'And now they want to make a record. Bog thinks I can sell copies while they play. So what do think? Can you help?' Marianne hadn't really paused for breath during her story, and now she looked at her father expectantly, bouncing slightly in the visitor's chair in his office.

Bob Faye leaned back in his chair, scratching his beard thoughtfully. 'I think I can arrange something. We'll probably have to set up in the church. I don't think there's any place else that would be suitable.' He smiled at his daughter. 'I must say, Marianne, this is the happiest I've seen you since Dawn left.'

Marianne shifted uncomfortably, drawing her legs up and folding them under her. 'I'm happy. She wanted to be a movie star, and that scholarship grandmother gave her was like a dream come true.'

'That doesn't mean you don't miss her.'

'I do miss her. But I'm sure she's having the time of her life in California. And I've got lots to keep me busy here.'

'Well, I'm glad you're so supportive of your sister. And Roland, too. It's so romantic, the way he includes you in his music.'

She smiled goofily. 'Yeah, romantic.' Her smile dimmed when she recalled the conversation she'd overheard in the restroom, but she shook off her unease. 'So, can I tell the guys you're in?'

'I'm in. I can just imagine the look on some of our members' faces, though. A rock band! In church!'

She laughed. 'Yeah, Dad. What's next, electric guitars as part of the service?'

'The scandal!'

'Angus. Angus. Angus! BOG!'

Bog, who had been absently working out the drum part for their new song with a pair of pens for drumsticks, jumped and turn to face his grandfather. Harry stood glaring at him, arms crossed, right index finger tapping rhythmically against his left arm.

'If you're finished vandalizing my desk, we have a store full of appliances out there, and they're not going to sell themselves. You can be the little drummer boy on your own time.' He stared at Bog until the younger man stuck the pens back in their holder.

'Aye, aye, sir.' Bog straightened the collar of his turtleneck and moved into the showroom. He resisted the urge to salute Harry as he went past. He had a feeling such a gesture would not be well received.

Harry followed, finger still tapping. 'I give you a roof over your head and a job, Angus. I don't ask much in return. But I do expect you to be attentive to our customers when you work in my store.'

Bog's gaze drifted around the store, lingering on the sole other occupant, a man who, for the last half hour or so, appeared to be absorbed in watching some puppet science fiction programme on one of the televisions. Bog had the feeling that if he interrupted for any reason other than offering refreshments (would you care for some popcorn and a soda, sir?), the man would leave in an insulted huff.

He turned back to Harry and nodded seriously. 'Aye, sir. Ah will do mah best t'meet the needs o' our many devoted customers.'

Harry's eyes narrowed, trying to determine if Bog was being sarcastic or not. Bog concentrated on looking bland and innocent. Certain that Bog was mocking him but unable to prove it, Harry gave a frustrated grunt and stalked back to his desk.

Bog grinned to himself, clasped his hands behind his back, and began to pace up and down the store like a captain on the deck of his ship.

The rest of the day moved slowly. He helped the man, Wilmer, adjust the antenna on the TV when the reception became spotty. He told Bog his set at home was broken, and he didn't want to miss his show. Apparently, Wilmer was a devoted follower of Fireball XL5. They discussed the merits of science fiction versus fantasy, and swapped favourite authors.

Later, Bog demonstrated how to hook up a dish washing machine to the faucet on their kitchen sink display for a couple of housewives. Unfortunately, the directions were a little hard to follow, and it took several tries before the fixture would stay in place. Bog could feel Harry glaring at him from the back, and could practically hear his grandfather's finger tapping over his nervous sales pitch. Neither woman bought an appliance.

Even though Harry knew Bog had a practice that evening, he left the store early, instructing Bog to lock up. Fortunately, Griselda showed up a few minutes later.

'Don't worry, Bog. I'll close up. You need to get to practice.'

He bent down to give her a hug. 'Willnae Harry be mad?' It was one thing for Harry to take his temper out on Bog, but there was no way he'd let his grandfather vent his spleen on Griselda.

She reached up and pinched his cheek. 'Pfft. Don't worry about that. Dad's really a big softy, and I'm his favourite daughter.'

