to look at me like I was a bit slow. "Because I'm 'The Man'!" His face suddenly looked proud, smug and just the slightest bit arrogant. I felt myself missing the kicked puppy. "Britney Spears said so", he finished, probably knowing perfectly well that I was not going to argue with that. "Exactly!" I felt a headache coming up. He had been so much easier to handle before he got all decisive and proud (Not that it wasn't just the tiniest bit hot...). "Which is why it is stupid for you to risk your life!" Surely he had to understand at least this much? "I'm dispensable!" Sad, but true. He looked at me in such shock that I would have been flattered before, because it clearly showed that he did not think of me as anything near 'dispensable', but I had more important things to worry about.

Like how to get him to stay at the van and out of danger.

"You stay here!"

He scoffed.

"Yeah, right! Like I'm gonna let my chick fight my battles for me!"

Oh, no, he didn't.

While he continued to lace up his second boot, completely oblivious, I replayed the sentence in my head, going over every word, only to reach the conclusion that Gaz had, indeed, called me his chick. And suggested that he was letting me do something, as if I needed his permission.

That did it.

The irritation was back.

And it had brought friends.

"Let. Your. CHICK!"

I stood.

"Excuse me!" My scathing tone made him look up, and the confused expression he sported made me frown. "At what point in this relationship did you actually take the arsehole-pill?"

That made him do a double-take, then he frowned.

"For God's sake, Scaramouche, does everything always have to be a fight with you?" He sounded put off now. "I thought you'd said you 'mellowed out'", he continued, the last words coming out in a really annoying – mellow-y way.

"Well, I haven't", I retaliated, copying his tone. I never said anything of that kind. Also, I didn't always fight. Only when people were being really stupid. Like Gaz at that moment.

It seemed like his patience had run thin.

"Well, it's really starting to irritate me!"

He was angry. Who'd have thought that Mister Kicked-and-Overeager-Puppy could look so – mean?

But he did, and he was being stupid, and I was angry and hurt. I tried to downplay it of course ("Oh, no, my heart just broke!" followed by a few faked sobs), because I really was too angry to allow myself to be vulnerable at that moment.

When Gazza grabbed my shoulders then it was not at all the tender caress from the night before, but spoke of barely-contained agitation. He even shook me lightly. "Look, you're my girlfriend!" I could tell that he fought to keep his voice even, and behind the care in his eyes flickered irritation. "I want to protect you!"

Now that was rich, coming from him, of all people.

I wrenched myself out of his grasp.

"No!" Let my chick, let my chick... the words kept on repeating in my head over and over. "You think just because you – got your leg over –" downplay, that's right, so it doesn't hurt as much... "that you own me or something!" I had been a fool for thinking Gazza would never hurt me. My only hope was that Gazza hadn't heard the slight break in my voice at those last words.

Apparently he hadn't, for he paced angrily, spitting that I was "such a pain with this constant female assertion – thing!"

Everything went downhill from there. I was hurt, and too proud to admit it, so I lashed out (Thinking about it, Gaz probably felt the same. We both had our share of pain before we met).

"Fine!" I spat back, just as venomous. "Well, at least we know now where we stand!"

"Yes, we do!"

"Which is not together! If you..." "Because..."

Realization dawned then as we both tried to drown out the other, and we fell into an awkward, terrified silence.

What had I done?

I could see the hurt in Gazza's eyes, and felt my heart break as something inside those childish, open eyes slammed shut. "Well, if you say so!"

And that was it. I had, for a moment, hoped that Gaz would take it back – that he would try to preserve what we had the night before – but I would be trice damned before I begged him. Or anyone, for that matter.

"Right!" Gathering my bearings, I drew myself up to full height while Gazza already rushed over to the trapdoor we had used to get up into the clearing. "From now on, our relationship is purely professional!" Rushing over to the second trapdoor I had found marked on the map as emergency exit, I continued: "We've got a job to do (in my case, keeping Gazza out of trouble, which was a Herculean effort indeed) and we'll do it, and that's all!" I somehow felt that I needed these words to convince myself rather than Gazza as my eyes tightened unpleasantly and I repeated the mantra form the day before again: I can't cry, I can't cry...

