"You've been writin' long?" Malcolm asked puffing his cigarette. The back of the bus was a little cold and I shivered.

"I guess I've been writing my whole life," I said thinking it over. I averted my gaze. Malcolm stared straight into my soul.

And I really didn't mind.

"Hm. So you're no amateur," he said folding his hands together. "I'd better watch what I say."

"Anything you want kept private I won't write," I said. He sort of smiled. 

"That's thoughtful, darlin'," he said picking up the deck of cards. He shuffled them and spread them out in what looked like some kind of Solitaire. "Well, ask away then."

"Okay." I was once again faced with asking questions on the spot. I was terrible at this. I should have come prepared this time! He waited patiently, once in a while looking at me through his hair. "Who's your inspiration?"

"Jus' one?" he asked.

"Any of them," I said. He paused his game to think.

"Ya' ever hear the Yardbirds?" I grimaced.

"Isn't that pre-Led Zeppelin?" I asked. He waved me off.

"They're more than that. They played a bit of blues back in the day an' me an' Ang are blues fans. For the most part," he shrugged. "You'd have to be pretty terrible to not get a listen to in our house." I scribbled everything down. He continued his game, watching the smoke come flying out of my pen. When I was finished I racked my brain for more. 

"Do you write any?"

"Songs?" I nodded. He tilted his head. "A bit, I suppose. In the start of the band...it was Ang an' I writin'. Lot of that early stuff we did was us. Bon's really helped us out with that, he's sharp."

"Have any plans for the next album?" He sort of smiled again.

"Aw, we're still tourin' for this one, love, give us a chance." I laughed a bit. "We've got a song title we wanna work with...If You Want Blood, Ya' Got It...somethin' like that, ya' know? We've been hearin' that everywhere an' wanna do somethin' with it. Ang's got some great soundin' ideas an' we're sorta itchin' to get back in the studio."

I was hunched over my notebook, writing writing writing. 

"What's that say?" Malcolm asked.

"Hm?"

"Your necklace there, does that say somethin'?" I looked down, completely forgetting I was even wearing a necklace. 

"Oh, it's one of those bible verses," I said. "The mustard seed one." He nodded, still playing his game.

"Huh. You religious?" My grip on the pen tightened. Lately I had been going through several reality checks when it came to religion. Part of growing up was learning not all adults are trustworthy, and that critical thinking is a must. I was currently learning my lesson in a very messy way.

"I wouldn't say that," I mumbled. "I don't go to church anymore." 

"No?" he said before swearing when he lost his game. He gathered the cards together and shuffled them again. "I wouldn't say I was either. Churches can really fuck with ya', ya' know?"

I knew that from the bottom of my heart.

"An' I mean no disrespect," he said. "Ya' know, lots of good come out of 'em too. But when they sent my dad off without payin' him, after he did all that work? Ya' call that good?" His cigarette was almost out and he set it on an ash tray. "When they get Little Richard up there to sing in the front, that's when I'll step in."

Our conversation was getting depressing. I was about to change the topic when Malcolm spoke up. 

"What about you?" he asked. 

"Me?"

"We're talkin' too much about me," he said, collecting the cards into one stack and crossing his arms. "What about you, what makes you wary of the great pledge?"

Where do I start?

I set my pen down and thought. Could this man relate to women being stripped of their identity, made only to be submissive cheerleaders to men's great deeds? Could he relate to being told to cover up? Our bodies only belonging to our husbands? Could he relate to being told not to think about sex even once while growing up, only to then be expected to have it every day as soon as he said "I do"? And being discouraged from saying "no"?

"The churches I went to didn't seem to understand how the real world works," I finally settled. "Everything is a sin. From swearing, to wearing shorts above the knees, to..." I started laughing. 

"To what?" he asked. 

"To...laying in bed for too long..." I covered my face as I laughed, my whole body shaking. I peeked at Malcolm through my fingers who looked rather confused.

"What?"

I finally controlled myself. "Apparently laying in bed too long causes your mind to wander to impure thoughts." I giggled. "Which leads to impure actions." Malcolm just stared at me which only made me laugh harder. 

