Hi all. The following was intended to be much longer, but I decided to break the chapter up so I could go ahead and get at least this much posted. I apologize if this chapter seems a bit like filler; I promise more exciting stuff is on the way. However, myambition for this story is that it really works as a character piece, and therefore I hope you don't mind my taking a deliberate (read: slow) pace in exposition.

I promise the next chapter won't be so long in coming. When Curt, Arthur, and Brian (and others?) finally come together, there will be fireworks (of the good or bad variety, I will not say...).

Anyway, standard disclaimer applies. The only thing I own here is my computer.

Remember, reviews are love! And though it's probably terribly tacky of me to mention it, please keep an eye out for my upcoming Obi-Wan/Anakin fic.

Thanks for reading!

Ready...and ACTION!


"What do you mean you're not coming in? Tommy, you have to, this is your interview!"

Shannon spun around on the street curb, the door of the limousine hitting her roughly from behind. She readjusted her purse strap in an angry huff.

"It's not an interview, really. Just a meeting. I know how these things work, Shannon, I'm not stupid."

"Then you know that they are expecting you."

Passing cars honked at the white limo hesitating in the middle of traffic.

"What they're expecting," Brian offered snidely, "is someone to meet with to confirm Tommy Stone's unwavering support for President Reynolds and his bland, oppressive, bullshit policies. And frankly I'm not up for it today. You're the mouthpiece of this organization anyway, so you tend to it."

Shannon narrowed her eyes in warning. Brian ignored her in his typical, casual way. He slunk back into the seat and slipped his sunglasses back over bleary eyes.

"Fine. Sod off, then. But be back to pick me up in an hour." She stiffened and walked away.

"Fine." Brian muttered bitterly. Even though he had gotten his way, he knew deep down that he would have to be back, or at least send someone back, to fetch this very annoying but very efficient woman who had somehow made herself indispensable to everything that Brian now was.

The driver shut Brian's door and returned to his post to await directions. Brian shifted and sulked, until a bustle of activity across the street caught his eye. He ordered the chauffeur to pull into a circle drive not far away and to keep the motor running.

Brian repositioned himself to the side of the limo facing the organized chaos nearby. It was a hospital. A small one, certainly, but a busy one nonetheless. Of course, small hospitals in the middle of a city such as New York usually indicated wealth, a secluded facility funded with heavy private endowments and teeming with specialists, dying millionaires, and drugged out celebrities. Not shameful work for a young doctor, Brian mused idly, but not exactly St. Mary's of the Lost and Invalid either. The clean exteriors and lush greenery held captive in massive ceramic beds struck Brian as truly foreign. Nowhere in his upbringing had he seen a hospital more or less set aside for the rich. He drummed his fingers on the door and absently pondered the absurd well-to-do mannerisms of everyone trekking in and out of the building. It hardly seemed real to him, these day-to-day activities that keep society moving.

Just as he was about to order the driver to move on, something else caught his eye. Strolling along the sidewalk toward the hospital was a young man in blue scrubs. By the paper bag he was clutching it appeared that he had gone for lunch and was now returning to his rounds. He stopped casually and fished for something in his pockets. A moment later he was leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette, not a care in the world.

Brian removed his sunglasses.

The boy was tall and slim. In the light of the sun his shaggy, longish hair looked the color of honey. Brian nonchalantly lowered his window.

From his vantage point he could make out dark brows and a lovely rounded nose...and lips. Full, firm pink lips sucking hurriedly on the last remaining drags. It didn't take binoculars to see that the boy was pretty, very pretty, but strong too. He had the body of a swimmer. From the easy way he tossed his head to shake the hair out of his eyes, it was clear he knew he looked good as well. Brian's mouth curved into an amused, serpentine smile. He knew the type. Hell, he was that type.

A couple of similarly dressed colleagues approached the young man and they chatted amicably. In the sudden presence of his astoundingly average friends, the boy now seemed to give off a light. The group laughed at an unheard joke and a tubby blond intern playfully jabbed Brian's streetside quarry in the ribs before they all adjourned to the emergency room entrance. With the eye candy now out of his sight, Brian shook himself out of the moment and barked a command at the driver to hurry along.