I felt my emotional safeguards build up again as Gazza hissed: "Well, suits me! But I'm going to the Seven Seas!" Stubborn fool that he was! He even had the audacity to look taken aback when I told him that I intended to do the same, slamming my hand to the ground to underline every word. Then he just scoffed and turned. It felt like a defeat, somehow, and I couldn't stand it, so I ranted: "But if, when we get there, you get caught (which was bloody likely), and the dream is lost, and the kids are enslaved 'till the end of time –"

There were so many ways to finish that sentence.

Then you'll see that I was right (Only that I actually hoped things would turn out the way he wanted them to).

Then you'll get what you deserve (But did he deserve it, really?).

Grasping for words, I finally settled on: "Well, then you'll feel a bit bloody stupid, that's all!"

Slamming the trap door shut behind me, I descended once more into the blissful coolness of the old subway tunnels, hoping that Gazza would realize that he had no specific idea of where to go to.

Only to realize that either he was too pissed off to acknowledge me and my knowing the way (on second thought, it might be because I never told him I knew...) or he was too proud of being "The Dreamer" and therefore believed that a rough notion of where to go was all he needed to get there.

Which is why he bumped right into me while trying to head straight north.

"Don't stand in my way!" His expression of righteous anger could have been quite funny had it not pissed me off as much as it did. As it was, I scoffed. "Trying to get there the long way, are you?" That puzzled him for a moment, then a haughty expression covered his features as he sneered: "What do you know about directions, then?" I sighed. "Before we went down, it was like, midday, or something. So, the sun was south, high in the sky. The Seven Seas are at the southern coast, actually almost directly south from where we are. South is opposite of north. North was the direction you were just heading to. You want to get there? Follow me. You want to run around until you stumble across the place? Go ahead, be my guest. Gets you out of my hair and into police custody faster than you can say "Heartbreak Hotel." With that, I turned on my heels and marched southwards, listening to the rushing "Thu-thump" of my blood ringing in my ears with anger while my boots stomped out an angry staccato that echoed off the walls until I realized that there might still be police forces searching us down here. I treaded more carefully then, trying to drown out the fall of Gazza's feet behind me.

We continued on in heavy silence. Sometimes I would climb up to see where the sun was standing, correcting our route. My mind was stuck between being grateful for the extra protection of the tunnels (they were extended once in an attempt to make travelling between cities more comfortable in a time when summers grew longer and hotter), and the wish to be able to see the sky without all that exhausting climbing, sneaking open the trap door if it wasn't locked, checking for the sun as fast as possible, fearing all the time to be spotted by the police or a camera, then calculating how to get south best. Gazza was sullenly silent all the way, which was another thing I had mixed feelings about. It gave me peace to do calculations, it made it possible to hear if anyone was approaching, but in a way it was almost worse than fighting. Silence didn't suit Gazza. His chatter was annoying after a while, but him being silent showed how hurt he really was. Also, I could work with ceaseless chatter. With Gagas all around you for over a decade you learn to ignore chatter or you get the urge to kill yourself over embarrassment because of their stupidity at least twice a day. But this – this unaccustomed silence was impossible to ignore. When I snuck a glance at Gazza once, his face was set into a grim frown while he walked on with quick, wide strides. It was as if he tried to outrun me.

Finally, we reached a point where we had to leave the tunnels. The sun was low in the sky by then, marking the hours we had spent underground, and the air was cooler than before. The feeling of Gazza trying to outrun me increased with the width of his strides. I fought to keep up, but whenever I was able to draw level, he increased his speed.

Now, I am not weak, or slow, for that matter. I had experience in walking or running – walking around looking for stuff to use or tamper with, running from police and teachers, sneaking in and out of prohibited areas – and the bootees were really great, but finally, Gazza proved to be a man at least in levels of stamina. I fell back, and no amount of pride or stubborn mind could keep the exhaustion at bay. Especially in addition to the sore muscles from last night. The bastard responsible for those didn't even realize my stumbling feet, or if he did, he didn't care. The twit!

"Oi!" I said, and as he showed no reaction, louder: "OI! Will you just slow down, will you?"

He barely spared me a glance over his shoulder as he told me to keep up instead. Bastard. "I've got shorter legs than you!" No way would I ever admit to being weaker, even if it was genetic. Not even slowing down, he scoffed. "Don't worry, your mouth makes up for them." It was a mumble, one I wasn't even sure I was supposed to hear, but it stopped me dead in my tracks. Of all the insolent – grinning an evil grin, I sneered: "Didn't seem to have any objections to it last night!"

