Title: Life Is Life

Summary: Once upon a time there was a fanfic called Believe In Me. This is the revamped version. "Left his house at midnight, resolute and young, in search of something greater than the person he'd become." AU Smitchie.

Author's Note: Work has kicked my arse this week, so that's one of the reasons this chapter took so much longer than the others. The other reason was that this took much longer to write because it wasn't just a simple improvement job on the last story. There'll be snippets that are the same, but not a lot of it will be recognisable. I think that this will be the same for the majority of the chapters that follow – we're straying into kind of new plot territory – and so it might take a little while longer for me to update. But I have a plan all outlined, I know where I'm going, I'm just going to need you guys to keep motivating me.

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Music: Call Me – Blondie

Call me my on the line

Call me, call me any, anytime

Shane Grey had done many a stupid thing in his lifetime and to make a list of his misdemeanours would take an age.

It would be an unfair assessment, however, to conclude that the motivation behind every one of his stupid actions was a self-preservation thing. Yes, most of the stupid things he'd done were driven by selfish desires, but not all of them. Not punching Matt Baker of Hot Tunes in the face.

It would also be an unfair assessment to decide that Shane didn't feel any kind of remorse for his past transgressions. Most of the time he did regret something about the way he'd acted, be it the words he said, the way he said them, the way his hair had looked at the time… He regretted absolutely nothing, however, about breaking Matt Baker's nose in front of two-dozen photographers while a girl he'd only just met and had done nothing unsavoury with escaped from the window of their tour bus.

It would be just plain wrong to assume that Shane Grey bore all of his punishments with his head held high, as he didn't; he negotiated, found loopholes, blackmailed and when all of the above failed he just snuck out. But the outpouring of outrage that he was subjected to when the manager of Connect 3, Jeff Witcombe, found out about the morning's events was something he sat through in silence. Defiant silence – his chin was up in the air, his jaw set firmly, his gaze harsh as he watched the man responsible for his unhappiness in general pace around the bus – but silence nonetheless.

Actually, despite the fact that Jeff Witcombe used the word "stupid" at least thirty times in his tirade and despite the fact that every single use had been directed at the black-haired boy sitting on the couch, Shane Grey couldn't help but think that he hadn't done anything stupid that morning. He had done something helpful, something necessary, something that the guy had definitely deserved. Stupidity didn't really factor into the equation.

He wasn't going to say any of that, though. Explaining what had happened, explaining why it had happened, wouldn't work, he knew that and both Nate and Jason knew that, and so instead of clearing his name Shane took the punishment.

Or he appeared to. His body was sat in the room but his mind was back, retracing the events of the night before, and forward, working out what he was going to say if – ha, let's be real, when – Mitchie Torres called him.

"I don't think you understand the magnitude of the situation, Shane," Jeff was saying, his arms gesticulating wildly as his voice increased in decibels by the word.

'There's no way she won't call,' Shane thought, not even noticing that his manager had just shouted his name so loud that the people back in Cohasset, the ones he'd put on a show for that morning, could hear it. 'There's no way she won't be just a little bit intrigued. After all, it's not like she has anything better to do.'

And then he berated himself for thinking such an egotistical thought.


Meanwhile, Mitchie Torres and Caitlin Gellar were just sitting in Caitlin's car in Mitchie's driveway, the engine off and the silence between them filled with unasked questions.

Caitlin's questions were to be directed at her best friend, the one sitting beside her with a furrowed brow and a confused expression on her face. She wanted to know how, why, what had happened. She wanted to know everything.

The answers to Mitchie's questions – or question, as there was really only one thing that she needed to understand – couldn't be given to her by anyone in the car, or anyone in Cohasset. In fact, she was fairly certain that only one person could answer the question that she had. Why had Shane Grey given her his number? What had he been thinking? Why her?

The girl in the driver's seat spoke up first, slicing into Mitchie's thoughts with her first and entirely open-ended question.

"So… what the hell was all that about?"