The limo drove several blocks away from Shannon and the hospital to a massive parking garage. Once inside, Brian hopped out and sauntered to another waiting vehicle, this one a nondescript midsize. Sid leaned against the hood chewing on a foul-smelling cigar. As soon as he saw Brian approach, he flicked the stub aside and straightened his posture.

"Good morning, Mr. Stone." Sid offered cheerfully.

"Sid." Brian replied shortly. "Here are your directions." He handed Sid a small piece of paper.

The limo driver and Sid exchanged looks.

"Mr. Stone?" the chauffeur leaned of his window. "When should I collect Ms.–"

Brian halted and heaved an exasperated sigh. "Whenever. In an hour or so. And tell her..." he searched for the appropriate excuse, "tell her I've gone to the venue and that I'll be back this evening."

"You don't want me to—"

"Do I have to repeat myself?" Brian snapped, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Where I go is my bloody business! I am the one who pays you, got that?"

"Yes, sir." The chauffeur removed himself from the scene without further inquiry or protest.

Brian walked past Sid, climbed into the new car and slammed the door. Sid quickly got in the driver's seat.

After a few blocks of uncomfortable silence, Sid finally spoke.

"Might I ask, Mr. Stone, why the change in transportation?"

"Is there a particular reason you'd like to know?"

"No, sir, I just—"

"Then don't ask."

But Sid wasn't a fool. He knew very well why any world famous personality would deliberately change from a luxury vehicle to a mud-brown sedan: to keep from being seen.

"Stop right here. And keep the windows up."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Stone."

Brian winced at the name. He had learned long ago to not let the bastardization of his name bother him; he had trained himself to think of it as just another stage name with no more meaning that Maxwell Demon or even Brian Slade. However, something about Sid's perfunctory, offhanded manner offended him. Sid was too polite, too helpful. Brian had learned long ago to be suspicious of help offered from behind Sid's brand of gleaming cheshire-grin.

Sid glared at the cigars on the seat next to him. No way he'd be able to partake in his morning habit while in such a closed space with the precious, pristine Mr. Stone. From behind his sunglasses Sid let slip an ugly smirk. Deep crow's feet pulled the leathery brown skin around his eyes. He really hated famous people, though he had been around them all his life. He shot another glance to the man in the back seat. His employer was a perfect physical contradiction to Sid in every way: slender and pale as if he were carved in porcelain, Brian gave off a faint white glow against the dingy brown and burnt sienna upholstery of the car.

What could he possibly be looking at, Sid mused. He regarded with interest the intense posture Brian had adopted since they parked, somewhere between a child waiting for the return of a lost puppy and a sniper anticipating his mark.

Just then, Brian stiffened, and all at once Sid could hear his breathing quicken. He watched and mentally recorded the events unfold with the casual scrutiny of the most seasoned voyeur. Whatever Brian was interested in, Sid would make his business. It was, after all, his job...or the way he made money at the very least.

The object of Brian's gaze quickly came into view. A blonde man of average height and build skipped down the steps of a well-kept brownstone. He flicked a cigarette onto the street and blew out a long plume of white smoke into the late morning air. He wore his hair in a loose ponytail and sported a form-fitting black long sleeve shirt.

Another musician. Sid scoffed to himself. But not just any musician, his business voice sauntered to the forefront of his mind, that must be Curt Wild. The Curt Wild, who sent lovely Shannon into a tailspin and threatened the our entire New York schedule...

Sid risked another glance at Brian, who was gripping the handle of his seat strongly enough to cause his knuckles to crack.

Interesting, Sid mused. Whatever is going on between them, it isn't friendly.

What the infinitely ignorant Sid did not pick up on, of course, is that the emotion freezing Brian's stare into the glass was not resentment, but desperation.

As soon as he appeared, Curt disappeared from view. Around the corner, into a cab, Brian couldn't see. He slumped back into his seat with all the energy of a balloon deflating.

An angry hotness quickly stung the back of his eyes. He wanted very badly to let it out, to ram his first into the seat in front of him and cry Curt right out of his system in track after track of round warm tears.

But now wasn't the time. Not here, not in front of one of Shannon's minions.

"Mr. Stone?"

Brian jerked over to shoot daggers at Sid. How dare he speak to him now, of all times. He had half a mind to order him out of the car. But when Brian looked up, he noticed another man coming from Curt's building...a tall, dark haired man dressed casually and carrying a thin briefcase.