That made him stop and stare. My grin widened as I ran my tongue over my teeth for good measure, making his jaw drop. Take that! It took him a moment to get his bearings again, but then he got angry. "That was below the belt!" Oh, was it now? I crossed my arms and stared him down hard. "Which seems to be all you think women are any good for!" Good for a roll in the sack, but not good enough to help him save the world, huh? I'd show him.

"Hey!" he stormed towards me. "This isn't some – feminist achievement course we run here!" Never said it was, did I? This wasn't about women altogether; this was about me and him thinking he was better. "This is a battle as big as the planet!" The last words he almost screamed into my face.

Geez, he needed a reality check.

Bad.

"Nonononono, it's as big as your ego, more like!" If it wasn't, he would look for all the help he could get. Which, at the moment, consisted of – me. Only that he refused to see it. He uttered an angry laugh so fake that I knew I hit a nerve that he refused to see. "Me, egotistical?" His face was a livid mask of barely controlled anger as he stepped even nearer. "Let's just get records straight: You are a girl!" Oh, really? I hardly ever noticed! "You're slower than me, weaker than me" I interrupted him before he could come up with more, adding with grim satisfaction: "Cleverer than you..." "What?" Indignation turned the word into a squeak. "Just because you" he scoffed, "reversed the polarity on a couple of micro-transceivers?" He waved his hands in fake awe, then laughed. I didn't get the joke. Because, actually? "Yeah!"

I think he realized that he actually dug that hole for himself, because he needed a moment to retort. "Well, my intelligence is more abstract!" Absurd would have been more appropriate, if there was actually any intelligence to be found in that phrase-polluted head of his. "I have the mind of an artist", he insisted, and I wondered who it was he was trying to fool. "A piss-artist, more like!" Blabbering out phrases he neither came up with nor understood – where was the art in that? Being proud of some gift he got, instead of something he worked hard for. What a laugh.

Touchy subject, though. Gazza's mood got even fouler. "A Rock-artist! And I've got a world to save", with these words he turned away and started strutting again, "so, if you hold me up..."

Now wait a minute. "Hold you up?" Given that he was heading west this time, and wanted to circle the world before, this was priceless. "Now listen, mate!" The all-time favourite addressing of the teachers back in pastel hell actually made him growl, but he stopped, infuriated and rolling his eyes. "We're in this together!" It was he who dragged me into this, after all. Furthermore, it was he who had no specific idea of where to go and was therefore lost without me. "And despite the fact that you are" since you had your 'special destiny' confirmed "a self-righteous and arrogant little prick –"

Again I found myself at a loss as to how to finish the sentence. My emotional wards had a crack, it seemed; Caught in my rant, I would have almost blubbered out the real reason I still stuck with him, which had little to do with wanting to rescue the Gaga-kids from being brainwashed. Stopping myself just in time, I finished: "I'm staying!"

Even to my ears it sounded lame. The fire was gone, and the crack in my voice was back. I felt a pressure building in my chest, rising up my throat, and fought to keep it down. Before, I wanted to stay calm and collected so I would not worry Gaz; now I tried to keep my cool so he would not have the satisfaction to see me break because of him when no one else ever managed to make me.

Again Gazza was too preoccupied with hurt pride and anger to notice my almost-slip. "Well, suit yourself!" he spat, and the contempt his words carried gave the wall another crack. The pressure grew.

"Don't worry! I will!"

I always had.

Gazza only turned away, with an almost bored "yeah!" and thereby managed what hours of struggle hadn't accomplished.

My wards were back, stronger than ever, and though I could not hate him, the snarky, strong, caustic Me was back as if she never left. Facing south, I snorted a scornful "Tch!" back at him, not even bothering to turn when he, in a low, wanna-be threatening voice asked: "What?"

I only mocked him, repeating the word as well as the warning "Hey!" that followed as he pointed at me and strode towards me. (Well, at least he was walking in the right direction for once!) As he beat away the hand I had used to point back at him in mocking, I only used the other, which made him all the more furious. Gazza kept hitting, I kept pointing, he lost his wits, I smirked, and as his anger exploded, so did his music, but for once it left me unimpressed. It seemed that the longer I was around Gazza, the less overwhelming his musical aura became – it was still there, nudging, but it no longer held such a - thrall. I simply crossed my arms and watched him coldly.

