Skipper's POV

Silence is never uncomfortable between Slash and I. He's a very internal person and I know that, so if he isn't saying anything, it's likely that he's just thinking through more important things.

It feels like a million years have passed since Slash and I have walked the streets alone together, though it used to be one of our favorite passtimes. He could think pensively, I could be there in case any questions popped into his head.

His shoulder doesn't brush mine like it used to as we walk, and he hardly sneaks any glances at me when he thinks I'm not looking. It's strange.

The New York streets are teeming with the usual shady night crowd, they bustle past us in clumps with cigarettes and brown bags of liquor as we grow nearer to our destination.

"Do we really have to travel all the way to Harlem for a drink?" I ask comically, bumping my arm against his.

He shies away a little. "Yes."

And that's all he says. Okay...

"Well then," I continue, determined to catch his eye. "It'd better be a good drink too."

I look up ahead and swallow hard. The bar sits in it's grungy glory, neon signs on the outside advertising spirits and vodka- some of the letters are dimmer than others. I've been to this bar before too-- I may or may not have kissed Izzy on a dare in there.

"This bar," I add quietly.

"Yeah," he sighs, pushing open the cracked glass door for me. "This one."

He's wearing his top hat tonight, which is strange given the fact that he doesn't quite seem to like being recognized in public. He's got shades on even though it's night, and his dark clothes scream his importance.

He leads me through the dusky room to the corner booth. Where we sat before.

"Here?" I ask with a certain hesitance.

He plops down on the black vinyl seat. "Here."

I give the room another quick look before I sit down across from him. Not long after this a sultry looking server waddles up to us with a pad of paper in hand. He doesn't even say anything, just grunts expectantly.

"Uh..." Slash says, rather decisively. "I'm not all that hungry... just bring me a burger with everything on it, basket of fries, some wings and a Jack on the rocks."

I roll my eyes.

The sultry waiter looks at me. "She'll have..." Slash begins. "Actually, don't worry about it. Bring her an appletini."

The waiter raises his scruffy brows. "Honestly, man?"

"Yes." I smile at him exaggeratedly.

One the waiter leaves, Slash begins to play with the packets of sugar left on the tabletop. "You can have the carrots and celery from my wings. And the extra hot sauce."

I give a comical glance. He knows me too well.

"Slash?"

I assume he looks at me, but his shades are dark.

"It's just me, you know."

"What?"

"No need for sunglasses. No need to hide."

Feeling courageous, I reach across the table and begin to pull them off. I frown a little when he somewhat shoos my hand away and pulls them off himself. His eyes are still guarded as he sets them on the table gently.

I recover quickly. "So... how's it... been going?"

He chortles.

"What?" I raise a brow.

He shakes his head. "It just doesn't fit, does it? I mean, we've been watching each other's lives from afar for years now, and that's how we begin again? 'Hows it's been going'?"

I look down at the scratched table. "Yeah, but I mean... what else is there to say? You know how I felt about his keeping us apart-"

"That's what you call it now?" Slash challenges. "He kept you prisoner. He kept you from your friends on purpose because of his own fucking insecurities. He basically ended your damn life before you were out of your teens, and now it's beginning again. With 'how's it going' apparently."

I recoil a little and squint at him. "Yeah, but... what is... 'this'...?" I motion to the both of us.

He only looks at me as the waiter sits a half-glass of whiskey in front of him, and a martini glass of neon green liquid in front of me.

I take a tentative sip.

"So you're back at the hospital then," he says, completely avoiding the question. It shouldn't irritate me, I mean what am I expecting him to say? "Back to surgery. Here."

"Yeah," I reply drily. "But you can agree... it's better than... before."

"The private practice," Slash almost spits. "I guess that's true."

He falls into silence for a second, and then I follow his gaze across the room. There's a jukebox in the corner, blaring the kind of feel-good rock music that fits a place like this. There's a rather flamboyant blonde dancing half nude on a table top, and I'm surprised to see Slash's gaze glued to her tan stomach.

My stomach churns with discontent. "What about you?" I assert.

"What about me?"

"I mean... the band. What's happening now that he's gone?"

Slash digs a pack of Marlboro Reds of out his jacket pocket and lights up. "That's just the thing."

