The Girl from the Bus
Chapter Seven

The music piece accompanying this chapter is Claude Debussy – Violin Sonata in G minor (youtube com (slash) watch?v=9vBu96yn-cA )

A/N:The fragment about Skye that I'm sure you'll recognize, was written by Monica Owusu-Breen & Jed Whedon – screen writers of Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (Episode 1x12 "Seeds") *

On the day of the performance they met at Melinda's early in the morning. She rented a van that was supposed to take them to a hotel in Boston. The reception was planned to begin at eighteen hundred hours so they had more than enough time to get there, prepare themselves and even do one more rehearsal.

They had gone over the plan for the whole party with Steve Rogers two days earlier. Phil Coulson was still in the dark about Melinda's gift to him, and especially about Skye – he only knew that she was going to play a few pieces of classical music with a group of people he didn't know.

Grant left his hotel room – cleanly shaven, dressed in a rented tux, violin in hand – five minutes before five. Melinda requested them to be present at seventeen hundred hours, to quickly run through all pieces and smooth out last kinks and Grant wouldn't be late. In the lift he ran into Skye. She looked gorgeous, in a knee-long red dress, with her wavy hair pinned on one side, in full make up.

"I feel ridiculous," she said. "This is so not my style."

"You beautiful," Grant signed.

"Yeah. I'm supposed to say thank you. So. Thank you." She bowed, half mocking, half really, really scared.

"You know Coulson, how?" Grant asked to turn her attention away from the performance itself, onto something that might still not be seen as totally out of left field.

"I haven't told you that? Oh, I guess I talked to the rest of the gang when we first met. You were a little... Inattentive. Sorry. Yeah, we met on the bus from Boston to Hubbard. I kind of learned where I came from that day and I decided to start a new life in some random town. Was silly enough to mistake interstate bus station with in-state bus station, can you believe that? The first bus was going to Hubbard and I boarded it, sat next to PC and... well... Poured my heart out to him, basically. When I first learned from Melinda that he'd turned it into a book, I was sort of pissed, but I knew his other books, so... Didn't know it was him when I talked to him, mind you. Only realized that when Melinda told me. 'Heart of Iron' and 'The Cavalry' are pretty kick-ass, so my being mad was short-lived. I'm in a good company, no?" She chuckled.

Grant could understand the sentiment.

"Here's the ballroom," Skye announced and Grant read it as a change of subject.

Melinda was already there, commandeering two bulky men to move the grand piano "over there. No, a little to the left. Left, I said!" She was a small woman, now dressed in a long, slim, simmering white dress that made her look delicate, like a porcelain figure, but she emanated such imperious air – as usual – that the two bulky men did as she told them without protest.

Then they brought Melinda's bass and while she stood before the scene, hands on her hips, and dictated its exact placement, Antoine, Leo and Jemma joined Grant and Skye. The two men wore tuxedos, like Grant, and Jemma wore emerald dress with golden embroidery, which enhanced the hazel color of her eyes.

Together, they made quite a stunning gang.

"Alright, quick." Melinda was finally satisfied with the placement of all the instruments and the chairs and wanted them to play 'Sky' first. Once they finished, the frown on her face deepened.

Everything was just like back home, Skye played her best – she didn't follow the lead of the violins, contradicted every phrase, only respected one set of rules – her own. That's how it was in the sheets. Bass and the cellos supported violins and both violins – Antoine's in the lead, like Melinda had wanted – performed impeccably. Nonetheless, the composer was not satisfied.

"Something's missing," she commented.

"You're being too much of a perfectionist again," Antoine rebuked her. "People will love it, I'm telling you. No one will notice this elusive something. Your friend will be enchanted."

"I will notice," Melinda sneered. "No matter. It's too late to change anything now. Skye, go to the room backstage. Grant, you may stay in the ballroom if you want. The rest of you, let's begin with Grieg."

As previously agreed with Steve Rogers, Skye was supposed to stay in hiding for the whole reception and only come out at the final moment, when, after the reading of a fragment of the novel, they would play Melinda's gift to Phil. Skye herself was supposed to be a part of the surprise. She wasn't very happy about it.

"You won't be able to taste any refreshments. And they are going to have truly savory refreshments at Hilton," Jemma had sympathized two days ago, when they had been adjusting the details, and Skye had rolled her eyes. It was so not about that.

