February 7th 1987 / Detroit, Michigan

It was but two o'clock by the time Amelia finally roused, dreary and delirious. She failed to recognize her surroundings, nor the source of the lilting guitar melody resonating in the otherwise silent room.

Her stomach bubbled, head pounded, ankle throbbed. What in the world had taken place the night before?

"Tommy, is that you?" Had she not been desperately hungover, waking up to a man plucking the strings on his guitar in a tender refrain would've been awfully romantic. She threw an arm over her eyes to block out the light.

The melody halted, followed by perhaps an even sweeter sound that Amelia recognized despite her weary state. "Jon?" She whispered upon hearing the laugh. "Jonny?"

The man discarded his guitar and scooted closer to Amelia. "Yeah, it's me. What time do you call this?"

"I don't know. Can't you close the blinds? That light is so terribly blinding."

"Oh dear. I think you might have a rather severe case of 'help I drank too much last night and now I'm dealing with the consequences.'"

Amelia did not find his jokes amusing. Instead she whined like a toddler. "Go away, Jon," she batted her hand at him. "Leave me be."

"Hey, that's my bed you're lyin' in."

"Well why on earth am I in your bed?" She enquired tiredly, not even thinking of the implications of such a statement. To her, everything from her hangover to the bed to Jon himself was just a nuisance.

"It's a long story."

"Well, don't bother me with it now," he grumbled, turning over and snuggling into his pillow. "Let me sleep."

"Don't you want paracetamol?"

Most certainly she did, she just didn't want to go to the effort of sitting upright just yet.

"Oh, Jon," she cried out in pain. "What on earth has happened to me?"

The light was bright even with her eyes closed, her head felt as though it might erupt under pressure, and her ankle, what in god's name had happened to her ankle? It was immobile.

"Come on, here, sit up." He attempted to help her into an upright position. "Take the paracetamol, will you?"

She gathered the strength to open her eyes. Her vision blurred and obscured, in the center was nothing but a vague humanlike silhouette, the blinding light behind him serving as a halo. If she were any deeper in her delirium she would've thought she were in heaven.

"Don't you have hair of the dog?"

"Nonsense," Jon declared. "After last night? You're not having a drop of alcohol, it'll only delay the inevitable. You're banned from drinking at David's birthday, too."

"David's birthday?" She uttered, taking the paracetamol. "I'd completely forgotten."

"Well, I ain't surprised after all you drank. You drank enough to drown."

"I hardly remember a thing," she mused. She lay back against the pillow and shut her eyes again, prayed for sleep to take her away.

"Probably better off that way."

"Hm? Why?" Amelia murmured sleepily. Oh, how her head pounded. She whined and writhed like a small child with a fever; alcohol was a poisonous substance. "I didn't make a fool of myself, did I?"

"Making a fool of yourself should be the least of your concerns." Typical of Amelia to be more concerned with her pride than her safety.

"Why? What happened."

"What happened? You were drinkin' whiskey, that's what. Spirits, Amelia! Since when did you drink spirits?"

His voice was far too many decibels for her fragile head that morning, each word reverberated most painfully.

"Last night apparently."

"Well, it was stupid of you. You were spiked."

"Spiked?" She muttered in disillusionment.

"Yes, spiked," he confirmed gravely. His voice turned stern. "You were spiked Amelia, with god knows what. The fact that you came out of it with a mere hangover is a miracle."

"What does being spiked have to do with whiskey?" She buried her face into the pillow. "If someone wanted to spike me it wouldn't have mattered what I drank."

"You would've been on your guard if you weren't completely out of your mind."

"Oh, stop chiding me as if you were my father," she grumbled. "I had fun, I wanted to drink. Nobody reprimands you men for wanting to drink, not even when you're passed out in the middle of the floor. But women? Oh, how dare we want a good time. How terribly unfeminine for us to consume liquor."

From the way she was talking Jon inferred that the effects of the drugs or alcohol she'd consumed hadn't completely worn off.