"What in the hell church service did you attend?" he asked, a little smile growing on his lips.

"I read it somewhere, an article or something," I said brushing the hair out of my face.

"Oh," he said, fiddling around with the stack of cards. "Go on, then."

"The real world is grey, whereas their thinking is black and white. All swearing is bad. I couldn't tell you what a fucking amazing guitar player you are because I used a swear word." Malcolm beamed at me. "You're supposed to use language that builds others up, rather than tears them down. That's all well and good. But they don't have any idea of context. My words, despite being a compliment, are still bad to them."

Malcolm nodded in consideration. "Yeah...yeah, I can see that."

I went on. "And what about the type of word used? The word "hell" is technically not a bad word at all. It's a place. And the word "fuck" is one of the harshest words they can think of, right?" He nodded. "But what if someone stubbed their toe and let out a quick f-bomb? Nobody got hurt, right? But what if someone was so angry that they told someone to "go to hell"? I think telling someone to go to hell is worse than saying "fuck" after you stub your toe in the privacy of your own home." He nodded again. "Am I crazy?"

"No, no, I think you're on to somethin'," he said with a smile. There were footsteps climbing into the bus and I turned around. Nobody came to our area of the bus yet. I looked down at my pages and saw I had barely written anything. 

"Now I've been talking too much," I said, suddenly shy. 

"No, course you haven't, this is a pleasant talk," he said pulling out another cigarette. He offered me the pack. "You smoke?"

"No," I said. "I'm trying to quit." I smiled. I had never smoked a cigarette in my life. He chuckled a little, realizing I told a shitty joke.

"I'll try not to wave mine in your face then," he said putting the pack away. "Let's keep the thing goin', we've talked about me enough." My bare pages would beg to differ. But maybe...maybe I could write about other things...not just music? These men were all human beings, they liked other things as well. They were intelligent men, perfectly capable of a life outside the sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

Even if rock and roll was pretty damn good.

Someone came to the back of the bus. "There you are," a man said upon seeing Malcolm. Malcolm waved at him. "Who's this?"

"This is...pardon, love, what'd you say your name was?" Gemini could wait. For now I was Hannah Ruth.

"Hannah Ruth," I said. Malcolm gestured to me. 

"Right." He leaned back on the couch. The man crossed his arms.

"Your brother was looking for ya'. He didn't see you leave the building, thought you might have been beamed up or somethin'." 

"Nah, jus' havin' a nice talk with a friend," he said. He started shuffling the cards again. The man left the back of the bus and we could hear somebody ask a question.

"He's in the back with some sheila." 

"Ah, figures," another voice said.

"Don't pay 'em any mind, darlin', they're jealous. I didn't see any of them walk out with a lovely woman, did you?" I shrugged and he set up another game of Solitaire. It was quiet for a minute. Malcolm looked up at me from his game. "Ya' don't mind stayin' with me?"

"No," I said. "Of course not." Are you kidding, Mr. Malcolm Mitchell? You'd think I pass up spending time with you?

"There's not...some other bloke from the band you had your eye on?" He asked the question with a teasing smile but I took it very seriously. "'Cause ya' don't have to keep hangin' around, ya' can go off an'...find your conquest."

I could have vomited at that word. How could anyone look at these fabulous men as nothing more than sex objects? Just a means of having their kicks? This band may have been the pinnacle of masculinity but they were not conquests!

"I like it here," I said leaning back on the couch. Malcolm shrugged.

"Whatever you say." More and more people got on the bus and quite a few times someone would clamber to the back and talk to Malcolm. At one point Angus came back there and I just knew I was blushing a bright red. I couldn't let Malcolm see or he'd think Angus was on my "to do" list. "Ang, you've met Hannah, right?"

I guess keeping my cool was impossible tonight.

"She's stayin' with you tonight?" Angus asked. I could see he was chewing gum. It was then I realized I hadn't brushed my teeth in way too long and suddenly felt mega gross. The Young brothers must think I'm a pig. Oink oink. 

"I guess so, she hasn't run off the bus yet," Malcolm shrugged. Angus turned to me, flashed his handsome smile, and held out his hand for me to shake. I accepted it and tried not to giggle. 

