Romance Smackdown info:
Kurt Donald Cobain and Stefanie Sargent
Hellhounds on my trail
Word Count: 5,400

I'm so happy 'cause today I found my friends. They're in my head.
-Kurt Cobain, Lithium

The first time I saw him, I assumed he was just some musician looking to get out of the cold. Bedraggled, his hair hanging in his face, as he strummed his guitar at the edge of the rarely used stage. This dive wasn't in the midst of the Seattle music scene. Not anymore.

He was playing old grunge songs, nothing revolutionary. I waited for a long while to approach him. He put away his guitar, waiting for friends who never showed. I couldn't help but feel bad for him. During a lull, I made my way over.

“Hey. How you doing? Need anything?”

"Eh,” he rumbled, “Can’t pay, and wouldn't matter anyway." His voice was gravely, a half-awake chain-smoker.

I laughed. "If a drink's no good, how 'bout some company? My tables are all settled. I can chat for a minute or two.” I leaned against the stage and he put down his guitar, slouching next to me. He was boyish despite his scruff. The smile he gave me, as small as it was had a sweetness.“You from around here?" I asked.

He gave me a sort of grimace, and I was sad to see the fleeting smile disappear. "Originally from Aberdeen," he explained. "But yeah, when I'm not traveling, this is pretty much home."

I knew the feeling, never having a place to settle. "Kind of the same, I'm from Yakima mostly, but got lucky with a scholarship to UW."

"Nice," he said, though there was still a hesitance. "Wish I'd finished school." He shrugged. "Wasn't really my thing." He sighed and added, “That, and mom kicked me out...”

"Damn nice guitar despite all that," I commented.

"Well, I've had a few good paying gigs. I screwed up, though.” He didn't seem to be telling a sob story. This was just how it was. “I had an amazing band, the best. Fucked it all up. Now, I just haunt these streets, wishing for Nirvana."

I laughed, catching the reference to the band that had brought the Seattle music scene to the forefront of a generation. "Nirvana, eh? You a fan?"

He was frowning, studying me. “Bunch of sellouts.”

“I dunno. Is it selling out or just grabbing an opportunity?” I shrugged. “If I had the choice between just playing for fun and playing for a living, can't say I'd make a different choice... I mean, if I played at all.” I was no musician, but I knew lots of people who did play.

“I'd rather have Hellhounds on my trail.”

I laughed then. “Not a fan of the music industry?”

“Or the trappings of fame.” He considered me for a long moment. "The name's Donald...” he gave me a sort of wince. “Don,” he corrected, “and I'll be here all night." The smile was back, sly and small, pleased with himself for making me laugh.

“Well, Don, I'm Flora.” I glanced back at my tables, catching sight of an empty glass. "Listen, I'll be back, but I've got a few tables to serve."

And that was it. I found him again at the end of my shift and he walked me home. We talked about religion. Don held quite a bit of bitter resentment for his own experiences with Christianity, knew a great deal about eastern philosophies.

I hadn't had much time to dabble, but I agreed with much of what he had to say. My answer to the confusion, the lack of logic in the Catholic beliefs I'd encountered with my family was to put my faith in science. Facts, study and logic provided much more convincing explanations for much of my life.

I told him of my youth spent searching for much needed answers in books, libraries, and computers. Anything I could get my hands on to learn, research and bury my own pain. It was that drive that had gotten me into the University of Washington.

He hesitated at times, as if there were something he wanted to say, but he didn't interrupt, didn't make an attempt to alter mindset I'd put into place. I was thankful for that. It took all of my effort to be who I am, to feel safe in my beliefs, to pursue my goals. Doubt was a luxury I didn't have.

And so, he left me at my apartment building, one he said he knew well. I was hardly surprised. And he shrugged it off in a nostalgic sort of way. People claim to know all about the scene, to talk about the history that the area is known for as if they had been there. Most the time they were either too young or transplants, claiming the fame of a long gone era.