"C'mon, stop it." He still hadn't slept off his exasperation from last night, he was powerless to deal with Amelia's obstinacy that morning. "Us men don't have to be so vigilant as you women, you know that. I wish it weren't that way."

"I'm sick of being vigilant. I don't care anymore, I just want to have a good time without worrying."

"Don't say that," he spoke quietly and wearily. "You can't say that. You have to worry, safety comes first."

"It's not fair," she lamented.

"I know. But the world isn't changing any time soon."

Amelia marvelled at the idea of going into a club without having to worry about being spiked, or kidnapped, or raped for that matter. Why did the world have to be so cruel to women?

"How was I spiked?"

"I don't know, I imagine you turned careless after all the drinks you had. You were foolish, Amelia." His voice turned harsh. "You assured Rich and I that you were gonna be safe last night, that you knew to be on your guard and watch your drinks. Thank goodness it wasn't any worse. You put yourself in danger."

Upon opening her eyes Amelia found her friend in a most wretched state. He shook his head and scrubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry," he continued softer. "I shouldn't blame you, I don't blame you, it's just you scared me. As soon as I found you passed out I feared the worst."

He placed a warm hand on her knee. "I haven't stopped worrying about you all night, I thought.. I don't know what I thought, I was worried you'd take a turn for the worse. It's just that, well, it's good to see you're alright."

Both his palms encased Amelia's hand tenderly. He brought it to his lips for a soothing, lingering kiss, more soothing to himself than to her. Amelia might not have known many men, but she could be sure there were never softer lips than his.

"Alright? You call this alright?"

"Yes." His brows furrowed tightly. "You were spiked Amelia, the fact that you came out of it with a mere hangover is a miracle. For god's sake, you left a drink unattended? What happened, did you let someone other than Tommy buy you a drink?"

She shrank from his accusatory glare. She might've been stubborn but she certainly wasn't stupid, what she'd done was dangerous and immature. Her parents would've been furious had they known, Richie must've been worried to death wherever he was. Jon, as usual, was right.

"I don't remember," she uttered shamefully. "Perhaps."

"Perhaps." He sneered. "Well, whatever you did was foolish. It was foolish to drink whiskey when you haven't drank in years, it was silly to leave Rich and I's sight. For god's sake, there was a man out there last night whoever he was that wanted to harm you."

Jon, for all his usual tenderness, had a harsh way of putting things when it came to Amelia and her safety.

"Well, look at me. I'm alright."

"Alright? You should've seen yourself last night." He stood and started to pace the room like a lunatic. His hands now busied themselves clutching his hair, pinching his nose or rubbing his brow. "You need to take this seriously. What if I hadn't been there? You couldn't walk, you couldn't speak, if Spankie didn't come and find me then you'd have been in trouble."

Amelia was now sitting upright, curled in a ball beneath the covers. It was cruel of him to scold her when her head hurt so much.

"But she did find you," she whispered meekly. "I stayed close to Spankie so I'd be safe."

"That's not the point," he rebutted. Amelia flinched at the sound. "It's not enough. You don't get drunk like that, you don't let your drink out of your sight, you've gotta be vigilant. You could've..." he trailed off. In a state of fright and vexation he shook his head, sweat glistening at his temples. "My god you could've been hurt. What would I do then? What would Richie do? I couldn't live with myself if I'd known you'd been hurt."

His voice was nothing more than frantic whisper, Amelia couldn't liken it to anything.

"I'm alright," was all she could offer. "I'm safe, thanks to you and Spankie."

Jon didn't take any credit for the deed.

"Your brother was nowhere to be found," he spoke much calmer. "I assume he left with some girl, and thank god. I can't imagine what Richie would've done if he'd seen you last night."

"Was I really that bad?"

"Your body isn't accustomed to drinking, Amelia. Nevermind drugs. You were unconscious when I found you, when you woke up you vomited. You were out of it."

Picturing herself vomiting wasn't a pretty sight, she'd wondered what that funny taste was on her tongue. She grimaced.