He drags on it and doesn't elaborate.

"Okay..." I mutter under my breath. "Well... how's your grandmother? What about your brother? Met anyone... special lately? Any more friends?"

"Good, fine, no and no."

I lean forward. "And... how are you?"

"Fine," he snaps, irritated now.

I sit back and sigh slowly. There's a throbbing knot growing in my chest. I can't think of anything I wouldn't give to get him to lower the wall of ice between us, make everything like it used to be just a few years ago. What happened? Why won't he let me in anymore?

It's worse than seeing him from a distance in a crowd. Nothing is quite as bad as yearning for what used to be, in a relationship especially.

"You don't seem fine," I whisper under my breath. He either ignores it or doesn't hear. Or maybe he's too distracted by the ass wiggling happening in the corner to look at me.

And that's another thing that hurts- I remember when he would insist to me everyday that mine was the only tail he was after, that his eyes only saw me. I know I can't expect that same level of dedication after all this time, but I wish I was still enough to hold his attention during a... 'date'.

"You've just been alone this whole time, living life?"

"I have my bandmates, you know. Don't say it like that."

Maybe Slash was quiet before, but he's never been short with me. Never irritated with the blatant fact that I wanted to talk to him.

It hurts so much (surprisingly so) that I have half a mind to get up and leave.

Then, Slash's food comes. He plucks the chicken wings off of the parchment paper they were delivered on, and slides the veggies over to me. I dip a carrot stick in the sauce and halfheartedly nibble at it.

"You know, I'm glad you invited me here."

He looks at me for a second before digging into the burger. "Yeah."

What kinda yeah is that? Like, 'yeah I'm glad too?' or just 'yeah'?

He continues scarfing down his food. I continue nibbling mine... until something really good comes on the jukebox and turns my attention from the food.

"Woah," I perk up, looking toward the jukebox.

"What?" Slash's eyes narrow.

"This song," I sigh with pleasure. "Piece of Mind. Boston. Don't hear it much anymore, it's almost like people have already forgotten just how good their debut album really was. 1976 wasn't that long ago." I smile with admiration.

Interest shines in those eyes of his. "Wouldn't have pegged you for a Boston fan."

"Moonsie liked their records," I rub the back of my neck. "She had tons of them."

"Oh really?" Slash almost smiles. "When me and Steve were kids, before he got shipped off to the Valley that is," he begins, picking some stray lettuce from his teeth, "he convinced me that KISS, Queen and Boston were the only bands worth listening to. He was older than me, I considered his taste to be above mine. So I took his word for it."

I laugh with utter excitement. "Sounds like our Steve-o."

He goes back to eating.

"Songbird," I grin again when the next song comes on. "Fleetwood Mac. Now Moonsie just loved them so much. Stevie Nicks, there'll never be another voice like hers on the scene. I'd be damned if there ever were."

"Steve thought she was hot."

I scoff and laugh a little. "Yeah, that's not surprising. Steve'll do anyone with a pulse."

He puts an entire chicken wing in his mouth, and begins to suck the meat off like a vacuum. I look away to avoid getting queasy, knowing that I'll have to keep the conversation going to avoid losing him completely.

Whitesnake comes on the jukebox.

"What about them?" Slash suggests before I can share with him some musical knowledge. "What do you know about Whitesnake?"

I give a little half smile. "I know that Dave Coverdale's a god damned genius for managing to survive in two ground breaking bands in his career," I begin. Suddenly my appetite's returning.

"It's that soulful voice he's got, there's nothing quite like it. It's what really sets him off, not quite as rich as David Lee Roth but just unique enough for him to stand out. You know I heard a lot of acts when I was living down in Cali, but there's nothing quite like Whitesnake."

I've got half his attention now. "Yeah, where did you go to hear these bands?"

I shrug. "The underground, basically. The Whisky, The Rainbow, Troubador, The Roxy. You name it, I've been there."

He nods thoughtfully and continues eating.

And then something completely new comes on the jukebox and I pop up out of the booth.

Dirty, Rotten, Filthy, Stinkin'...

"What?" Slash says lamely, having returned his gaze to the naked blonde by the jukebox again.