"Here we stand, or here we fall! History won't care at all!" On the contrary, I believed it would. Because if we decided to part here, the world would wait till doomsday for its rescue.

"Wake the dead!" The phrase was screamed into my face, cutting my thoughts and riling me up, "Fight the fight!" He wanted a fight, huh? Seeing that he had at last gotten a reaction out of me, Gaz smirked, continuing with mock-pity: "Lady Mercy won't be home tonight!" Hah! He thought I needed mercy? There was no way I would take that lying down! I joined in as he continued, this time clear on every note, every word I uttered. They came from me.

"Well, you don't waste no time at all!" Going from befriending over bedding to hating me in – what – roughly twenty-four hours? Impressive. Though I wondered why he accused me of the same thing when it was him who initiated every step of it.

"Can't hear the bells, but you answer the call", he sneered, waving a dismissing hand at me while walking off (Into the wrong direction. Again). Hello?

"It comes to you as to us all", I reminded him. After all, he was not the only misfit in the Gaga-world, now was he? Macca, Meat, me – we all had followed the call! Actively rebelling, out of our own free will, while he was somehow forced into it by his dreams and probably had waited for something to happen. Simply waiting – how to phrase it – right, "You're just waiting for the hammer to fall!"

The accusation made him stop and stare as if I was something he had found under the sole of his boots – and that now had the audacity to complain because he stepped on it(Well, the fact that he had run into some kind of fence wall probably helped as well). "Hey!" I protested, not liking the look, (but also in a kind of triumph over him running into a wall – it was too bloody funny), but he just mocked it with a high-pitched, overly girlish sounding "Hey!" of his own, turning his back to the wall an walking by me into the opposite direction (East. Geez, he never learned). When I shot his trademark "Yeah!" at him, though, he got angry and turned back to me, repeating it as if to show me how it was done. I couldn't give a rat's arse about his opinion, but I was dead-set on giving him mine. After all, if we were to fight, I would at least not take what he threw at me on the chin and wear it. I was well capable of giving as good as I got. Pointing an accusing finger, I stormed toward him (the slightly nervous look on his face was a sight for sore eyes – or angry ones, as it was). "Every night, and every day a little piece of you is falling away!" With the bitter, somewhat apprehensive look in his eyes this – man seemed to have nothing at all in common with the over-eager, hopeful, vaguely confused, but loveable Gazza I had met at the hospital. And that made me angry. As well as the fact that he ignored the fact that he needed my help. It was my turn to sneer. "But lift your face the western way, babe!" His favourite direction to get lost in. Besides, if I was a bloody chick... the surprised, affronted face widened my grin while a dark satisfaction welled up inside me. "Build your muscles as you body decays!" This time it was me who turned to walk away. Let him wander the world until he dropped dead for all I care. If he was too stupid to see that that was what he would end up doing if he didn't follow me, who was I to remind the mighty Dreamer that he needed to eat and drink like normal people? Feeling him approach, I stopped to remind him: "Toe your line and play their game! Let the anaesthetic cover it all! Until one day they call your name!" because until he was forced to break free all he ever did was sing about it. Rather nicely, true, but he still didn't cross the lines while being fully aware of the consequences – more by accident, from what I gathered. At least I made mischief of my own volition, knowing what would happen if I was caught (and therefore being clever enough to not let that happen). At least he seemed to realize that – since even though the words he sang then were the same I used before, safe for the disdainful tone. "You know it's time for the hammer to fall", he sang, and coupled with the angry "Hey!" he shouted directly in my face it had a warning quality. Like he was barely keeping himself from using force to put me in my place.

Or what he thought to be 'my place', for that matter.

Actually, it was rather sad – if I was a person to be scared off (or into obedience) by violence, I would have never made it to the Heartbreak Hotel. I would have been swept over by a wave of pastel-coloured, squeaky-voiced plastic clones, never to be heard from again (I briefly wondered where he would have been then? Probably still in the hospital, too scared to get out alone. Or, if he had actually dared to escape, wandering the streets until he keeled over for thirst or exhaustion or both. Or, if he managed to actually reach the Heartbreak, by now he would be either dead or captured like the rest of the Bohemians were. And then all hope would have been lost). Still, I was more furious than frightened. How dare he treat me like that! I walked after him, mocking behind his back his way to walk, to complain – and smiled so sickly a sweet smile at him when he turned to see why I was keeping quiet that I wondered why my teeth were not glued together when I picked the mocking back up as he turned, Now walking away south again. Not even noticing, he growled angrily, probably knowing full well that a smile like that meant anything but obedience coming from me, and repeated the phrase from before, still in a warning tone, but now a rather half-hearted one, as if he had finally realized that it was pointless to try anyway.

