English rain flooded the streets as it washed all the snow away. It was turning out to be a dreary March. Windows were foggy with glossy bullets. Only one light was on in the whole building leaving the rest of the rooms to guess which was which. The light made a buzzing sound in the near empty space, the only sound accompanying it being the strings of a guitar.

He paused, picking his mug up from the table and drank, setting it back down as he cleared his throat. Shaking his hair from his eyes, he continued to play, tapping his foot.

The door behind him flew open, the rain pelting against the front steps, then silenced. A pair of muddy footsteps squelched into the main room and a jacket unzipped. "Hey, Angus! Come over here an' sit down, got somethin' for you to hear." The man took another drink from his mug, barely looking over his shoulder at his guest. "You bring it?"

"Yeah, I got it," Angus said holding up his soaked guitar case. He threw his jacket on the couch and walked over to take a seat next to Malcolm on a nearby chair. His hair dropped all over the floor and he shook it out, spraying Malcolm in the process.

"Oi, 'nough of that!"

"What'd you call me here for?" Angus asked setting the case next to him. Malcolm shrugged as he plucked.

"Eh, jus' figured we could get in some practice ," he said. "Maybe write a few things here an' there..." Angus watched him play, listening to the new progression he seemed to have up his sleeve. "What'd ya' think of this?" Angus sat up and folded his hands with his elbows resting on his knees, a light frown on his face. The chords were good, they blended in well and had a simple, yet complex rhythm. He could picture Bon listening to it and pulling out a little black book, flipping through the pages until he found the one. The one page of poetry he had written the week before that would fit quite nicely with the music.

Angus opened his eyes.

"Hmm?"

"I asked what you thought." Malcolm drank the rest of his tea and sniffed. "Do ya' think it's worth expandin' on, experimentin' with, or what? Come on, I want your input."

"For...for what, a song?"

"No, an advertisement jingle," Malcolm said. "What'd ya' think, we're not writin' blockbusters here, ya' know." Angus fiddled with his hands as he processed Malcolm's words.

"You...you want to keep up the band?"

"Well, I've been doin' some thinkin'," Malcolm said. "I don't want to sit at home, mopin' around in some sort of fuckin' depression, ya' know? I don't think any of us want that. So...why sit around an' get fat when we can keep goin'? You've still got some steam left," he said punching his brother on the shoulder with a smile. "An' I'm really not ready to quit. An' you heard what the Scotts told us, like, Bon wouldn't have been ready to quit."

"It'd be nice to have Bon's opinion itself," Angus sighed. "I know there will be some people who will give us shit if we start up again, sayin' we're replacin' him. Not respectin' him."

"Those buggers don't know Bon like we did, there'll always be those who try to be high an' mightier than everyone else sayin', 'well this is what we would have done', an' things like that." Malcolm rested his hand on the side of his guitar looking at his shoes. "An' then there are those who would be disappointed if we stopped playin' altogether, askin' why we couldn't have gotten anyone else. No disrespect to Bon, but they'd think there has to be someone out there who can sing rock an' roll." Thunder rolled overhead. "I think if we can get the boys back in here, if we can get George an' Harry's opinions, Mutt's ya' know, I think we can get somethin' rollin' by next month, along with a new frontman."

Angus withdrew a lighter from his pocket and a cigarette from a box. "That won't be easy to get," he mumbled. 

"We'll talk to George about it, yeah?" Malcolm asked, holding his hand out for a cigarette. Angus looked over his own as he lit it, grinning widely. "Come on, Ang, I left mine at home."

"Ya' think Cara's helpin' herself?" Angus handed him two cigarettes and put the rest back in his shirt pocket. 

"I think Cara's more interested in the cookies Linda baked a few days ago that she stuck in the freezer," Malcolm replied. "If she doesn't have one before dinner every day she gets a bit upset with me." Angus laughed, drawing Malcolm's attention. He stared at his brother, tilting his head just a bit. "So, Ang?" he asked. 

"Hmm."

"How's Hannah been doin'?" Angus pulled the cigarette out of his mouth. Malcolm lit his own, setting the other one down in an ashtray. "She feelin' okay?"

"Well," he sighed. "She was feelin' better a few days ago, an' she was able to get out more, which she was happy about. Back in Australia she started feelin' sick again an' I let her stay home. She says she gets a lot of writin' done in bed, but..." Angus shrugged. "I don't like seein' her this way."