Besides...

"We are not going to forget about you," Steve had promised. Grant was beginning to suspect he was the original of Chris from 'Man with a Shield'.

He did good on his promise, as backstage room Skye was sent to was endowed with all kinds of petite sandwiches, fruits and snacks, sodas, lemonades and a few bottles of wine and champagne, just like the main ballroom.

"I wait with," Grant signed. "You mind? No?"

"Of course not, silly. You want?..." She looked around, pointed at the bottle of wine.

"Alcohol? No."

"Yeah, you're probably right. After the party then. Here, have some juice."

Fifteen minutes before the reception Steve informed Melinda that first guests arrived in the foyer, so she joined them back stage, leaving Antoine and cello twins to doodle some quiet background. Shubert's Trio provided neutral intro, just like Melinda wanted. Of course Jemma had to play viola but the only one who complained about it incessantly was Leo. The allegro was about ten minutes long and after that they switched to first movement from Grieg's Quartet transcribed for three string instruments. Melinda agreed for Grant to play 'Sky' with them, but she cut back his role significantly. Apart from reducing him to second violin, she requested that he didn't come out prior, so, over the past month, Antoine practiced first violin in Grieg and Jemma and Leo were more than enough to compensate for the lack of the second violin. Grant didn't protest, in fact he agreed that this was the best for everyone involved. The last piece was a shorter allegro from Ravel's sonata for violin and cello played by violin and two cellos.

While the three of them played, Grant sat on the couch in the back room and Melinda walked back and forth its length. Skye stood in the slightly ajar door and gaped at the gathering guests. She informed them of each new arrival, at least those she knew and, well, it was many. She grew up in Boston after all, so recognizing the Mayor and his wife was not such a stretch. Most guests were of course connected with publishing market in one way or another – editors, other writers, and most importantly critics. But, because of the character and theme of the novel, Phil also invited some people from the Philharmonic circles. Skye recognized the director of the Conservatory, the director of the Philharmonic and, to her and Grant's utter surprise, director Fury from Hubbard Community Orchestra.

"He's a friend with Boston Philharmonic director and, well, he was a candidate for the position himself." She paused, sighed and shook her head. "People always said that it was because he got into some fight, lost his eye and lost the chance for leading one of the most famous orchestras in the world," she said bitterly. "But it's not true." She turned to Melinda and Grant. "Fury didn't get this job simply because he's black," she informed them in a conspiratory whisper, then frowned. "Why are looking at me like this? Jemma told me."

"We knew that," Melinda answered quietly. Of course they did. Officially no one spoke about it out loud but if one wanted to know, they knew.

"Oh..." Skye pursed her lips. Then she nodded. "Good."

She turned red under her makeup, probably embarrassed that she'd believed in a racist rumor for so long. She was young though, had only ventured into the world of professional musicians less than a year ago. She had no reason to beat herself over not knowing the backdoor secrets of the big leagues. It's not like any of them could do anything about it anyway.

Steve, coming up onto the stage, made them turn their attention back toward the theme of the evening. He interrupted the Ravel, Antoine stopped playing and the two cellos followed suit.

"May I have everyone's attention, please?" The conversations died down and the people turned to the speaker. Even Grant stood up and looked above Skye's head, through the crack in the door, at the assembly. "As all of you well know, we meet here to celebrate the success of our great friend Phil Coulson. The publishing of his new novel, 'The Girl from the Bus'. Yes, I do not hesitate to call the mere fact of publishing this novel a success, before it even hits the bookstores, before it wins awards. It's a personal success. It's been five long years since Phil last published something, so breaking that spell – yes, it is a big deal.

I have to state here that I never doubted that he would return." Steve added in a secretive manner and was rewarded with a few chuckles and some clapping.

"Thank you. The theme of this assembly is music and it's not without a reason. The story Phil wrote is a story of a young musician, a pianist, who moved to a new town – rode there on the bus, hence the title – with nothing but a book of note-sheets in her pack and dreams in her head. It wasn't easy, she encountered obstacles, difficulties on the road, but she never, ever gave up. And she reminded Phil about his dreams, at least that's how he describes it. Welcome, Phil Coulson!"