It always left me uneasy. The feeling was crystallized for me when I went out to pay my respects at Bruce Lee's grave site. I'd always been a fan, growing up watching his old films on my grandpa's knee. I was horrified to find people were parked all over, snapping pictures and tromping through the cemetery like it was a damned side show.

I'll never get over it. The allure of fame is so strong that people lose all sense of humanity, of the fact that those men had family and friends. They were just people, who had once lived, loved and regretted, just like all of us. Nothing less, nothing more.

* * *

I returned to work the next day and found myself watching for Don. I couldn't place him, but he had one of those faces I could have sworn I knew. There was something about those pale eyes that spoke to me. I smiled as I worked, humming the strains of melodies he'd played the night before.

He finally appeared towards the end of my shift. I didn't even see him slip in. Then, there he was, just propped up on the ever-empty stage, strumming and humming. Tonight, I didn't hear any of the grunge classics he'd fiddled with before. Now it was classic rock.

“Hey, we're closing up,” I told him.

He looked up at me through long, bleach blonde locks. “Oh?”

I nodded, hand on hip. “You know the saying. You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here.”

He gave a stilted sort of half smile. Those smiles, they never seemed to reach his eyes. “Right,” he sighed. “Can I walk you home then?”

“Sure. Let me get my stuff. I'll meet you outside.”

“So, what exactly are you studying at UW?” he asked once we were out in the chill.

I let out a long, tired breath, watching as it misted in the cold night air. “Neurobiology,” I answered, shoving my hands deep in my pockets and pulling up my hood.

“Heavy shit. Any particular reason?”

I shrugged. I could hardly tell him the truth. It was a common enough question, so I had an answer prepared. “I've always been interested in the way the mind works. Considered going into the medical field, but you know, terrible bedside manner.”

He snorted, pulling a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket.“I can relate, prefer keeping to myself.” He fished out an equally crumpled looking cigarette and lit it. “But you're a waitress, that takes some people skills.”

“If I never wait another table, I'd be happy. Just a way to keep those bills somewhat manageable.” I gave him a sly smile. “Besides, most people seem to like a bit of disillusioned bitterness with their waitresses around here.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugged his guitar up higher on his shoulder. “So, you gotta study tonight?”

“Yeah, anatomy, chemistry.”

He glanced at me, brows arched. It was the most expression I'd seen from him since our meeting. Even his interest in religion the night before was somewhat bored and jaded. “Anatomy, eh? Wish I'd taken an anatomy class... ”

“Nothing's keeping you from going back.”

He only shook his head. “Wish that were true,” he muttered. “You think I could help you study?” he added.

I shrugged. “Sure. You think I could take a rain check on that offer, though? I've got to get some sleep tonight. We can meet up at the coffee shop around the corner, or maybe you'd like to come hang out on the roof tomorrow?”

He nodded, head down as he shuffled along. Long, lean body hunched up as if he were determined to take up as little space as possible. “What time?”

“How's two?”

He squinted up at the night sky and nodded. “I think I can manage that. Can you meet me at the bar, though?”

I cocked a brow. It was an odd request, but I didn't feel like questioning it. “Sure. Tomorrow then, I'll swing by at about two, after class.”

He nodded, and I dug around in my pocket for my keys. By the time I'd managed to get the lock undone with stiff, icy fingers, he'd slipped away. I shook my head. What was I doing, befriending this awkward loner?

I pulled open the barred door and nearly jumped out of my skin. There stood Stef, long, scraggly dreadlocks bounced as she shifted from foot to foot.

“Who the hell was that?” she demanded.

I pulled the gate closed behind me, and she side stepped to let me by.

“Seriously, Flora. There are crazy people out there.”

“There's crazy people in here,” I snapped.

“A good friend of mine got raped just a couple of blocks down.”

I nodded, shoulders hunched as I made my way up the creaky stairs. “I'm careful. This guy, he's nice.”

“So it is a guy.” She bounded after me. “I'm hurt. You spend all your time avoiding me, but you let some guy walk you home?”

“Stef, he offered to help me study. Lately you've done your damnedest to keep me from it. Not a tough choice to make.”

She took the stairs two at a time until she was above me. “Come on, Flora! Lets go to the roof. Knock back a few...”

