Thanks to everyone who read and to M1ssUnd3rst4nd1n, Priyanka, and blackfire93 for reviewing.

Overlaps with Meaning Makes It ch. 23, but both stories can be read separately.


Roddy grabbed his violin case and turned back towards the stairs, shaking his head at the snow still falling outside the window. It wasn't coming down quite as heavily as it had been earlier, but he was seriously starting to doubt that he was going to make it home tomorrow. Home tomorrow, or more importantly to Monroe's by Thursday morning.

The buses weren't running, though, and he couldn't fault Mr. Rabe for not wanting to drive down into the city proper while the roads were covered in snow and ice. Hell, Barry and Mr. Rabe had headed out ten minutes ago to try to get his car loose from where it was currently stuck at the bottom of their own driveway.

It wasn't like he'd forgotten how Dad had died, either, and in considerably better conditions.

He shook his head sharply. That wasn't something he could think about. Not now, and not ever, really, considering how little choice he had about his own means of transportation.

A couple minutes later and he was downstairs again and opening his violin case. He'd offered to help with the car, but it hadn't exactly been a surprise when they'd politely declined. Well, when Mr. Rabe had politely declined; Barry had said he was too little to even be useful as a speed bump and had fully deserved the pillow that Roddy had bounced off his face in return. But whatever, he might be stronger than he looked, but even he wouldn't claim that he added much in comparison to two Jagerbars. And since it was a little creepy being in this giant house by itself, he'd be just as glad to lose himself in some music.

If it had occurred to him before they'd left he'd have asked if he could be useful and start something for supper, but it hadn't, and he wasn't about to start poking around in their kitchen uninvited never mind disturb them while they were out in that mess.

A quick tune and a few scales were enough of a warm up for what he was planning, and after a few false starts he settled in to the first overture. It had been a while—a year in fact—but soon enough his fingers remembered what to do, and he relaxed and let the music flow.

He was about a third of the way through the program when he realized he wasn't alone anymore, and he couldn't help but jump a little even if it only took half a second to recognize the Rabes watching him.

"Aw, no squeak."

Roddy mostly liked Mr. Rabe well enough, even if he was still kind of intimidating, but the guy's presence really cut down on Roddy's ability to tell Barry what he could do with himself sometimes. "You know, I think I'm just going to hit you with every pillow."

Barry grinned. "You can try. But you're supposed to call Nick or your friend Monroe sometime after eight tonight."

"Um...sure?" He tried for a moment to come up with some kind of connection between those two things and then gave it up as a bad job. "Where did that come from?"

"Nick called Dad's cell while we were on the way up asking if you were here. He said he tried your phone, but you didn't answer. You probably didn't hear it if you were playing."

That would take some pretty extreme focus even for him, but the real culprit was obvious when Roddy pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Or because the battery's dead. Can I borrow your charger?"

"Yeah, course. Here." He held out a hand, and Roddy flipped it to him.

"Did Nick say what he wanted?" Roddy asked, looking up at Mr. Rabe as Barry turned and headed for his computer. Monroe he could kind of understand, although Monroe probably didn't have Mr. Rabe's number, but he couldn't think of any good reason why Nick would be trying to reach him.

"I believe he was worried about some power lines being down in your neighborhood and you potentially not having heat or power."

"Oh. Okay."

"You don't seem concerned."

"I mean, he's probably right, but I don't know why he'd bother calling about it. Those come down at some point most years."

Mr. Rabe looked disapproving, and Roddy shrugged.

"When the wind is right—or I guess technically when it's wrong—the water off the river ices them over. The power company keeps promising that this time they're going to bury them, but somehow they never get around to it.

"If you lose power every winter, how do you keep warm?"

"It's not all winter, they usually get stuff hacked back together within a couple days. And I'm at school and Dad's—Dad was—at work most of the time anyway, so when we're home we just cover up the windows and wear lots of layers." And in a worst-case scenario there was always the truck or even one of his relatives' places, although both he and Dad had considered that last really worst-case.

His frown deepened, and Roddy shrugged again awkwardly. It wasn't like he ran the electric company. And he'd wrapped the water pipes as best he could right after the heater had cut out for the first time so he was about as prepared as he could be. Well, okay, it might not have been the worst idea to set the taps to dripping before he'd left just in case, but it was way too late to worry about that now. He'd just have to hope that the pipes survived another year.

Mr. Rabe's expression still didn't change, but he did finally let the subject drop. Much to Roddy's relief. "What was that last piece that you were playing?" he asked instead. "It sounded vaguely familiar, but I can't place it."

"The Grandfather Waltz from The Nutcracker."

"Are you doing like a Christmas concert or something?" Barry asked, rejoining them.

