Author's Note: Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year if I forget later on.

Author's Note 2: Just a quick thank-you to everyone who's been reading so far. I know it's dragging a bit to a black hole but I promise you it will pick up again. I just need to set the atmosphere. And character development. And plot details. Oh well, let's wait and see.

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"It's nice to see you again, Arthur."

His mother always did call him by his full name. Even his father. "It's good to see you too," he said. And then he gave in to temptation- "How's Dad?"

"Fine. He's fine." It was too quick. Too easy.

But Arthur wasn't going to ask for more on that topic. It was off-limits. His dad hadn't ever wanted to talk to him the few times he called back home. Only his mum. And Arthur suspected she only spoke to him because she hoped desperately he would turn around one day and just be the little boy she'd been so proud of.

But he fucked men. Or did sometimes, at any rate. Not that he made a habit of it. But a few times. And she couldn't accept that. It was wrong! It was sinful! It was… oh, it was a score of things and moreover it made him a pansy, never mind that he liked girls quite as much as he liked men and at least he'd never gone out of his way to publicize his sexuality like so many of his kind did.

"Arthur?" His mother patted his arm awkwardly, "Arthur?"

"Hm? Yeah. Sorry. What were you saying?"

"I was asking about your work," she repeated.

"Oh. Work's good," he said. What else could he say? Work was fine. It was work. "I'm doin' a piece on Stone, now."

"You told me. Will it be a long article?"

"Yeah. For one of the weekender issues," Arthur explained, "Interview, photographs, everything."

"How nice of Mr. Stone to agree," she said innocently, thawing enough to smile fondly at her son, "There must be so much to write."

"Quite a bit." And Arthur wasn't even going to think of everything that he wasn't putting down, all the secrets that no one else knew about the rock star that he did. "He's got that show and then the TV appearance."

"Yes, his manager was telling me. So kind of him to insist on having dinner with us in the middle of everything."

"Yeah."

The silence descended again. Arthur wished he had taken Stone up on the offer to wait backstage at Casey's. Anything was better than these uncomfortable silences.

"Arthur, are you happy?"

That, he was certainly not expecting! He blinked a few times, trying to decide whether he had heard it right or was just imaging things. Imagining his mother's voice. Only, if he were to imagine it, he wouldn't make it sound so hopeless, would he? No, he'd imagine that she was her usual cheerful self, mincing along like most middle-class women of her type, twittering and matronly and oh, so very welcoming. Nothing like this grey woman sitting with him.

She seemed to realize how absurd it was herself, because she shook her head and waved it away. "Never mind," she said quickly, "I were thinking aloud."

"It's okay," he said, smiling a little for her, "Everything's… alright."

It sounded like a reassurance. That he wouldn't walk away again, at least.

"How's the family?" he asked.

"Aunt Maud had an operation last year," his mum said, "For the pain in her middle. Very frail, she's become. Her Geoff took her to live with him and Claire."

"Claire?"

"Ah." She adopted a very measured tone. "He got married a few months ago. A lovely wedding, it really was."

Arthur was thinking. "Claire Watts?"

"Yes."

"Claire Watts married Geoff." Arthur smiled to himself, twisting away a little so his mother couldn't see the bitterness in his face. "How long did they, er…"

"I don't know. But they were engaged for two years. Geoff didn't want to marry until he got his promotion and he- he does very well now."

"I bet he does."

"Arthur, don't be cruel. You never called her! And Geoff was there and she likes him. He's good to her."

"You mean he's not a fag."

"Arthur!"

"Sorry."

The poor woman twisted her handkerchief in her lap, openly awkward and on the verge of running away from it all.

Arthur felt it himself. Nothing had changed! The only reason his mum was anywhere in his vicinity was because she wanted to meet Tommy Stone. She hadn't had the time of day for him until he'd mentioned that. Well, she could meet him. She could get his autograph if she was lucky. And then she could go home.

And he wouldn't call her again.

Claire Watts! Good God!

"Mr. Stewart?" Shannon poked her head around the door and smiled thinly in apology for interrupting the uncomfortable silence. "We have something to discuss."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course." He got up and followed her out.

Shannon made sure to shut the door properly behind his back. And then she flipped her hair over her shoulder and fixed a cold blue-eyed gaze on him. Black and white suit with matching earrings and black pumps to complete the ensemble. She looked like a businesswoman and a powerful one to boot. Nothing at all to do with the sordid realities of her job as nursemaid.

"About your room, Mr. Stewart," she said crisply, "There's been a change of plans. Your things have been moved to Room 103 for the duration of this trip. Mr. Stone needs his space to prepare for tomorrow's performance."

Arthur flushed a little. He worked with reporters. And he had worked with musicians. He knew enough about both worlds to have a little inkling of what was going on. "Fine," he snapped, snatching the key away, "I'm going for a walk."

Shannon looked confused. "Mr. Stewart, your mother?"

"Can go to hell," he said bracingly.

The blond blinked a little in surprise, icy determination gone as she tried to process that thought.

Arthur walked. For a long time. Until his head began to settle. Until he didn't feel he was choking on the knot in his throat.

Everywhere else people were having a good time, either on their way to somewhere warm or coming back from somewhere warm. The snow was fresh- as fresh as it got in big cities- and children kicked it up as they whined that they wanted to go home because they were cold and tired.

He passed an electronics store with televisions in the window and Tommy Stone was there, chatting amicably about something.

Arthur couldn't hear a word, but he stood still in the snow and he watched.

A boy stood beside him and when Arthur glanced at him from the corner of his eye, the boy shifted and almost walked away, lifting his chin in a desperate attempt to appear unconcerned.

"He's a good singer," the boy said unexpectedly.

"I haven't heard him."

The boy looked at him as though he were crazy. As though he was some sort of lizard that had crawled out from under a rock for the first time.

"But he's so famous," the boy protested, "Everyone likes him."

Arthur thought of Brian Slade. Not everyone had liked Slade. Now even his mum loved Tommy Stone. Two different people; one person. "I heard him sing 'Veronica'," he offered.

The boy grinned sheepishly. "That's one of his best. You should listen to his others."

Arthur nodded and he left the boy to stare haplessly at the soundless television screens. He really needed a drink.

He wandered around a bit more, hailed a taxi, and got into it.

Ray wasn't particularly unhappy to see him, even if he did have company. But the solemn-faced woman sitting in the shabby apartment was introduced as a friend in the kind of off-hand manner that said the relationship was casual at best and more of a working partnership at worst.

Ray got rid of her pretty quick.

Arthur took her vacated seat and looked up to find a glass of neat whiskey hovering before his nose.

"Your favourite," the guitarist said, "Can't stand the stuff myself but I still keep a bit."

"For the bad times?"

"For the bad times."

Arthur accepted it and Ray sat down next to him, throwing a casual arm around his shoulders and settling in quite comfortably at such close quarters.