Disclaimer: I had a dream and Dr K said I could write fanfic about RPM, does that count?
A/N: Second to last, somehow, it seems to work.
Ziggy hated his room. He'd not even had a chance to pick it; this was the room nobody else wanted. With Scott on one side, and the bathroom on the other, Ziggy rarely was able to pursue his own hobby. Oh, he could draw, paint, or even mess around with clay all he wanted, but the music moratorium emplaced by Scott made it hard for Ziggy to really let go and work.
It wasn't that Ziggy hated the music that Scott, Flynn and Dillon listened to constantly; in fact, he liked that music a lot. It was just, when he was working on a project; he turned to really old classics. His first real art teacher had adored Doris Day, among others, and had always had that sort of music playing. Que Sera Sera was an old favorite, as was Moon River. There was something about the grand music of the silver screen that just opened him up to so much more talent than he normally had.
As he perched on the stool he'd stolen from the kitchen, with the blank page before him on a make-shift easel, Ziggy wished that he would stop drawing the monsters they'd fought lately. Although Tanaya's image had been exceptional, some of the others were…disturbing. He ripped off another drawing of Tanaya, dropped the charcoal he'd been holding back into its case and flipped open his box of paints.
Foregoing the brushes, Ziggy used his fingers to begin, letting the image of Dr K fill his mind. He would do the final touches with a brush, but he'd long since felt a connection to his medium when he could feel it in his hands. After getting Dr K's lab coat roughed out, he began a second image, and in his mind eye, the picture took on a life of it own.
Dr K sat at her computer desk, with Dillon leaning over her shoulder to point at something on the screen. As Ziggy switched to brushes for greater detail, he noticed just how relaxed they looked, how natural. He knew that some people tended to ignore the obvious, but this image, a memory of Dillon and Doc going over the equations from the meet and greet, conveyed so much. But it also left so much unsaid.
Ziggy dropped his brush and ripped the painting off the pad of paper. It wasn't right, he thought as he balled it up. The relationship he saw between Doc and Dillon was so hard to capture. He glared at the wall between his room and Scott's, the one thing keeping him from actually reaching the inspiration he needed. Then he grabbed a black charcoal piece and began to draw with harsh, thick lines. In moments, he found himself again staring at Tanaya 7.
Ziggy dropped the charcoal in disgust and got up; clearly he'd find no artistic release tonight. After he pulled off the overly large smock he used when painting or drawing, Ziggy left his room and ducked into the bathroom to scrub the paint off his arms and charcoal from his fingers. He didn't want the others to know about this, his work was too personal to share. Maybe, if he could become sure that they wouldn't hurt or betray him, he'd show something, but for now, they'd have to deal with incompetent Ziggy, because he wasn't ready yet to let them see the most vulnerable part of himself.
Cleaned up, Ziggy stepped out of the bathroom and found Dillon waiting. He couldn't help it, he gave a mild glare towards the man who had awoken his muse and set him trembling with the need to capture something on paper, but wouldn't come clear enough to know just what.
"What?" Dillon asked, surprised.
"Nothing," Ziggy said, "hey, do you have any more of those lollipops? I want something sweet and Flynn said that if any more of his fruit went missing he'd make sure we had special training together."
Dillon raised an eyebrow before heading into the bathroom.
"Was that a yes?" Ziggy called through the door.
"Ziggy!" Scott said, leaning out his door, "go to bed. Now."
"Ok, ok," Ziggy muttered, "sheesh."