I'll say this twice: This chapter is in Gazz's point of view. A little hard for me to write since I don't really have anything in common with Gazz.

I've Fallen In Love

(Galileo's POV)

Those weird people who attacked us--Meat and Brit--were leading Scaramouche and I through some sort of wasteland. About ten minutes later, we came across some van. Meat crawled under it first and disappeared through a hole, after taking a pile of rubbish off first. Brit waved us in.

"Get in, will ya? Any minute now Khashoggi and his narrow-minded cronies could be comin' after us..." With your narrow minded cronies who are fools on the first division...

God I hate those voices.

Passing me another trademark Scaramouche look, she jumped down the hole after Meat. Wow. I never realized what a great face she had...or other body features...

"Will ya get in already?" Brit's voice took me away from my wondering mind. Feeling I had nothing to lose, I jumped in and promptly landed on something (padding), and someone.

"Bloody hell, Gazz, are you TRYIN' to land on me or something?" Oops. Scaramouche again.

"No...I told you I can't aim already!" Not that I minded landing on her. Hell, maybe that is good aim.

"I've noticed!"

After that line, Brit came down the hole. Since Scara kept me too busy fighting I hadn't thought to move off the bed. Brit, having better aim, just missed landing on me but the force of his landing threw me off the bed, and wouldn't you just KNOW that I landed at Scaramouche's feet?

"Don't worry Gazza," Scaramouche was smirking. "You're not the first guy to fall hopelessly at my feet."

I could feel myself blushing. Maybe she didn't know what I was thinking before the hole, or when we almost kissed (I didn't even know what I was thinking then), and just said that when she had the opportunity--but damn, she was right. I admit it: I'M FALLING FOR HER!

I've fallen in love for the first time, this time I know it's for real...I've fallen in lov--Shut. Up.

During all this, Brit winked a quick "Sorry 'bout that," and walked over to Meat, with a sly look on his face. Looking over there now, I saw them in a long embrace. Scaramouche was looking over there too, and shivered.

"You okay?" Just watch her catch pneumonia and die. Why do these things always happen to me?--Oh wait, they don't.

"Yeah, jus' a little cold," she sniffled. She had this weird look on her face--much different from the smirking one. No, not a glare either. She looked...lonely?

I certainly didn't feel cold, but seeing nothing else to do, put my arm around her. Okay, well I'm making it sound like that was my idea. I don't know, my arm moved itself over there! No way I was moving it though...

She looked up at me with a smile. Not a huge smile, like that first time. Had almost a--God forbid--shy look to it. "Thanks Gazz."

Oh. My. God. Did she just move closer to me? Hold on, there's something around my waste--her arm? Bloody hell.

We were walking beside Meat and Brit, who had managed to tear themselves away from each other a little while ago. It had been quiet--what, five minutes? I didn't care. I had Scaramouche. I could keep walking like this for the rest of my life. God I love her.

"So, how much longer to we have to go?" Scaramouche looked like she was getting tired from those huge boots. I would carry her if she'd ask.

"About twenty minutes, depending on what we find, hen," Meat sounded a lot different when she didn't think that you were some sort of spy. Cheery, almost.

"What do you mean, 'on what we find'?" I was getting a little more interested now, and, for a split second, wasn't thinking about Scaramouche. How dare I.

"We're rebels, right? We're trying to bring back real music, but we need instruments. Since Globalsoft," Brit spat in the dust, "Since they destroyed all of the instruments, we had to make our own," he shrugged as if to say, "what else can we do?".

"Well it's not our fault, though," said Meat, like a child with his hand caught in a cookie jar. "If Globalsoft," she spat, "allowed instruments we wouldn't have to rebel. We're just fighting for what's right!"

With this, we came to what I thought was a sharp turn. There were lots of those. Although the tunnel kept going, Meat and Brit started feeling along the wall. I'm guessing a secret passage? A knob? Whatever. Anyways, they found it.

"Welcome to the Heartbreak Hotel," Meat bent over and kissed Scara on the cheek. Not cool. That's my job. At least, it should be.

Once we got there, Meat took Scaramouche away from me saying something about a makeover. I thought she looked great the way she was, but maybe she could do without the boots. And the bed sheet. Or at least the jumper. Okay, so she could use a few tips.

Brit took me away from my thoughts, once again. He brought me over to another rebel--or Bohemian, that's the word I've heard around here--who gave me some sort of look-over.

"So, you're the Dreamer, huh?" The Bohemian was talking to me now. Around then I heard something about a corset and a leather skirt.

"I-um, I guess so...that's what he's been calling me," I pointed to Brit. "But what's this whole 'Dreamer' thing about?"

Before I got my answer, I heard a series of wolf whistles and "you-look-greats". Looking to see what all the commotion was, I saw Scaramouche coming out of some room. She was wearing a red and black corset, a short leather skirt, and the same boots that all of the other women Bohemians were wearing. She looked bloody terrific. I let my eyes roam all over her--damn, she'll think I'm a Khashoggi double now--I guess I was staring a tad.

"Well...what do you think, Gazza?" She was looking at me.

"Rock n' rollllllllllll!" I heard various people calling that out.

"I agree, you look totally rock n' roll, Scara...but what is rock n' roll?" I looked over to Brit.

"Gazza, baby, rock n' roll is anything you want it to be."

Answers came from random Bohemians.

"It's sex."

"It's style."

"It's rebellion."

"It's freedom."

"It's--"

"Yeah, that's nice, but what IS it?" This was starting to get annoying.

"Oh, umm...we don't really know. All we know is that there was a day when rock n' roll died. Rock n' roll was a type of music--REAL music, not Computer Recorded whatever. Millions of kids were in garage bands, most never got anything out of it. The artists didn't do it for the money. They did it for a crazy little thing called love. Actually, that's where most of us got our names from." It was pretty obvious Brit had given this speech a few times before. The Bohemians started to introduce themselves.

"Buddy Holly."

"Charlotte Friggin' Church."

"Madonna."

"Billie Joe."

"Bono."

"Mick Jagger."

"And I am Sir Paul McCartney. But you can call me Big Macca," that was from the Bohemian that I was talking to earlier. I'm guessing he's the leader or something.

Brit cut them off. "Now, this is about where you come in. Most of the music has been destroyed. But there's a legend, about a man--or woman--who'd remember them. The words, the rhythms, all of it. We think you're him. Just remember, Galileo. Rock n' roll isn't about the fame or the fortune. You do it for your baby. For the crazy little thing called love." With that, him and Meat started to sing a song about a crazy little thing called love. Scaramouche and I added in a few lines, the Bohemians added in some chorus lines. Sounded like it was straight out of a musical.

"Oh yeah, indeed!" That voice was all too familiar. The person--no, the pervert--who was mocking the end of the song was standing in the doorway with other SPs. Khashoggi. That pig. He trapped the Bohemians in a lager cage, somehow missing me and Scaramouche.

"You'll never get the Dreamer while I'm alive!" Out of sheer endurance, Brit broke free of the laser cage, creating a distraction for the guards. "Galileo, Scaramouche, the power of living rock is in your hands--run!" Scaramouche was in shock. She wasn't moving. I grabbed her arm and ran down the tunnels, hearing guns firing. Hearing Brit fall dead.