And then something inside me snaps. I've had enough of this Slash, this half-assed barely there man who seems to only be interested in himself, food, liquor, and suddenly whores. I want the real Slash back, the honorable Slash who has many times been my knight in shining armor, who thinks I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, who will stand fearlessly in the face of any danger, if it means I would be safe, and his.

Desperate times, desperate measures.

"I love this song!" I pipe up with a burst of somewhat forced energy. "It's that new band, Warrant. I was with them when they recorded this!"

"Wait, how?" Slash says with confusion as I begin to peel my black scrubs off over my head. "Why the hell were you doing that?"

I head for the bar counter dressed in nothing but a snug tank top and some boyshorts, climbing up and letting my body move with the racy music. The bar is quiet for a second, it's judgement time- not many people have heard the song 'Cherry Pie' yet but when I heard the band lay it down, I knew it was a winner.

It's not long before the bar goes up in cheers and there's a crowd of hungry looking men gathering at my feet. This only fuels me further-- I run my hands up and down my skin, licking my lips and trying my hardest to look irresistible. The song totally helps.

Soon the blonde in the corner realizes I've stolen her attention. She comes bounding up to the counter and joins my salacious dance- I don't even object when she pours a mug of beer over the both of us.

By the last song, everyone in the bar is singing along.

"She's my Cherry Pie! Cool drink of water such a sweet surprise! Tastes so good, make a grown man cry! Sweet Cherry Pie!"

I look over to see if I've caught the attention of the one who matters. I grin from ear to ear when I see that his eyes have grown to the size of golf balls. His plate has been pushed away from him, half eaten, lonely and forgotten. His lips are parted ever so slightly.

I pretend not to notice. The blonde is helped down by a few of the guys, but most of them are waiting for the next song to come on- and an encore.

"What's your name, girlie?" A rambunctious looking one asks.

"That's information you don't need to know." Slash steps up to the counter, having regained his composure.

I give him a smug little smile as he crowd parts, and he offers a hand up to help me down. I take it and slide into a sitting position on the bar, letting my legs dangle around his torso and lapping up the beer from my fingers.

He watches until I am finished. I smile.

And I'll be damned, I think his cheeks start to redden.

"I have a proposition for you," he swallows hard, too bashful to meet my eyes anymore.

I chuckle.

***

I zip up the last suitcase, and look up at him with a triumphant smile.

"And you're sure about this?" Slash says uneasily, shifting from foot to foot. "Such a big decision, you know... going back and all. Plus, you just got here."

I shrug. "Easy come, easy go. And anything's better than lying around New York, awash in a pool of unwanted pity."

"Good word choice." Izzy is standing in the doorway, wearing a classic crooked smile. "Your diction is superb."

Duff and Steven push past him into my bedroom, wide eyed. "It's magical in here," Stevie whispers dramatically. "Magic."

"Yeah, so why are we here? We've got a plane to catch, and I'm sure she's got surgery to... perform or whatever."

Slash turns toward them, swelling with pride. "That's just it though," he begins. "We've all got a plane to catch, right back to LAX."

"What... are you talking about?" Izzy questions.

Slash puts a hand on my shoulder. "Curly here has agreed to be our man in this battle. She's got just the right ear for new talent, she'll help us find a new lead singer and put together a new band. She's just the component we need to get back on track."

"Yay!" Stevie exclaims. "Just like old... times!"

Duff glares at him momentarily and then looks back to me. "B-but... what about the hospital? What about your dad? What about the research? What about... this apartment? What about Michael?"

I roll my eyes and wave him off. "All of those things can wait. I really just... I need a break, you know? I need to get in touch with my wild side again, I need some adventure. I missed you guys, and I really just wanna focus on those who really matter for a little while."

Slash squeezes my shoulder a little and doesn't move his hand.

"Is that alright with you guys?"

Izzy gives a warm, genuine smile. "Of course it is, do you even have to ask?"

"Yeah," Duff agrees.

"Alright then," Slash says authoritatively. "Then we've got a plane to catch." He turns to me. "I'll bring your stuff down, then we'll head to the airport."

"Yeah yeah, just a sec. I'll come right down," I promise.

Once everyone's gone, I leave a note on the nightstand:

Dear Michael-

Fuck off. Don't bother looking for me, because there's nothing left for us.

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