Bog straightened so that she could no longer reach his cheek. 'Yer his only daughter. Yer his only kid, fer that matter.'

'Anyway, all I need to do is turn off the lights – and I actually remember to turn off the lights, unlike some people I could mention–'

'One time. Ah fergot ta turn them off one time.'

'-and lock the doors. Easy peasy. Now, go make your mother proud. Girls just love musicians.'

'Mom. Ah'm nae playin' drums ta get a girlfriend. Ah already have a girlfriend, remember?'

'Pfft. That girl doesn't appreciate you. She hasn't even come to any of your performances.'

He hunched his shoulders defensively. 'She came ta the first one. An' it's nae her fault. She cannae help that she has a toothache. It's nae like anyone wants to go the dentist.'

'Pfft. You haven't seen the new dentist, have you?' she muttered.

Bog wiped his eye. 'Mom, can ye please stop goin' pfft? Ah dinnae need another shower t'day.' He thought about the rest of her statement. 'An' what does the new dentist have to do wi' anythin', anyway?'

She shook her head. 'Never mind. You'll find out on your own. And sooner rather than later, I bet. Now shoo! Go make your mother proud!'

'Ah'm goin', Ah'm goin'!' He swooped down and pecked her on her cheek. 'Thanks, Mom!'

The roar of an engine made Marianne look up from her book in time to see Bog pull up outside Sunny's garage. She dropped her book on the couch and walked over to get a better look, letting out an appreciative whistle.

'Nice wheels, Mr. King!'

He pulled off his helmet, hanging it on the handlebar. Swinging his leg over the bike, he stood up and gave her a little bow. 'Thank'ee kindly, Miss Faye.'

'1960 Triumph Bonneville TR7/A, right?'

He blinked at her in surprise. 'Aye. Ye know motorcycles?'

She grinned at him as she circled the bike. 'I love motorcycles! I'd kill for one of my own, but it doesn't project the right image for the preacher's kid to go flying down the highway on a motorbike. Especially if the preacher's kid is a girl. Very unladylike.' She squatted next to the bike, inspecting the frame. 'I heard they cleared up a lot of the handling issues in the '60 model.'

'Aye, although Ah needed t'stabilize the backbone an' steerin' head. They're prone t'crackin'.'

'You work on your bike yourself?' That was impressive. Was there anything he couldn't do?

'Aye. Ah like tinkerin'. An' besides – it's cheaper than payin' someone else ta do it fer me.'

She elbowed him gently. 'Yeah, 'cause everyone knows what tightwads Scots are.'

He placed a hand on his chest in mock affront. 'How can ye insult mah people so? Ye dinnae hear me talkin' about pushy Americans, do ye?'

She narrowed her eyes at him. 'Whaddaya mean, "pushy"?'

'Nothin'. Nothin' a'tall. Sooo,' he cracked his neck. She was starting to think he did that as a nervous gesture. It was kind of cute, although it made her own neck hurt. 'Why are ye here by yerself? Where's ev'rybody else?'

'Well, Sunny had to pick Thang up. Something about his car dying due to mushrooms growing in his engine?' She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. 'They'll be here in a few minutes.'

'An' Roland?'

Right. Roland. Good question, actually. She forced a smile, one that felt more like a fierce baring of teeth. She was surprised that Bog didn't flinch. 'Oh, he'll be here. Funny story, actually – he was supposed to pick me up, but he had to go do something at the last minute. Fortunately, my dad didn't need to use his truck today, so I was able to drive myself over.' She realized she was babbling and cut herself off, shutting her mouth with a snap.

Bog frowned. Rats. He was annoyingly perceptive. 'Are ye alri-'

'Fine! I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine? Everything's great. Groovy! Wonderful! Wunderbar!' That triggered a tic of her own, one that only Dawn knew about. Normally she could control it, but she'd been on edge ever since overhearing that conversation. She started singing. 'Wunderbar, wunderbar! There's our favourite star above! What a bright, shining star! Why it's truly wunderbar!' she managed to stop after the first line, cheeks bright red.