The announcement was met with louder ovations. Skye tried to be discreet with wiping her eyes and Grant pretended he didn't see anything. At least he was the only one who could. Phil came up onto the stage and Grant thought the writer was not what he'd imagined. Not very tall, balding man in his mid fifties, dressed in plain gray suit, he looked like an accountant. The way he spoke was well-mannered and polite.

"Yes, indeed, she helped me dream again, Steve." He smiled at everyone present. Grant could only see his profile from where he hid, along with Skye, but Phil's face seemed to be very kind and, well, also very polite. "Thank you for this introduction and thank you to everyone for coming. As most of you know, five years ago my life changed drastically. I had a heart attack and it was severe enough that I died. Yes, died. It was only for about eight seconds, but what people say about the other side experience... Well, for a very long time after my brush with death, I wasn't sure I returned whole. I couldn't write and what Steve said is true, I thought I never would again.

"It's strange and perhaps difficult to understand for someone who had never been through anything like this, but when you have such a traumatic experience, you become scared to live again. You are alive but you are not really living, almost as if you were half here and half over there, dead. It's not a good way to live." Grant, even though he still stood in the backstage room, behind Skye, felt as if Phil Coulson was speaking those words directly to him. You can't live like this. It is not life.

"But then I met this girl," Phil continued, "while riding on the bus from Boston to Haggard and she told me her life story. She told me about her dreams and her ambitions. She told me about all the obstacles she faced and how she surmounted each of them. She told me she didn't share easily but that sharing with me made her feel safe. There is no more beautiful gift than that." Phil patted his sides. He tried to do it discretely and didn't quite succeed. "I don't know her name. She only introduced herself with a nickname. I'll probably never meet her again, but maybe she will one day recognize herself in this story. Or maybe other young people will recognize themselves... maybe older people, like me, will too." He thrust his hand into his pocket and moved it in a frantic search for some item that must have hid in there. "This is a story about hope, about belief in the future, about faith that nothing is ever lost, nothing is ever over. I hope that you will find that belief for yourselves in it too."

"She was a pianist, Phil, wasn't she?" Steve came to the microphone again, perhaps recognizing that something made his friend uncomfortable.

"Yes, yes she was," Phil replied, fighting with a pocket of his suit, head bowed.

"What are you doing, Phil?"

"It's nothing. She was..." Phil sniffed loudly.

"You are not crying, are you?"

"I'm trying not to." He pulled his hand finally, with a tissue in it and with a victorious smile wiped his nose and eyes. "Sorry about that. Just hear me out, Steve. She was a pianist. And even though I changed a lot of things for the book, her name, all the places, even the events of her life, anything that could be recognizable – I felt bad for using her story without her permission, without her even knowing about it, you understand? – I didn't change the instrument. I thought about it, I thought about changing her profession entirely, but music, piano music, was so important to her, I decided to leave it just as in the real world."

"Yes. Thank you for sharing that, Phil. Are you calm now? You okay? Good. Well, then, Phil, one of your closest friends is a musician, right?" He signaled a cue for Melinda to come up onto the stage and she gently moved Skye out of the way, to exit the backstage room. "Yes. Well, she is as happy that you returned to writing as the rest of us, and to express that happiness, she's going to play for you now, on a piano. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome Melinda May. Oh, great, now you're crying again."

Ovations were loud and heartfelt and Grant could see a few people wiping their eyes. Melinda, as she hugged Phil on the stage, didn't even try to hide her tears and Skye...

"Oh, my God, I had no idea I could have such an influence on someone." She sniffed and walked to her purse to take out a tissue. "Gosh, how am I going to come out and play now?"

Grant touched her arm and when she turned, he signed that she was going to do great. Didn't come up with anything more constructive. Jemma and Leo came into the room as well, leaving Antoine to play Debussy with Melinda. It didn't take longer than for Leo to say, "Well, that was lovely," and both girls were hugging, sobbing and whining that their make ups were getting messed up, then crying some more.

When Melinda and Antoine finished playing Jemma started to panic that she wasn't ready but fortunately now was the time for Phil's publisher, Thomas Odinson to say a few words and then Phil's childhood friend Anthony Stark, now a known philanthropist and owner of 'Stark & Potts' education company introduced himself, apologized for interrupting and proceeded to tell anecdotes from Phil's life.

"It was Phil who introduced Mr. Stark and his partner Ms Potts," Jemma said knowingly, while re-applying mascara. "And rumor has it that she's not only his partner in business."