Somehow, that irked me. For some reason, I wanted the fight – it was better than silence, in any way, plus the added bonus of adrenaline running through my blood, letting me forget my tired legs, my aching feet, my strained breath. Also, fighting made it easier to be with him, made it easier to drown out the silent, treacherous voice that told me to forget my pride, to kiss and make up.

Above all, that would have been like admitting I was wrong, as well as begging someone who hurt me to take me back. If anyone, it was him who was going to do the begging!

No, right now I wanted a fight. Twirling around so fast that I made Gaz stumble backwards in surprise (he fell over a stone sticking out of the ground, which made part of me cheer in malicious joy as he landed flat on his arse) as I sang my accusations at the top of my lungs: That he didn't care who anybody was, as long as they thought hihiisfhhis way (he, still sitting on the ground, acting as if he had intended to end up there – and fooling no-one – commented on that with a very ironic sounding "Oh, no!". One which I had anticipated and was therefore able to mock at the same time Gazza uttered it, making him shoot me a look dirty enough to rival even mine). Realizing that I hit a nerve he wasn't quite willing to admit he had at all, I upped it with mocking him for his inability to properly plan things (using a metaphor that had him I a bit of a fix – judging from the expression on his face he was unable to draw the connection between a locked door against the rain when the window was wide open and his lack of foresight. His "Oh, no!" proved it – it made no sense whatsoever at that point, but seeing that it was a tried response, he used it anyway. And I promptly mocked it anyway.) I topped it all off with a smirk and a smug "Baby, now your struggle's all in vain!" and let myself sink down to the ground. After all, it was me who had had the most wear and tear on the legs – so why should he be the only one having a rest?

After a while, Gazza scooted closer, clearly reigning in his irritation. "Let's go on", he said, but where his body succeeded, his voice failed and betrayed his annoyance. It bothered me. "Can't a girl rest for a minute?" I snapped. "We have to move now while we still have some light and can use the sun to determine where to go!" As he was pointing north this time, the only response he got was a snort and a mumble about how he would not even be able to determine where to go if the sun was writing it in fiery letters across the sky. Thankfully, he didn't understand a word. However, he did take it as an affront that I had turned away while he was talking. Frowning he poked me in the shoulder, starting to repeat his words. I poked him back, a little harder in my annoyance than I had intended to, hissing that I had heard him. From there it developed into a full-fledged poke-war, until I realized how ridiculous it all was. Here I was, the girl who prided herself to be more reasonable than most of even the grown-up population of Planet Mall, fighting petty little squabbles. Through poking. Exasperated, I shoved off Gazza's prodding fingers and jumped to my feet, feeling him do the same behind me. "What the hell we fighting for?" I burst out into song once more – and for a moment, just a wee fraction of a second, did I dare hope as Gazza sang the same line with me. Realizing that I shouldn't have right away, when he reassured me (in a very disdainful, arrogant tone) that surrendering wouldn't hurt at all while walking over. I didn't even look at him, only held out a hand in his direction to stop his approach, singing that he "just got time to say your prayers!" It aggravated him, or so it seemed; he sang with me, sounding threatening again, once more topping it off with the hammer-phrase, which I partly repeated after him. After going through that (and a few aggressive vocalizations of the Hey/Ho/Yeah variety) I felt the music ebb away, and with it some of the irritation – though not all. Calmer now, I turned away to continue south, when I heard Gazza utter, in a mixture between scream and song: "Well, give it to me one more time!"

Drawing a sharp breath, I twirled back to him, stopping dead in my tracks. He couldn't think – Like I would... "In your dreams", I spat out, sending a scornful "Mate!" after it, then rushing away in all the dignity I could find in myself.

It took him a while to catch up to me, but not nearly enough to ease the rekindled flames of my fury. His repeated assurances that he hadn't meant it that way also did nothing to extinguish them; especially since he chose to support them by saying that he wouldn't even think about doing such with me!

Little hypocritical bastard. Yapping on and on without noticing that I was fuming more and more the longer he spoke.

