AN: This is where the story starts to deviate a LOT from the movie, just so it makes sense for the timeline. I combined Max and Grimsby into one character so things would be less confusing (and so Max could be human, too).

The back of our Spanish villa faced a quiet street laced with hanging branches and clumps of flowering trees. The loud noise I'd heard came from an old truck barrelling down the street, straight towards a young man with dark hair. His arms were full of canvas, and two paintbrushes were stuck behind his ears. He struggled to see around the paintings in his arms, and must have had earbuds in, for he didn't react to the frantic honking of the truck driver.

The moment I'd processed the situation, I scrambled over the side of the fence (slamming my knee into the top of one board) and rushed across the road. Years of swimming in a variety of weather had given me enough muscles to make it to the boy in seconds, just before the truck slammed into him. I barrelled into his side, slinging the both of us to the sidewalk. His paintings went flying onto the pavement, but his paintbrushes didn't make it and were smashed under the wheels of the swerving vehicle.

I roll off the stranger and lie spread-eagled on the sidewalk, breathing hard. He groaned and rubbed the back of his head as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, his black earbuds sliding down his white button-up.

He turned to me then, his gray-blue eyes widened and a dimple creasing his cheek beside a weak smile. "Thanks," He muttered, and a blush colored his neck for a moment. I mirrored his posture, propping myself up with locked arms. "Yenno, for saving me. That would have been pretty bad." I nodded sharply, unable to answer him (that is, if he'd even understood sign language) now that I saw how unearthly attractive he was. His eyes glittered with a mischievous glint, and his sculpted face was every artist's dream. My mouth dropped open of its own accord.

His look of gratitude turned to impishness and he pushed my jaw closed with his forefinger, laughing softly. "Careful there, miss, you'll catch flies." My face tingled with the force of my deep blush.

Hurried footsteps interrupted our one-sided conversation, luckily saving me from any more embarrassment. The boy and I looked up to a muscular man with obviously dyed silvery white hair streaked with strands of darker gray and black. His chest strained against the fabric of his dark band t-shirt. "Eric!" He growled, stopping a foot away and hunching over to clutch at his knees. "Oh, Eric, you scoundrel." I was slightly surprised by the slight British accent he had. "You really delight in these sadistic strains on my blood pressure, don't you?"

Eric laughed, cocking his head to the side. "Hello, Max. What a friend you are, hm? While you were busy flirting with the waitress, I nearly got flattened. Little miss here had to save me." He inclined his head towards me.

Max held out an arm and helped Eric to his feet, who in turn pulled me up onto mine. "Thank you for saving the helpless maid, dear stranger."

I smiled shyly, unsure of how to respond to him. Eric rolled his eyes and nudged me with his elbow. "Thespians, eh?" He paused and looked me up and down."You look familiar…" He mused, tapping his chin with one long finger. "Do you attend SCAD?"

Before I had a chance to respond, Max glanced down at his watch and yelped. "We're late! Quick, Eric, gather your things; Clary's going to kill us if we're late again." He started snatching Eric's paintings off the sidewalk, jabbering to himself. "I swear, one of these days… can't keep being the one… hardly even feed himself…"

Eric grinned apologetically at me, his cheeks creasing with deep dimples, and ran a hand through his thick black hair. "I really do appreciate you helping me back there, yenno. Is there anything I can do to repay you? I haven't got much money, but maybe…" He reached for his pocket and I shook my head violently, speaking with my hands.

I don't need your money. I shrugged and held my hands flat in front of me before continuing. I'm fine, really.

Eric gave me a long, curious stare. "Do you- I mean to say, are you-" I nodded and tapped my throat, something easier to comprehend than the sign for mute (usually, pushing my fist towards my lips failed to get the point across). "Ah. I see." He looked taken aback for less than a second. "Perhaps it's odd of me to ask, but would you like to come with us?"

Max paused and raised his eyebrows at his friend.

I was similarly stunned, and more than a little worried by the statement.

Eric laughed. "We're going to a cafe just down the road. It's a bit of a walk, I suppose, but there are going to be a lot of students there, most of whom are exhibiting a piece or two of their work. Clary's cool about letting us sell there without asking for a piece of the profit. Max is normally my only companion, but…"

He trailed off and appeared slightly uncomfortable by himself. I froze up for only a moment, long enough to glance back at the house, then nodded slowly. I'd like that. He couldn't understand me, but I hoped he'd get the idea.

"Great! We, uh… hold on…" He picked up the last two canvases and hoisted them into his arms, positioning them more carefully than before so they didn't block his vision. Max stood up with three others wrapped in his massive hands. "Sorry, where was I?" We began walking down the sidewalk, Max marching just slightly ahead. Eric was an exuberant talker; with every word, he'd shift his grip on the paintings like he wanted to wave his hands around. "Oh, right. Clary's Cafe. Well, technically it's her husband's, but he named it after her and now that he's got cancer she basically runs it herself. Am I talking too much? I'm sorry. I blabber when I'm nervous. Not that you make me nervous or anything, but- nevermind. What do you like to do?" I anticipated the awkward pause after his question- there always was one when someone who didn't know sign language asked me a direct question- but I mimed playing a violin before he grew any more uncomfortable and retracted his invitation. "Oh, you're a musician? That's cool. I dabble in the clarinet, but I'm not any good. I can play Hot Cross Buns though."

I laughed, the motion as silent as it had been for almost ten years. Eric must have noticed and thought it was amusing, because he chuckled too, his laugh loud and booming. It was a genuine belly laugh, and just odd enough that I had to hold back tears of mirth.