"You know, how?" Grant signed and Skye interpreted it very eloquently, "How do you know all that stuff anyway? It's like you dig out shit on everybody."

"What is wrong in a love story?" Jemma asked, indignant. "I think they make a beautiful couple. Much like Phil Coulson and our Melinda would. And they had once been a couple, except shit happened." She gave them a look that meant she knew the reason for that, too. "I must go."

Steve told the guests to enjoy their wine and refreshments, while Jemma played violin in Melinda's trio with Leo and Melinda herself. Skye sat in front of the mirror, trying to recreate her makeup and Antoine stayed in the ballroom, mixing in with the crowds. Grant realized his palms were sweating.

He had no reason to be nervous. Like he had told Melinda, playing music for the audience had never been a problem for him. True, he had only performed with an orchestra before and orchestra consisted of many instrumentalists, too many to notice one individual. Chamber music was different in that regard. It would be six of them playing the grand finale tonight, so each of them might be recognized. He didn't believe he worried about that though. He didn't mean anything in this assembly, he was aware of that – Phil Coulson was the most important person here. If anyone, it was Melinda who would be the center of attention, because it was her idea, her gift to Phil, her composition. And then, it was about Skye. If the rumor mill worked, or if Phil recognized her – and he most likely would – she'd be the one everyone would focus on.

So Grant didn't matter enough to warrant such nervousness right now, at least that's what he told himself.

And then he thought that he actually wanted to matter. That he needed to be important, that he took this assignment to prove that he was still alive. Only if he put all his heart and soul into this performance, if he did something absolutely brilliant, if he made the audience notice him, despite there being more important members of the sextet – only then his life would become more than barely surviving. The truth was, he needed this recital more than Skye, more than Melinda, more than Phil Coulson. This could be the moment he would truly be saved.

It was stupid and dangerous to think this way but he had no way of convincing himself otherwise now. Not after what he'd heard Phil say earlier. After a traumatic experience like this, you become scared to live again. It's like you're half here and half over there. Grant knew that part of him was still locked up in that cabin in the woods, all alone and terrified.

"May I have everyone's attention, please?" Steve came up on the stage again. "Right now we would like you all to take your seats and give all of your attention to what you're about to listen to. Phil will read an excerpt from his new novel, 'The Girl from the Bus'. I hope this small fragment will remind some of you what an outstanding writer Phil is, how he can pull at the strings of our hearts, how he can make us feel and weep and love. And those of you who do not know his writing yet, I hope you will understand why the rest of us feel so strongly about him. Phil, would you please?"

"I thought you were to request an actor to read it?" Phil almost tripped over the microphone cord. He put on his glasses. "I can't really... What? Wasn't it supposed to be a different fragment, this..."

"Phil, just read it."

People begun clapping, Phil turned red and Grant felt as if his heart was about to jump out of his chest. That was the moment. During Phil's read, Skye was supposed to come out to the stage and begin playing. Solo first and only the basic melody. Phil was with his back to the stage, he wouldn't see her at first. Once he'd have finished, they would all come out as well and they would play 'Sky'.

And now Grant didn't know if he could do it. If he could play it with enough emotion, with enough commitment. He'd learned to keep his feelings in check, so they would not overwhelm him. Playing in an orchestra also required a certain level of restraint, so he knew how to control himself. What he didn't know, was what would happen if he lost control. If he let his true feelings speak. And only by doing that, he could achieve true maestry. Only by shooting right through people's hearts he would make them cry and laugh and hope and grow. To do that, he had to open his heart first though and that prospect made his head spin.

Of course, he might simply play 'Sky' the way he always had, without taking risks.

They were ready to go out. Violin in hand, Grant didn't have his writing pad with him and Skye, the only one who understood sign was at the door, counting second till she would walk out, Melinda right at her side. They were both nervous too. Grant needed them to know he was... he might not be able to do it. He touched the arm of the person who stood the nearest, Jemma. She turned to him with an excited smile on her face and furrowed her brow at the sight of his.

How was he supposed to...

"S... scared," he whispered.

She grabbed his palm in hers and tears shone in her eyes. "I know," she whispered back. She didn't let go. She held his hand through Phil's reading, and later, through Skye's first notes, while they were walking onto the stage. Slowly Grant's breathing evened out, his heart slowed, his mind begun to think clear.