For a while, we went on like that – me storming in sullen silence, him following in self-righteous indignation, until finally I had enough and bit back.

The discussion carried us through the rest of the late afternoon, at some point switching to the old discussion of what he thought of women and their place in general and mine in particular; dipping into a side of who had the bigger head, some general views about usefulness and a well-rounded part of simple insults. It was a frenzy. Although a small part of me still scanned the sky and the landscape for signs of trouble and sometimes allowed my mouth to retort on its own when I spotted something suspicious (practice, after all did make perfect. Sarcasm was hardly something I needed to think about. A loss for words was something that happened to other people; a loss for insults was something I could not even fathom), the larger part hissed louder the more my aggravation grew, drowning out the part that was happy to hear Gazza talking again, even if he was crossing me with every word. It was the same part that told me that, although I liked the puppy-Gazza better, I was being quite proud of how well he had learned to use nastiness.

Nothing lasts forever, and even the longest day changed to dusk at some point. That pint was reached just as we reached the glittering surface of the Seven Seas of Rhye. It was, despite all my efforts at staying angry, a majestic view how it shimmered in the last light of the setting sun, one that stunned both me and Gazza into silence mid-sentence. There was something in the air – a hum, not unlike the one that had underlined the notes from Lulu's string box, a feeling that was both familiar and strange at the same time. My fingers felt empty all of a sudden, itching with a longing I couldn't quite understand because I didn't know what I was longing for.

Next to me, Gazza mumbled "Wow!" under his breath and startled me out of my ponderings as a smug satisfaction crept up. "South after all, huh? I said, pointing to where the sun was disappearing at our right hand. I regretted it almost as fast as the words left my mouth; Gazza's soft expression, the expression of the boy I had met and travelled with, vanished, hardened to the harsh mask of the one I got to know today. "Well, O wise one", he spat darkly, "Now you only need tell us where the Bohemians are!" For a moment I wanted to protest, ask why I had to do all the work when it was his bloody destiny when something caught my eye. "Let's try it about there, shall we?" I asked in a sickly sweet voice, accompanied by a grin that was trying to be innocent and failed abysmally. With a huff Gazza started in the direction I had pointed to – a glimmer in the now almost dark, next to the water.

As we drew nearer, it turned out to be the light in the windows of a somewhat run-down big shed or something; it was covered in faded graffiti, the wood looking almost polished silver from age and sea-wind.

"See?" I tried to break the sullen silence with what I hoped was a level voice devoid of negative emotions (well, as devoid of negative emotions as I managed to get, anyway. After all, I was still me). "It was pretty useful to have me around, after all. Had you left me back at the Van, you might have spent days searching for the Seven Seas or this hut."

Gazza exploded. "God damn it, Scaramouche, I might have, but at least you would have been out of danger!"

"Danger!" I scoffed. Hadn't we been over this, again and again and again? "If I was the sort to play Damsel in distress, I would never have made it to here! That's the part for the bloody Gaga's to play! Are you trying to tell me you want me to be – that? And by the by, you are in far more danger than I ever was! I'm well and truly able to take care of myself! I always have! Why should I need you to look after me all of a sudden?"

"I'm not looking after you! I'm trying to look out for you, which is a different thing altogether!"

And with that we were back to the old tune. Fighting, sometimes screaming, we walked down to the hut, stormed inside – and stopped dead.

There they were. I saw Cliff hanging over something roughly egg-shaped, seemingly asleep; Aretha and Iron Maiden hanging in their seats across each other, staring into nothing while Prince, a table over, did the same, only that he stared into a bottle of some sort. AC was in the seat next to him, snoring softly with her head hanging over the chair back, whereas DC had her head pillowed on her arms three tables away. There were others, people I had never seen before, but judging from their clothes they were rebels as well. Gazza expressed his joy in the over-zealous way he had, I asked how they escaped, too excited to notice anything but the relief.

But then the sight I had before me sunk in and hit home full force, draining joy and relief away until all that was left was utter dread.

We had found the Bohemians.

And there was something really, really wrong.

Sorry for the delay, guys. I had some problems with this part - first the words wouldn't come, and then my Computer would crash all the time, deleting everything... Plus the starting at a musical School and the connected moving, which left me without internet - still leaves me without Internet, I'm home right now - but here it is.

Enjoy.

And don't you worry, I'll pull this through to the end. It's too much fun to stop.