"Is it...a sort of mornin' sickness she's got?" Malcolm asked. "'Cause Linda's started havin' the same thing this mornin', ya' know. Do ya' think Hannah could possibly...?" 

Angus stared at the floor, crossing his ankles as he leaned back in his chair. "We went to see a doctor the other week, Mal," he said quietly. "She had taken a test at home...Linda hasn't talked to you at all?"

"About what?"

Angus cleared his throat. "Hannah can't have kids, Mal." Malcolm's look of curiosity had turned to one of shock, then concern. "We had a feelin' she could have been pregnant too, but I guess that's not it."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Malcolm said. "I jus' thought with her bein' sick so much..." Angus shook his head. "What about her arms?" he asked changing the subject. "They lookin' better?"

"They were for a while, but they're gettin' bad again. I think we need to see a doctor about that too." He scratched at a spot on his jeans and brushed it away. "Has uh...has George gotten back yet? I know he wanted to stay with Mum an' Dad for a bit."

Malcolm brushed some hair away from his eyes. A flash of lightning lit up the room, more thunder booming in the distance. "He said he'd call when he got back, but he'll if I know which one of us he's gonna call. He'll know a few people who can sing an' want to try out, that's why I want his approval with this. He'll know what steps to take to get us forward an' outta this rut." Setting his cigarette on the ashtray and looking at Angus one more time with concern, he nodded toward the case on the floor and began strumming. "Here, play along with me a bit."

Angus opened the case and brought out his guitar, a new black Gibson SG. Taking his sweet time plugging it in, he sat down and set the guitar on his lap. Malcolm resumed his new idea with Angus adding in his musical input every now and then. Once in a while the lightning would illuminate the two brothers playing in the studio room, capturing a beautiful photo. Thunder would drum the clouds while rain drenched any unfortunate soul outside. 

The two guitars melted into one.  

Once in a while the men would exchange looks, smiles, as if they knew what the other was thinking. Even if the lyrics to the songs fell to Bon, the gift of music pulsed through their fingers. Their hearts were like drums, their veins like guitar strings. Their souls were songs.

After hours of playing their hearts out, the men took a break, lighting up a second pair of cigarettes. Malcolm leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. "When do ya' reckon we get the boys in here? Show them what we have so far?"

"Dunno, it's your call." Angus took a look around the studio, noticing the increase in cobwebs as a substitute for curtains. The carpet had changed colors a few times and sound board hardly ever worked properly. "Ya' know, Mal, I think it's time we found a new studio."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, a good big one." Rain slapped the windows and wind banged on the door. "One in a more...tropical location, I think."

"Sounds good, I'll tell George an' Mutt when they get the time to be here. I don't think they'll object." Malcolm reached for his mug, then sighed as he looked in it to see he had finished it off hours ago. "Who do you think we ought to get?"

Angus hadn't heard him. Hearing the rain outside, knowing Hannah hated thunderstorms, he felt a slight pang for leaving her alone. "Hmm?"

"A singer, who do you think we could get?"

"I hadn't thought about that, really," he admitted. "We could make a list of who we know has a good voice, an' might be a good fit, an' then those who just want to audition fresh off the street. An' the lads might have suggestions, an' that'll help."

Malcolm grimaced at the sudden flash of lightning. "Fuck, someone's pissed off Mother Nature," he said glancing out the foggy window. "Don't wanna get caught out there."

"You walk here?" Angus asked.

"Yeah, I left the car for Linda. In case she wants to go to somewhere. Though if I were her, an' little Cara, I'd wanna stay home." 

Angus stood up as he finished his cigarette and extinguished it.  "I don't wanna leave Hannah alone too long, she's probably scared to death..."

"Ang, I'm really sorry about all that," Malcolm repeated after a moment of quiet. "If ever you want to babysit, jus' let us know." Angus smiled. "Any diapers you want to change, we'll be happy to let ya'."

"Very nice, Mal. I'll let her know you offered." Offering a sympathetic smile, Malcolm reached across the table and grabbed a deck of cards wrapped in a green rubber band. Removing the band he split the deck and shuffled them, the noise blending in with the falling rain. He cleared his throat, then split the deck again. 

"Have a seat, Ang, let's play a bit."