I sighed. It would seem I wasn't getting to bed early tonight. “One hour, Stef. It's freezing out there and I'm tired.”

“Sleep when you're dead! Or better yet, never!” she crooned.

I laughed. She certainly never seemed to sleep, a heavy partying vagabond musician. But she was smart, even helped me with my school work from time to time. She told me once that she'd graduated from high school two years early and just took off to work the music circuit.

People may say that anyone can live the American dream. You can get a scholarship and education if you only try, but there's more to it. Knowing how to study, having the support of family and friends counted for more than most were willing to admit. Having Stef to walk me through when I first came to the building was a life saver.

Problem was, she wanted to party and play more often than not. She was free, while I was locked into my schedule, my work and school. She was one of the few people who made time for me, though, so I could hardly turn her away.

I grabbed a six pack and what was left of a bottle of brandy and we huddled around a dying embers in the fire pit.

“So, tell me about your latest adventure,” I tried after she'd picked my brain about Don. I didn't know much, so it didn't take long.

“Becoming dull is all I know...”

“What?” I asked, not entirely sure of her meaning.

“Resurrection, friend or foe...” She shook her head, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. “Sorry,” she smiled. “It's just time to move on. Things are getting old. Feeling like a shadow of myself.”

I rubbed my hands together over the warmth of the sputtering fire and nodded. I'd miss her, that was for sure.

“Who will keep me up all night when you're gone?” I tried to turn the mood back to the playful banter we usually enjoyed.

“Oh? I'm not so hard to replace. That Don guy might be the perfect candidate.”

So that was it. Was she jealous? “Hardly,” I scoffed. “No one could fill your place, especially a mopey pretty boy...”

She laughed, “Pretty boy, eh? Didn't know that was your type.”

I rolled my eyes and took another swig.

“I don't have a type, and wouldn't matter anyway. I don't have time for that sort of nonsense. I barely have time for this sort of nonsense.” I put the emphasis on 'this', gesturing to the two of us, hunched conspiratorially over the fire and our bottles of liquor.

“Your lifelong ambition of picking apart the workings of the human mind,” she held up her bottle, examining the contents with a philosophical air. “That's all you've got time for, right?” She turned back to me with that Cheshire grin. “What was it, you told me that night? To explain the unexplainable? To understand the bizarre that only the human mind can produce?”

I slapped at her arm, “Stop it,” I laughed and finished the rest of the brandy. “You're reminding me why I don't tell anyone.”

“Oh, you've told me worse. Do you remember when you told me that you see dead people?” She roared with laughter as my eyes widened in horror.

“You bitch! No more drinking around you.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I told you, it was a hallucination. Messed me up, you know. My relatives are crazy. I'm lucky they didn't decide I was possessed and have me exorcised.”

“Now that would have been something,” Stef laughed. “Imagine where you'd be now.”

I groaned. “Probably completely insane...”

“Like you aren't already.” I knew she was teasing, but the words still stung. They hit too close to home. She got to her feet and went to the edge of the building, looking out over the twinkling lights of the city. The buildings loomed before us despite our vantage point on Capitol Hill.

I joined her, leaning on the railing. The alcohol had taken the edge off the chill, and while I was exhausted, I knew I'd toss and turn before sleep would find me. It was nice to be out here like this.

“So where do you think you'll go?” I asked, steering the conversation clear of my questionable mental state.

She shrugged and tilted back the bottle of beer she'd produced. I'm not sure where she'd gotten it. It wasn't one of the hard ciders I'd brought from my room.

“I've got some places up and down the coast I like to haunt.”

“Oh,” was all I could say.

She turned to me, a hand light on my shoulder. “I won't leave without a goodbye,” she said. “That's never fair, you know?” She turned back to the city. “Selfish,” she muttered.

Her touch tingled, even through the thick knit cloth of my sweater. I wanted to hug her. She was always so warm, so welcoming. I could tell she wasn't happy about leaving, but I couldn't ask more, couldn't pry. “Thanks,” I managed, blinking back tears.