Mitchie sighed, pushing her still messy hair completely away from her face and turned to make eye contact with Caitlin. Where did she even begin to answer that question? Usually when people said 'it's a long story' it was anything but; it was something that could be summed up in a few sentences. This story of Mitchie's was a long story; a few sentences wouldn't do it justice at all.

"It's a long story…"

Caitlin rolled her eyes, flicking the handle that allowed her chair to be pushed back as far as it would go, stretching her legs out to their full length and putting her hands behind her head. "I've got time. This is much more interesting than going to the mall."

"Can I just… I need an alibi. My parents –"

"Consider it done. I lost my purse last night, called you early this morning to see if it had been mixed up with your stuff by accident, you said you'd come and help me find it at the venue."

"Right. Thank you, Caitlin."

"I'll only stick to it if you reveal what really happened right now."

Another sigh from the dark-haired girl, this one not because she was trying to work out where to start but because she actually had to form the words on her tongue. Saying it out loud, telling someone else… it was stupid, but it felt like it would ruin the magic of it. Still, this was her best friend. This was Caitlin. And they told each other everything.

"I was on the roof –"

"The makings of a good story, right there."

"Caitlin."

"Sorry. I'll interrupt as few times as possible."

"I was on the roof and I was singing to myself –"

"As we all do."

"Caitlin."

It looked as though she was going to make another retort, but Caitlin was silenced by a glare from her friend. She made a zipping motion across her mouth before gesturing for Mitchie to continue.

"And I was sitting there, when all of a sudden… he started speaking to me."

"'He' being…?"

"I'm just not going to tell you this story."

"Hey, no! That wasn't even a stupid comment, I legitimately needed clarification."

"Shane. 'He' being Shane Grey. Shane Grey started talking to me. Only I didn't know it was Shane Grey at the time."

"Could you not see?"

"He was hiding. In the bushes."

Caitlin snorted.

Mitchie ignored her.

"Anyway, we were having this conversation about music, and then he said he'd been at a concert. And I didn't know who he was, so I said I had too. He asked what I thought, I said –"

"Void of passion and soul." These words came from both girls, Caitlin having anticipated Mitchie's answer, causing the latter to roll her eyes and the former to laugh loudly.

"But then I worked out who it was," Mitchie continued, stopping emphatically at the end of the sentence as though that was the end of the story.

Her companion wasn't settling for that, though. "Right. But that doesn't explain how you ended up on his tour bus. It doesn't explain how he lured you out of your house. In fact, it barely explains anything. How exactly did you end up out of your house?"

Mitchie couldn't hold back the blush that crept over her face as she thought properly about that part, ducking her gaze away from Caitlin's and suddenly finding the chipped polish on her fingernails immensely fascinating.

"I, uh, fellofftheroof."

What should have been four words was merged into one, spoken very fast and nay incomprehensible. Caitlin had managed to work out what had been said – though she wasn't about to let Mitchie off easy.

"Sorry, what was that?"

The passenger closed her eyes, exhaling loudly. "I fell off the roof. That's how I ended up away from my house. I fell off the roof and didn't have my keys or my phone and the only thing I could think about was getting this lost pop star back to his tour bus before anyone really missed him – or me. And then I didn't think about the fact that I'd have to walk back, and so Shane and Nate and Jason demanded I stay on the bus so that I wasn't walking home at one in the morning."

It was the cliff notes version, without a doubt, but Mitchie didn't feel like divulging any of the not-so-sordid details to Caitlin. For now at least she wanted to keep those memories to herself so that she could analyse them without someone else chipping in with their own view on the matter.

Caitlin was silent for a few seconds after Mitchie's words. She wasn't a stupid girl; she knew that there was bound to be more detail than that. There must have been conversations that had been skipped, occurrences that had been glossed over, maybe even emotions that Mitchie was keeping close to her chest as opposed to on her sleeve. And there was a huge part of her that wanted to ask, wanted to demand the details right here right now. But the smaller part – the voice of reason, perhaps – was acknowledging that there must be a reason Mitchie wasn't being entirely upfront and that, unfortunately, as her best friend she had to respect that reason.