Angus sat down again, grabbing his guitar and placing it back in the case. It closed with a snap, and he set it aside, making sure he had another cigarette ready in place in his mouth. Malcolm dealt the cards out, beginning a game of gin. He declined a third cigarette, remembering he had smoked a couple that morning at home. Shivering, Angus sat up in his chair and began to play.

"A lot of Bon's stuff is still at his apartment," Malcolm mentioned. "Silver wants to be the one to deal with it, an' she wants to decide what'll happen to his place."

"Is she keepin' it all?"

"Hard to say," Malcolm muttered clearing his throat. "She hasn't really discussed anything with the rest of us. I say leave it to her for a while an' see what she does." Crossing his foot over his knee, he set a few cards down. A light thunder rolled over them, growling at the destruction the storm caused. Lightning had been scarce, and seemed satisfied with its intimidation. It left the city to dry. "I'm sure a media circus will be itchin' to see his stuff on display, an' they'll want a piece of it all. Not a moment to rest an'' recover, jus' story after story after story."

"You think she'll start handin' stuff out?" Angus asked exhaling a bit of smoke. "I mean, not that she wants the money for it, but if it won't do her any good to keep around an' it just clutters up her place..."

Malcolm sighed. "I dunno what's she's doin'. Not that we need all of Bon's belongings with us but I don't want them gettin' tossed about to the wrong people, they'll be the ones makin' all the profit on his memory. Bon ain't some kind of brand to sell, ya' know? There's more to him than jus' his bed springs."

Angus had to laugh at that. He made a few plays, then looked out the drenched window to the drenched city of London. A fair amount of rain had stayed behind to make sure the streets got the idea of who was in charge today, with or without a storm. Perhaps, in the aftermath of the downpour, a walk would do him some good. "Have you seen Phil lately? Or Cliff?"

"I saw Cliff yesterday, he's been pretty down. An' Phil was off doin' God knows all, he hasn't shared any of it with me. I hate to think of the worst what could be happenin' with him. I hope it doesn't come to that." He sighed through his nose, rubbing his shoulder. 

"You think he's gettin' into stuff?"

"I think this whole thing has been a bullet to the side an' he's takin' what he can to ease the pain. What that is I don't know. He won't tell anyone. An' I haven't seen him  yet."

"Maybe Cliff knows."

"If he does he didn't act like it. We had a few drinks over it all an' that seemed to cheer him up," said Malcolm. "He said he wouldn't mind puttin' out a few more songs...I'm sure two years isn't enough for him to call it quits."

"Has anyone told Mark yet?" Angus asked.

"Phil might have. If he didn't hear it on the news first. I jus' wanted to make sure Bon's parents knew, they're the priority right now." He set his cards face down on the table and fiddled with his empty mug. "I wonder if Mark will stop by."

"If the rest of the world has heard it, Mark has too," Angus concluded. "He ain't happy I'm sure."

"None of us are, he's our friend. He's our mate..." Malcolm's eyes darted up to meet Angus', which were staring glossily at the ground. "Let's--talk about somethin' else, shall we?"

Angus suddenly stood from his chair and set his cards down. "I'm sorry, Mal, I can't stay." He grabbed his damp jacket from the couch and draped it over his shoulders, grabbing his guitar case. 

"You're goin' now?"

"I gotta get home, I gotta check on Hannah." He blinked and few times, turning his face away from his brother. Malcolm stood up as well, surprised by Angus' sudden departure. 

"It's still rainin' out there, mate."

"Yeah, I noticed." Angus was grateful for the rain. It would hide any painful evidence. 

"You alright, Ang?"

"Never better, Mal. Our best friend is dust in the ground an' my wife is sick in bed without me an' I've gotta get goin'." He brushed past Malcolm without a friendly hug or anything and reached for the door. His shoes were caked with mud, leaving a little trail behind them. 

"We'll get it all organized soon, Ang, okay?" Malcolm said walking behind Angus. He put a hand to his shoulder, Angus attempting to pull away from him. "We'll get the guys in here, we'll see about movin' locations, we'll find a new singer...are you okay?"

Angus looked over his shoulder, his eyes shining. A gust of wind blew through the open doorway and brought his hair to chaos. "I'll be fine, I'll see ya' later." Closing the door after himself, he made the trek back home.