"That's the thing about Sunny," Phil read while Skye, very quietly, approached the piano. "What she learned about the death of her parents shattered her world. Her life long search led to stories of murder and now it was too difficult to continue. Her search was over, her story ended here. Should have ended right here. But she said, no, her story started here." Over those words, Skye begun to play, piano, pianissimo. Phil glanced behind his back, but Steve urged him to continue reading and he turned to the book again, although it was evident that he was thrown off. "All her life," his voice shook more than earlier, "she'd thought she hadn't been wanted, that she didn't belong, that every family that took her in didn't want her to stay, didn't care. But all that time, it had been the Marshals protecting her, looking after her. That's what she took away from the story. Not the family she'd never have, but the one she always had. Here the Marshal, the old, world-weary officer, was telling her something that could destroy her faith in humanity, and somehow she managed to repair a little piece of his." It was time for all of them to walk out. Jemma kept holding Grant's hand and the final words of this fragment tore into Grant's heart, made him bleed and made him strong. "The world was full of evil and lies and pain and death, and you couldn't hide from it. You could only face it. The question was, when you did, how did you respond? Who would you become?" )*

Phil closed the book. Steve was out of the stage and this time he didn't make any announcement. Melinda joined Skye adding the very disturbing rhythm to her piano melody.

Antoine came before Grant and took the second chair, leaving the first violin position for him to take. "This seat belongs to you and you know this piece inside out," he whispered at Grant's questioning look. "You could play it backwards. Just do it."

When Phil walked down from the stage, it was obvious from the moment he laid his eyes on the pianist, that he recognized her. He held the book to his heart and watched her, tears streaming down his face.

Grant watched him and understood what the notes he was supposed to play were about. It was recognition, meeting someone you longed to meet all your life. It was missing someone and then finding them, it was about life long search that led to finding something else entirely, than what you expected.

He played. He knew he could. He had that longing in his heart, not specified, he couldn't tell if what he longed for was a person, or was it music, or maybe it was wiping out some memories, or maybe it was himself, but half of his life, he was missing something. Now, maybe, he was beginning to discover it all over again.

Once his violin teacher had told him that playing music was not about hitting the perfect notes every time. That what actually mattered was playing with emotion. That if you had to cry while playing, this was what you had to do. Make the pain searing, make the joy elating.

He could do that, his teacher had said. That's why he had been considered a prodigy.

He thought about the girl, the one who sat at the piano right now and stared straight at him with a smile that could repair the world. He didn't know her true story but from that little fragment Phil had just read, and it opened his eyes. If she could believe that every experience brought on something good, then so could he. He thought about Jemma's warm hand, about Leo's quiet and Antoine's boisterous laugh. About Melinda's silent strength and the depth of her connection with Phil.

When he glanced at Phil he saw that right now, the writer was glaring at him with something in his eyes that looked like hunger and knowledge and connection.

And he played. He played for Phil, who, for so many years, didn't believe that he could start over. That once on the other side, he'd never returned whole. He played with a question – could you? Did you? Would you show me how?

He played with all the emotions he had never allowed himself to fully express, the fear, the longing, the dependence and sick love for the person who, in reality, never gave him anything. He had loved John Garrett, it was the sad truth he felt ashamed to admit. Early on he had missed his kidnapper so much it hurt, but no one believed him. No one wanted to listen to him say that. They had taught him to hate Garrett and oh, how he hated that bastard now. How he hated his shattered life and all the lost dreams. Sometimes he even hated himself. He played that hate too and only then realized that the rest of his team was silent, he was left alone on a high "g" and he didn't know what to do.

Skye gave him a hand, she gave him an accord and a passage he could use to slowly climb down. Jemma provided a support, in perfect unisono with Leo and Antoine, with Melinda's strong low notes served as the flooring, the foundation he could safely land upon.

He survived. Now he could start to live again.

He couldn't hear the ovation. He was so numb with his wet cheeks and pounding heart and running nose and he was a mess. Then they were all around him and led him out of the ballroom and to the quiet room backstage and they were saying things and he just shook his head. He clasped someone's hand in his and waited until his breath quieted down, until he was able to speak.

"Thank you," he told them all.

t.b.c.

A/N: Just an epilogue left. If like the story... I hope you will tell me. :)