"So, nothing happened?" Caitlin said eventually, watching Mitchie's reaction intently. Cait was fairly sure she'd be able to tell were the other girl to lie in reply to this question.

"Nothing like that, of course not." Mitchie said, confidently lifting her gaze to meet that of her best friend. "He gave me his bed, he slept on the couch."

This spurned two raised eyebrows, and Caitlin was just opening her mouth to give her reply of surprise when a shout from the direction of the house caused all other thoughts to be thrown to the wind.

"Michaela Marie Torres!"

The heads of both girls snapped to where Connie Torres was standing at the door, hands on her hips, angry expression clouding her usually warm features.

Mitchie gulped.

"I would not want to be you," Caitlin commented, moving her seat back to the usual driving position before pulling at the handle to open the door. "Ready to lie through our teeth?"

"No," Mitchie confessed, but pushed open the door on her own side anyway.

She didn't lie to her parents. She didn't do anything that she had to lie about. She was a good girl, not necessarily because she set out to be but just because she wasn't bad. She didn't break curfew, she didn't sneak out, she didn't go on midnight jaunts with pop stars that culminated in sleeping in his bed on his tour bus. Even if he did sleep on the couch.

Caitlin didn't have much experience of lying to her parents, but she was much better at it than Mitchie was. Her face just seemed to settle into an apologetic look as the two of them were walking up to the door, and she was all ready with the cover story that they'd improvised minutes earlier.

"We're so sorry, Mrs Torres, it's mostly my fault. I won't take all the blame, but I called Mitchie early this morning because I'd lost my purse last night – I couldn't sleep and so was looking to see how much money I had for the mall later. And I didn't have it, so I called her to see if she'd picked it up by mistake or even if she remembered where it was, and she said she'd come and look for it with me."

Michael Torres appeared in the doorway behind his wife and smiled at Caitlin, then at Mitchie, putting his hands on the shoulders of the woman he'd married. "We're just glad you're home safe."

Connie didn't look so appeased, turning to Mitchie. Her daughter felt as though she was going to be sick, the truth spurting out like word vomit. "You went out this morning? Without your keys?"

Mitchie felt this immense need to look over at Caitlin, beg her for help with her eyes, but knew that this wouldn't reflect well on their story. Shit, what could she say? Her mom was right, it didn't make any sense to leave the house without keys and the door was locked wasn't it and how could she have done that without keys? The plot holes in their lie were gaping wide and Mitchie's mother was tearing them further apart with every second.

"Yeah," she heard herself saying, her voice sounding remarkably steady considering the inner panic attack she was having. "Yes. I went out the back door. It was quieter. Didn't want to wake you up."

"And without your phone?"

"I just didn't think about it. I didn't put it onto charge last night like I usually do, so when I left my room I didn't pick it automatically from there like normal."

"And you found the purse?"

Caitlin nodded, pulling her wallet from her pocket and waving it in the air. "Yep. Someone had handed it in at the venue. I think all the money's still there, though I can't shake this feeling that I had five more dollars somewhere."

Mitchie's mother still didn't look like she believed the story completely, the presence of a crease between her eyebrows told Mitchie that much. Mitchie just hoped she didn't notice the fact that she was in the same clothes she'd been wearing the night before.

"Come on, Connie," Michael Torres said, pulling her gently away from the door frame and giving the two girls room to slide past. "Let's get these two breakfast before they go to the mall. No harm done."

Caitlin began chatting amiably as the family made their way through to the kitchen, Mitchie's father responding in kind immediately and her mother beginning to do so after a few more seconds of silent suspicion.

Mitchie, however, continued to say nothing. There was a piece of paper in her pocket – a piece of paper that so many other girls would kill to have – and it was terrifying her. She had Shane Grey's phone number. Shane Grey had given her his phone number. Shane Grey wanted her to call him.

Now she just had to work out if she wanted to call him.


That question – do I want to call Shane Grey – haunted Mitchie Torres all day.

As she ate breakfast with her family and Caitlin, with the other females around the table giving her similar scrutinizing looks for very different reasons it was on her mind.