His hair dripped into his eyes and his guitar case crashed against his leg as he walked. Almost dropping his key in his haste, he unlocked the door and stumbled into his apartment, darkness flooding the place. Flicking the switch did nothing, and the blindless windows did little to help. Placing his guitar on the couch and shrugging his jacket off, he shook out his hair again, taking a quick survey of the living room. It was empty.

His feet echoed over the ground as he made his way through the flat. A tea kettle was on the front burner on the stove, a white mug sitting in the sink. There was still some left as he lifted the kettle, and he grabbed a second mug from the cupboard. 

Taking his lukewarm tea back to the living room he set it down on the coffee table, laying his cigarettes and lighter next to it. He checked the bedroom next, the room dark and empty as everything. "Hannah?" he beckoned quietly. No response. Hermione rustled in her cage, pine shavings flying through the bars and onto the floor. 

He saw the bathroom door open, and found the room just as dark. He tried the switch and nothing happened. There on the counter was a disheveled piece of bandage, decorated by a fair amount of blood. A bottle of rubbing alcohol stood next to it half gone. "Jesus..." he muttered inspecting the bandages. Some blood was quite fresh. "Hannah?" he called a bit louder this time. Still no answer but he thought he heard a faint noise coming from the closet. 

He left the bathroom and glanced down the black hallway, something like a phantom sprinting forth and grabbing him around the middle. Angus stumbled into the wall behind him, a warm face planting itself right in the crook of his neck. Placing his hands on the wall to steady himself, he looked down to see a brown head attacking his neck with kisses. She stood apart from him, a small smile gracing her lips. Cupping her face in his hands he inspected her. "You scared me shitless, love, where have you been?"

"Just got a bit scared is all," she mumbled, looking at the closet door thrown open. 

"Of me?" She shook her head. "The storm?" She nodded. "I thought you might be, I should have come home sooner. Malcolm wanted to see me."

"I made some tea earlier," Hannah said. "Until the power shut off." 

"I see..." Angus said glancing around the pitch flat. "Well, it'll come on again soon enough. Here, let's sit on the couch."

After moving his guitar case to the floor and letting Hannah get comfortable, he sat down next to her and brought her under his arms, feeling warm in their embrace. He could see a few bandages visible under the sleeves of her sweater. "What are these?" he asked brushing them with his finger.

"I scratched my arms too much," Hannah answered simply. "They've been bothering me all morning."

"You think we ought to see a doctor about that?" He frowned when she pouted. "I know you hate 'em, you don't have to tell me."

"What did Malcolm want?"

Well..." Angus took a sip of his tea and clicked his tongue. "He called me into the studio an' we played for a bit. He wants to keep the band goin', ya' know?"

"What do you think of that?" Hannah asked. Her hair was messy and her hands had pencil shadings painted on them. Upon closer inspection through the dark room, Angus could see she had a spot of blue paint on her nose. 

"I think it's a start," he answered twirling a strand of her hair with his finger. "I think with a better mindset we can come up with a plan." He sniffed, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. "We'll get Mutt in, we'll call George an' Peter in an' tell 'em what we think, see what they think. An' we were wonderin' if we should find a different studio to work in." Hannah looked at him.

"You mean...move again?"

"Not permanently, love, jus' to record the album, then we'll get a few tour dates, then we'll come back home, yeah?"

She snuggled closer into him, her eyes fluttering. Angus drank more tea, already rather cold. A heavy rain started back up again, Angus beginning to wonder if Malcolm has started for home yet. Perhaps Cara waited in her mother's arms for him to get back, then rested in his arms when he took her, squealing in joy. Maybe he'd sneak her a cookie from the freezer when Mommy wasn't looking. 

Hannah sighed, holding her arms around herself. Some paint had dried on the cuffs of her sleeves as well, Angus appreciative that she hadn't used one of his sweaters to work in. There were papers scattered across the bed in there, and a couple of pencils lost among the sea of sheets. 

"You've been busy..." Angus muttered kissing her hair.

"Mhm..."

"Have you eaten at all?"

"I sort of forgot..."

"Forgot? Darlin', you can't forget a thing like that," Angus said looking down at her. "No breakfast? Lunch?" She didn't answer. "Anything besides tea?" Hannah appeared to have fallen asleep on his shoulder, but no amount of stirring her woke her up. No question emitted a response and her breath was short. Angus palmed her heart and could feel it pounding normally, then palmed her forehead. It was quite warm. "Hannah?"