"Pleasure, love, maybe I'll get my turn." Okay, that would have made anyone blush. With a few words of parting Angus left us alone and shortly after that I could feel the bus start moving. 

Dear God, if I get sick...

"Come on," Malcolm said standing up. "Sometimes people come back here to sleep. We can sit up front." I carefully followed Malcolm up the moving vehicle, carrying my things in my arms. 

**********

Though not walking quite as fast, Malcolm still looked on the verge of missing his flight. I was a quick walker too so I kept up quite well. Turning the key in the lock he pushed open the hotel room door and I followed after him.

His room was neater than Bon's had been but it was also a tad smaller. He also had a guitar in his room but it didn't surprise me this time. He grabbed a couple beers from the fridge and handed me one. I didn't have the heart to tell him I didn't drink. He was busy grabbing his guitar off the couch and plucking at it. We took a seat on his couch. "So what else do ya' wanna know?" he asked watching his fingers. I was mesmerized too. Playing guitar always looked so painful to me. 

"Doesn't that hurt?" I asked. He looked up at me. 

"Does what hurt?"

I pointed at the neck of the guitar. "Your fingers, they're like pretzels."

"Oh. Nah, not really. I mean...maybe at first but ya' know, ya' get used to it after a time." He kept playing and I watched in awe. 

"Is it just muscle memory?"

"Hm?"

"How do you remember where to put your fingers?" I asked. He shrugged. 

"Ya' jus'...get used to it," he laughed. "I dunno, love, it comes with practice. Ya' know? Ya' figure out pretty quick what the chords are an' you can practice playin' songs that way. By ear, I mean." He strummed a little and I thought I recognized what he was playing. Maybe it was just my imagination. "That's how I learned, by ear. Listen to a record an' replicate it."

"I tried playing violin that way," I said. "I put on one of your records and I'd follow along." Malcolm looked at me with surprise.

"You play violin?" he asked. I sighed. 

"Well, I used to anyway," I said. He stared at me waiting for me to go on. "I wanted a better violin to start with but my mom didn't want me spending so much money. So I got the cheapest violin on the market." He nodded as he listened, plucking at the same time. "I'd practice by following along to AC/DC records and it sounded terrible."

"Us or the violin?"

"The violin," I clarified. "I wanted to play rock and roll on the violin and that was how I tried." I could see Malcolm smiling a little, wondering where the hell this story was going. "And one day I opened the case to practice and found it dead."

Malcolm stopped plucking. "Dead?" he asked. I nodded, crossing one leg over the other. "An' how did it die?"

"I don't know," I answered. "To this day I don't know." Malcolm laughed a little. 

"Was its tongue hangin' out, or..."

"Two strings had popped off and the bridge detached," I said. "That little wooden thing. Oh, and the chin rest was broken too. Like, it had just...exploded while I slept."

"That's a shame," Malcolm said. 

"Either the rock and roll was too righteous and the violin couldn't handle it...so it spontaneously combusted...my playing was so bad that it killed itself...or someone broke into my room and killed it while I slept." Malcolm shrugged.

"An' you'll never know?"

"I'll never know." He smiled. "So I don't play anything anymore."

"Well...ya' could save up for a better one," he suggested. "Or try guitar instead, I personally like guitar a little better." I did too. He turned back to his playing while I listened. Watching him play up close helped solidify him as my favorite guitarist. I didn't know a thing about them but what he was doing looked pretty hard. I opened my can of beer and peered into it. It reeked. Not only did it look like piss, but it smelled like it too. But...I was a little tempted just to try it...

I immediately regretted it. 

Hoping Malcolm didn't decide to look up from his playing I grimaced. And shuddered. And coughed. And set my can down and didn't touch it for the rest of the night. Malcolm could have it. When he finally did look up he looked at the notebook in my hands. "Have you got enough material to work with?" he asked. "Or did ya' have more?"

"Uh...no, I think I have enough," I said. I would have loved to stay up and talk more with him but I was exhausted. And I desperately needed to brush my teeth. 

"Alright. Bed's back there," he said nodding toward the hall. "You can have it. I'm not much tired." 