Bog looked slightly stunned. 'Uh, d'ye…often sing lines from random musical numbers?'

She laughed awkwardly, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and opted for evasion. 'What, me? Naaah! You wanna play some darts until the others get here?' Without waiting for an answer, she headed for the dart board at the back of the garage.

'Riiight.' His tone as he followed her was unconvinced. 'So, obviously Ah imagined that bit from Kiss Me, Kate just now.'

'Obviously.' She pulled darts from the board, glancing at him sideways. Actually, it was more of an upward slant. 'Maybe you want to explain how you recognized lyrics from Kiss Me, Kate?'

He accepted the darts she handed him. 'We all have our secrets.' He started throwing them at the board, clustering them in the bull's eye.

He was good. Really good. 'Not bad.' She threw her darts in quick succession, making a triangle at the twenty, sixteen, and fifteen.

She wasn't trying to show off. Not at all.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. 'Yer nae so bad yerself.'

'Aw, shucks.' Her false modesty died as she watched him make a perfectly straight line on the horizontal, hand moving in a blur. Apparently she wasn't the only one not showing off. 'Where'd you learn darts?' She waited for him to retrieve his darts, trying to decide how she would top his last throw. And no, she wasn't being competitive.

'Mah mom.'

'Really?' She whipped around to stare at him at the same moment that she threw her last dart, which bounced off the board and impaled itself in the rug next to Bog's shoe. 'Oops. Sorry.'

He eased his foot away from the dart. 'That's alright. Just remind me nae ta distract ye when ye have access ta sharp objects. It might give me brain damage.'

'Your brain is in your big toe?'

He shrugged. 'It doesnae take up much room.'

'Oookay. So your mom, huh? I would've thought your dad.'

'He played too. That's how they met – at a dart competition. She beat him. Actually, she creamed him. He used t'say he fell in love wi' her the minute she won. An' she would say that it took him a long time t'convince her he wasnae a loser an' t'go out wi' him.'

'Awww! That's sweet!' As someone in love herself, Marianne always liked hearing other people's love stories; the sappier the better.

'So how about ye? How'd ye get so good at darts?'

'My sister Dawn and I would practice for hours in the church basement. We could clean up in the local bars, except, well, ya know. If a preacher's kid can't ride a motorcycle, there's no way she can hang around in bars playing darts for cash.' She sighed regretfully. 'Too bad. I could use the money.'

He shook his head. 'Ye're terrifyin'.'

She bobbed a curtsy. 'Thank'ee kindly, Mr. King.'

'An' yer Scottish accent is terrible.'

'Ouch. That hurts. I'm hurt. You're hurtful.'

He opened his mouth, but a yell from the front of the garage cut him off.

'Rest easy, people. We have arrived, and the fun can begin!' Sunny hopped out of his car, did a handstand, and summersaulted to his feet, spreading his arms wide. 'Thank you, thank you. You're too kind. I'll be here all week.'

Marianne and Bog looked at each other, then turned and in unison began clapping slowly.

'You're a fantastic audience.' Sunny bowed with a flourish.

The passenger door of Sunny's car opened and Thang tumbled out, landing in a crumpled heap on the driveway. He put his head between his knees, panting heavily.

Marianne walked over and knelt beside him. 'Thang? Are you okay?' She put a tentative hand on his shoulder.

'Sunny! Madman! Never ride! Certain death!' Thang's words came in gasping breaths, and he looked even more traumatized than usual.

'Do you want to breath into a bag?' She looked at Bog and Sunny. Do something! she mouthed.

'Aw, lighten up, Thang!' Sunny came over and hauled Thang to his feet. 'If you didn't want to ride with me, you shouldn't have started a mushroom farm in your car.' He steered him over to his usual spot, then returned to the car to get his guitar out of the trunk. 'Here, make some pretty music. It'll make you feel better.'

As soon as Thang's hands closed around the guitar, he began tuning and playing chords, muttering about maniacs and mushrooms.

Sunny patted him on the head, then glanced around the room. 'Where's Roland? He's the one that wanted to have a practice today.'