It was all she could think about, as she wandered around the mall with her best friend, not really paying attention to the things they were looking at. It was made worse when a Connect 3 song came on in one of the shops and she dragged Caitlin out of the building, earning herself strange looks and setting off a few alarms because of the things her friend hadn't put down.

As she sat at dinner with her mom and dad, the two of them talking about how the business was on the rise despite the current economic climate she remained uncharacteristically quiet.

She announced that she was going to bed at 9 o'clock, giving her parents the excuse that the early morning had tired her out, and retired to her room in the hope that she could force herself to fall asleep and not think about it.

No such luck, though; half an hour later Mitchie found herself sitting staring at her phone and at the number that she'd fished from the pocket of her shorts. She was mentally constructing a pros and cons list, starting with the fact that she couldn't wait for him to call her on account of him not having her number, and ending with the fact that she had no idea what she'd be getting herself into if she dialled that number.

The reason for him giving her his number was still ambiguous in Mitchie's mind. She couldn't work out any kind of reason, couldn't think why he'd want to stay in touch, and because she couldn't think of a genuine reason there was a small portion of her mind that thought maybe it was all a weird joke. Was he seeing if he could get the poor small-town girl to actually call a number he'd set up for kicks? Was he going to answer with a resounding 'ha, as if you'd actually have a chance as far as being friends with me is concerned'?

She didn't want that to be true. There had been moments the night before where she'd thought she was seeing a side that hardly anybody ever got to see; flashes of a nice, funny, charming, caring guy. There were a few instances where he'd been pretty deep for a shallow person, a few glimpses where Mitchie had seen someone genuine behind that poseur exterior. She didn't want those moments to have been figments of her imagination, invented memories that had been woven into what really happened. She wanted them to be true, legitimate, real.

There was only one way to find out if they had been.

Before she could change her mind about it, Mitchie grabbed her phone, punched the digits in with shaking fingers, then pressed call and lifted the phone to her ear.


Shane's phone had been by his side all day and he'd been checking it every five minutes – though he'd been trying to be discreet about it. But, as luck would have it, the moment that it began to ring was the one moment in ten hours in which he'd left it in a different part of the bus.

As soon as the Libertines tune rang out through the confined space of the tour bus, Shane was on his feet; vaulting over the coffee table and not even thinking about how mad he must have looked racing through to his room to pick up a phone.

He didn't even know it was her calling. He could be speeding to answer a phone call that could just be his mother checking up on him (but that was unlikely, his mother tended to call once a month these days).

The number wasn't saved in his phone contacts.

Despite the fact that he'd rushed through to the room as though he'd just been told it was on fire and he had to save his possessions, Shane took pause before he answered the phone. He didn't want to look too eager, after all (though it was mostly because he was freaking out just a little bit over what to say).

"Are you going to answer that, or what?" Nate asked as he walked past the open door. He hadn't been witness to Shane's efforts to get to it so quickly, though he'd heard various crashes as he vaulted and hit things.

"Yes," Shane shot back, venomously. Then, before he could worry about it too much more, and before the phone stopped ringing, he pressed the 'take call' button and pressed it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Hey, Shane?"

"Mitchie?"

"That would be me," the girl on the other end of the phone laughed lightly. "You actually gave me your number. Wow."

"What, did you think that I hadn't?"

"Well… no. I mean… it's just…"

"My reputation?"

"Yeah. I guess so. I just… this doesn't happen to me. It doesn't happen to people like me. I don't meet celebrities and have them give me their number so that we can stay in touch." She paused, taking a breath. "They should make a handbook on it."

"Getting Celebrity's Phone Numbers For Dummies?" He laughed, then realising the potential implications of what he'd said. Was she easily offended? Would that offend her? "Um… not… not that I think you're a dummy or anything. I don't."

"I know. It's okay. It was pretty witty for a pop star."

"I don't know how many times I'm going to have to tell you; it's rock star."

"At least once more, pop star."