I stood up to go to bed but made a quick stop at the bathroom. I snooped through all the drawers hoping this hotel handed out free toiletries of any kind. Nothing. Guess I had to ask...

"Malcolm?" I asked coming back to the living room. He looked over his shoulder. "Do you have any extra toothbrushes?"

"I might," he said. "There's a bag in the room on the floor. You can check that."

What, no supervision? I had authorized permission from the man himself to search around Malcolm Young's underwear luggage?

You'd think I'd be happier about that.

Instead, I slowly unzipped the bag in question and braced myself, reaching in a careful hand. I wasn't exactly excited to see what he had hidden in there. Could be anything lurking behind the masses of clothing. After feeling around a bit and finding nothing but denim jeans I was just about to give up when I felt something hard. 

I pulled out a half used tube of toothpaste. Well, halfway there. There had to be something else in this bag I could use. I pulled out a plastic bag with one toothbrush in it with the bristles splayed in all different directions. 

I certainly wasn't going to use that.

"Find anythin'?" Malcolm asked standing in the doorway. I held up the clearly used toothbrush. "Here, let's see..." Malcolm took the bag and started tossing out his neatly folded clothes on the bed. "Nothin'," he said tossing the bag aside. "Come on, maybe one of the others has somethin'."

It had to be around one in the morning and here I was wandering around the hotel with Malcolm Young of AC/DC looking for a toothbrush. He suggested we try Angus first since they were both rooming on the same floor. After knocking as loud as he dared to at this time of night, Malcolm gave up as Angus was probably dead asleep. "Fuckin' figures," he muttered. "Let's try Cliff then."

We stood out in the hall waiting for the elevator. Malcolm shoved his hands in his pockets and tapped his foot. I waited with my hands behind my back, still holding Malcolm's toothpaste. Neither one of us said very much. When the elevator opened Malcolm raced inside and pressed the button. 

We didn't say very much on the elevator ride either.

Malcolm sped down the hallway looking for Cliff's room. Had I not seen him hustling around all night I would have thought he was in a hurry to get to bed or something. Stopping at a random door Malcolm knocked on it and waited. A few seconds later someone answered looking like he was on the brink of sleep. "Yeah, Mal?" Cliff asked.

"Hannah's lookin' for a toothbrush," Malcolm said. "Mine's a bit used, we were wonderin' if you had anythin'." Cliff ran a hand over his face. 

"I might," he said leaving the door open for us to come in. Cliff's room was the neatest one so far. Everything was in its proper place. I saw the bed was unmade, however, confirming my suspicions about Cliff's appearance. Cliff rummaged around in his things before holding up a couple boxes. "I brought a few extra 'cause sometimes ya' lose 'em or..." He handed them out to me. "Which color?"

One was green and one was blue. I took the green one. "Thank you," I said.

"No problem, love," he smiled. He waved Malcolm and I out the door and we made the trek back to Malcolm's room. The elevator ride was still quiet. I think Malcolm maybe coughed once. Stepping back on our floor we passed Angus' room and Malcolm grabbed my arm, stopping me.

"Hold on a sec," he said holding his ear to the door. I listened also but couldn't hear anything. Complete silence. Malcolm held a finger to his lips and stood back. Lifting his foot in the air Malcolm kicked the door as hard as he could, probably waking up some neighbors. "Alright, let's go." He grabbed my hand and hurried us both around the corner before anyone came out to scold us. Malcolm peered around the corner, waiting for something to happen. My heart was racing. None of the neighbors came out to see what the hell made that noise and neither did Angus. "Fuck, that kid's in coma," he muttered leading me back to his room. "Never mind, then."

Back inside his room I took my new things with me to the bathroom and brushed my teeth. It felt so much better having fresh breath. Floss would have been good too but I had already taken enough from these guys. Malcolm went back to playing guitar on the couch and I helped myself to a shower, washing my hair this time. Malcolm's shower worked a lot better than Bon's and the light wasn't burnt out. 

I dressed in my old clothes again and knew tomorrow I'd have to find some different ones. Three days was simply unacceptable. Letting myself slip into Malcolm's bed, keeping to one side in case he forgot I was in here and passed out, I was out in a minute.