"Not exactly. The next big concert at Von Hamelin won't be until the first of March. But we always partner with one of the dance schools to put on The Nutcracker the last couple weekends before winter break, and Dr. Warren's bound to be freaking out about it come Monday since we haven't exactly done any work on it yet this year." It was kind of ridiculous since it was something that they did every year, and even the majority of the freshmen wouldn't be coming in blind considering how common the score was in orchestral repertoire, but ridiculous was nothing new. And since he didn't feel like getting harassed by a stressed-out conductor, he was going to make sure he'd done at least a couple run-throughs beforehand.

"Ah, that would explain it," Mr. Rabe said. "I've been to far fewer ballets than art shows in my life, but I have seen that one a few times." He hesitated and looked between them. "Are you boys getting hungry? I can't say I'd mind listening a bit longer if you were planning to continue, but there are chickens in the fridge that we could start heating up."

"I'll play anything you want," Roddy said in surprise. He'd kind of assumed that that went without saying. He liked to play, and playing for people who wanted to hear it was a bonus. And the Rabes were nice.

Barry flopped down on the couch. "I'm good to listen for a while longer. Won't even try to make you squeak."

Mostly nice. The his-age one was occasionally a dork, and Roddy made a mental note to flip Barry off as soon as Mr. Rabe's back was turned.


"I'm fine," Roddy repeated, rolling his eyes and grinning at the expression that Barry shot him. "My phone battery ran out, that's all. I didn't mean to worry anyone." Not that he was any more clear about why Monroe or Nick—Nick who was apparently now staying with Monroe, which he'd somehow missed, but whatever—had been worried than he had been when this conversation had started, but adults were weird sometimes. "I've been at the Rabes since yesterday, before it was really even snowing never mind iced over, and we've just been hanging out. The only time I've even gone back outside was entirely on purpose." Which reminded him that he was still wearing Barry's old t-shirt and should probably go grab his other stuff out of the dryer at some point, but also whatever. It wasn't like Mr. Rabe was going to be taking anything to the donation center today. He searched for another topic before Monroe could find something else to be concerned about. "Did your twelve-foot turkey get crushed by the snow?"

"What twelve foot turkey?"

"Come on, a Halloween store practically exploded on your front lawn. There's no way that you don't have a twelve-foot turkey somewhere."

Monroe sighed. "My taste is better than that, thank you."

Roddy would have brought up the pumpkin-killing mannequin, but Monroe continued before he could do more than open his mouth.

"However, I do have a refrigerator stuffed with three casseroles, six pies, and assorted breads that need eating, so even if you can't make it here on Thanksgiving, you come this way when the buses start running, all right? Nick or I can give you a ride home once we know the power is back on in your neighborhood."

"Sure," Roddy agreed immediately. He didn't share their concerns about his ability to survive, obviously, but except for his vague worries about the water pipes he didn't really have any desire to go home and be cold either. "But why did you make six pies when there was only ever going to be three of us?"

"Technically Bud's wife made four of them—I kind of got the impression that they heard about the whole mess with Juliette somehow, although Bud was unusually circumspect so don't quote me on that—and since they were on their way out of town when they dropped them off Monday night it's not like Nick or I could decline. But I'd already made two crusts myself and didn't want to waste them, so…."

"Wow. Okay," Roddy said. Six pies it was. Plus casseroles and whatever, all of which also sounded better than anything he had at home.

"And call me whenever you get on the bus so I know to keep an eye out, all right?" Monroe said. "Somehow I doubt that the schedules will be very acc—oh, hang on a minute, I think that's finally Nick."

Roddy's ears were more than good enough to make out the exchange of greetings even with something muffling the phone, and he wasn't surprised at the "Hey," from a different voice a moment later.

"Hey, Nick," he returned. "Did you just get back? Barry just said to call after eight, and it's almost nine now." Or ten after, actually, when he craned his neck to look at the clock.

"Yeah, the roads are still a mess even with the emergency salt-and-sand trucks the mayor called for finally rolling in. They've had practically the whole force out on accident patrol all day."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just a little tired. And not really looking forward to starting again tomorrow at six, although the captain did move Hank and I to the afternoon shift on Thanksgiving which is something. But are you all right? I was worried when you didn't answer the phone earlier."

Seriously, Dad had never fussed this much. "Yeah, I'm good, really. I'm at Barry's. The battery on my phone just ran out and I didn't notice, that's all."

"Okay, okay. And are you just going to stay with them until the buses start running again?"

"That's the plan."

"Good. I'm guessing that might not be until Friday as far up as they are, but I could be wrong. Apparently what took the plows so long to get here was that the initial front swung in just south of here and the freeze stretched all along the coast right up to Seattle, but the snow tapered off up there a lot faster than down here so we're finally getting priority."

Roddy nodded, mostly because there was nothing he could say to that.

"That's Nick?" Mr. Rabe asked, looking up from his computer.

"Yeah."

"Do you mind?" he asked, gesturing at the phone.

"No. Uh, Nick, Barry's dad wants to talk to you."

"Oh, sure."

Roddy handed his phone over, and Mr. Rabe took it and set his computer aside as he stood.