Shane laughed – a real laugh, the sound of which was almost alien to his ears. He didn't laugh like this. He hadn't laughed like this in ages. And here she was, this girl he'd known for less than twenty-four hours, making him laugh like he used to.

"So…" Mitchie said, her relief at having not been the victim of some cruel joke that Shane Grey thought would be funny settling with worry about keeping the conversation going taking its place. "Did you get into trouble?"

"As much trouble as breaking a TV presenter's nose will get you into, I suppose. I don't think he's pressing charges."

"You… you broke his nose?" Having been avoiding all websites and TV reports about Connect 3 in general, all of this was completely new news to Mitchie. "Tell me you didn't."

The guilt that hadn't been there before washed over him in tidal wave amounts. "Sorry."

"You didn't break my nose."

"I'd have felt much more guilty if I'd broken yours. He deserved it."

"Hm."

"You got away unseen though, didn't you?" Shane asked, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. It didn't matter if they disagreed on whether Matt Baker had deserved to have his nose smashed, if she'd managed to get away without being noticed then it was worth it.

"Yeah. Yeah, Caitlin got me away. I haven't told her that it's you who has her number, so don't you be calling her in the dead of the night."

"Why would I need to call her in the dead of the night now that I can call you in the dead of the night?"

"Why would you be calling anyone in the dead of the night?"

"Same reason people sit on their roof in the dead of the night."

"Because it's a Saturday and they have nothing better to do?"

"And to sing. You'll be waking up to some interesting voicemail messages, Mitchie Torres."

"Oh, brilliant."

A voice from the living area called his name, and Shane recognised it as a still irate Jeff, most likely ready to update him on what people were saying about the morning's activities. Going out to listen to him go on and on about how irresponsible it was didn't sound nearly as appealing as staying in his room and talking to Mitchie, but it was one of those things that he couldn't avoid. Not if he wanted the rest of the tour to remain easy.

"Hey, Mitchie?"

Mitchie was struck by how much better her name sounded when he said it, the hint of New Jersey accent still kind of distinguishable. "Uh-huh?"

"I have to go. But I have your number now…"

Mitchie wasn't disappointed, exactly, but she had been anticipating a longer conversation than the one they'd had. Still, any trace of this emotion was masked in her reply. "Sure thing, pop star."

Shane laughed again, unable to help himself, and resisted the urge to correct her. He had a feeling that where conversations with Mitchie were concerned, the pop star/rock star thing would be a recurring thing. He'd have plenty of time to set her straight.

"I'll be texting you as soon as I hang up," he said, shifting his phone to the other ear.

"I have no idea why," Mitchie replied, but she couldn't prevent a smile spreading across her face.

"Because…" Shane began, ignoring another shout of his name from the living area. "Because I can. Plus, I don't think two people can share what we have and not be friends."

"What, a midnight swing?"

"Exactly. And you know you've always dreamed about being friends with me. I'm Shane Grey, for Pete's sake!"

"Who's Pete?"

"One of my other friends."

"You have friends?"

"God, Mitchie, do you have short term memory loss? There's you and Pete. It's a right party in my contacts book."

"It sounds it."

"Shane!" Jeff was more than irate now, and Shane knew that he was about two seconds away from storming into the room and dragging him out by his shirt. He wouldn't care about any phone call from any girl.

"I'll talk to you later, friend," Shane said as his goodbye, turning to face the door. He didn't hang up yet though, waiting for one more thing.

"Bye, Shane."


Mitchie put down her phone, a smile playing on her lips as she lay back on her bed and stared up at the ceiling.

Today had been so surreal. Less than twenty-four hours ago she'd met one of the country's most infamous lead singers. Now she was his friend.

She had a friend in Shane Grey.

Her phone buzzed from where she'd left it on her desk, and Shane's voice floated into her mind. I'll be texting you as soon as I hang up.

A laugh rose from her lips and she reached out her arm to grab the mobile device, clicking to open the new message. What on earth did he have to say –?

'I know it was you, Mitchie Torres,' read the text. 'I know you were the girl on Connect 3's tour bus.'

Needless to say, it wasn't Shane.