'He'll be here. He's just running a little late.' Marianne had no idea if that was true or not, but it was the best she could come up with.

'Well, while the Roland's away, the rest of us can play. Gather around, children. I've got a song that I'd like to run by you guys.' Without waiting for anyone's okay, Sunny grabbed his guitar and launched into a song. 'Come on, pretty baby! Put your little hand in mine!'

It wasn't a complicated song, but it was upbeat and catchy. It didn't take long for Bog to hop behind the drum set and start improvising a beat, and Thang added a bass line. Marianne started bobbing her head to the music, dancing by herself in the back of the garage. When the song ended, she applauded enthusiastically.

'Nice job, guys! Sunny, that's a great song. You have to add it to your set!'

Sunny blushed. 'Thanks, Marianne. It needs some more work, and another guitar and singer wouldn't hurt, but yeah. I'm pleased with it.'

'Don't let Roland take over as lead singer on this one, okay?' Sunny laughed, but Marianne put her hands on his shoulders and bent to look him in the eye. 'I'm serious. I love him and all, but this is your song, and he couldn't put it across like you do.' Never mind the fact that it wasn't Roland's style at all.

'Okay?' Sunny looked slightly bewildered by her intensity. She smiled and patted his hair before returning to the dart board. Shrugging, he turned to Thang and Bog. 'Again?'

They were halfway through their third repeat, and the song was coming together nicely when Roland finally graced them with his presence. Marianne didn't hear his car over the music. So when he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, it was completely not her fault that she shrieked and whirled around, stopping just before driving her dart through his right ear. She blinked, and quickly turned the movement into throwing her arms around his neck, as if driving pointy objects through her boyfriend's brain was the last thing on her mind. She could see Bog smirking at her over Roland's shoulder. She brandished the dart at him threateningly, and stuck her tongue out when he laughed.

She stepped back keeping her hands on his arms. 'Roland! Finally! Where have you been?'

He eased out of her grasp. 'Aw, sweetheart, you know I don't like you hovering.'

'But–'

He turned to the others, who had stopped playing around the same time Marianne almost committed involuntary manslaughter. 'What was that I heard when I came in?'

Bog's smirk widened. 'Singin', drums, guitar.'

'Funny, Patterson.'

'King.'

'That's what I said. So, not bad, but it could use another guitar and some backup vocals. I assume you wrote it, Sunny? You'll need to give me the lyrics. Can't have the lead singer not knowing the words, right?'

'Actually…' Sunny's eyes darted to Marianne, who nodded encouragingly. He took a deep breath. 'I'm going to be lead on this one. It makes sense, since I wrote it. Anyway, it'll make it easier on you, since you'll have to learn the guitar part, too.' He looked to Marianne again, and she grinned and gave him two thumbs up.

Roland's mouth hung open. She came up next to him and used two fingers to close it gently. 'So, now that I have you all here, I've got news. I talked to my dad yesterday, and he's willing to record your song. You'll have to set up in the church, but it shouldn't be a problem. He's excited to help out.'

Roland slung his arm around her shoulders. 'Well of course he is, darlin'.'

She rolled her eyes and patted his hand. 'He said he could do it as early as tomorrow, if it works for you guys. Personally, I think it's ideal, since it's a Saturday and you wouldn't have to work. What do you think?'

Roland opened his mouth again, probably to protest, but Bog spoke up first. She was starting to think he did that on purpose. 'Aye, that'll be perfect.'

Sorry this update's taken so long. Christmas and whatnot. Also, did I mention what a pain it is to write Marianne/Roland?

Fireball XL5 is the programme Lenny said he watched with his grandmother in TTYD. It's a precursor to the Thunderbirds series (a very sloooow moving show).

I'm not into motorcycles, but Bog often has one in fan fiction, and it does seem like he'd be more comfortable on a bike than crammed into a car. He'd probably be a truck person, though. Anyway, his bike in this is an ancestor of the Doctor's and Clara's bikes. Because if you're going to incorporate motorcycles, you might as well make a nerdy reference while you're doing it.