"I'm sorry," she conceded. "I don't know what came over me."

"Neither." The harshness of his voice had long sinced faded, she found his disappointment immeasurably worse. "You're a smart woman Amelia but you do have your moments. What were you trying to prove, who were you trying to impress by drinkin' all of that? Tommy?"

She scoffed in revolt. "Don't make me puke."

Jon's miniscule smirk didn't go unnoticed by Amelia.

"Then who?" He enquired. "Why did you drink whiskey? You don't even like that stuff, you're a wino like me."

"I don't know, Jon. I was so sick of you and Richie telling me what to do, especially Richie. I didn't want to impress anyone, I wanted to piss you off."

"Oh ho, you didn't piss me off. Scared me to death more like. Do you know what it's like to carry somebody you care about while they're unconscious? What it's like to know that somebody tried to hurt somebody you loved by drugging them, because I do love you Amelia. Maybe not like I once did, maybe in an entirely different sense of the word but I love you and I care about you and the last thing I want in the world is to see any harm come to you."

Tears pricked at her eyes. The vehemence with which he spoke was haunting, his profession had both warmed and broken her heart. He loved her, of course he did. One didn't spend five years of their life with someone only to stop loving them, Amelia of all people knew that.

His love now was of course different to that which she'd known. She felt his love in a platonic manner, a protective manner even, and though she often noticed his miniature advances and tender affections, she found his love now to be akin to that of an older brother despite their being the same age.

Whether it was the hangover, the alcohol or merely the profoundness of Jon's declaration, Amelia found herself swept with emotion. A small tear slipped from her eye, "I'm sorry," she whispered, catching it quickly. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I wanted to anger you, not scare you."

Jon was not a bitter enough man to take pleasure in her tears of regret. He took a seat back on the bed and scooted close to her. "It's alright," he assured. He always considered a woman's tears to be a difficult sight, especially when those women were so close to him as Amelia. "You're alright."

Amelia calmed herself. Crying over such a matter was pointless and not to mention embarrassing in front of Jon. She hiccuped a small breath and dried her tears.

"That's better," Jon cooed. Amelia often wondered how Jon could be so gentle, so tender even when he was angry. If four years ago Jon had done the equivalent of what she'd done last night she would've fumed at him, her ability to hold a grudge was second to none.

But Jon.. well, he was so fundamentally different. In that aspect she considered him far better than her.

"What matters now is that you're safe," he murmured softly. "And that you learn from your mistakes."

Of course, his forgiveness always came with a small reprimand.

In a moment of franticness he leaned closer and kissed her forehead. "Do you feel okay?" He asked worriedly. "Can you move alright? Is your vision okay?"

"Yes," she responded to all three enquiries. "I'm hungover is all."

"Good. The drugs have worn off."

Amelia considered that. She'd never been under the influence of drugs before, not voluntarily. Jon had always made a concerted effort to steer her clear of them even in her most rebellious phases. She was thankful for that in the long run. "What was I like?" She asked. "What happened last night? What did I do?"

"Well, it's hard to tell what was the drugs and what was the alcohol. Spankie came to tell me you'd been spiked, I found you unconscious being carried by Tommy."

"Tommy?" She didn't want to imagine Tommy carrying her, not in such a revealing dress. The thought made her sick.

"Yes." He was ashamed to admit that a part of him had blamed Tommy at first, maybe even mentally accused him of drugging her. "I took you outside. Like I say you vomited, then you ate a little."

"Ate?" She frowned.

"Yes, a burger."

"And then what?"

"And then what?" Jon repeated her question in slight amusement and bafflement. "Well, I don't know Amelia, it's a long story."

"Well, tell me."

She listened in horror as he recounted the tale of last night's events, at least up until getting her into the taxi. She didn't recognize herself in Jon's descriptions, it was both embarrassing and humiliating.

"My god, I was so stupid." Her eyes began to well up again. She was conscious of her dress when she pulled her knees to her chest. She pulled it down and wished it'd miraculously grow a few inches, it was far too short.

And her cleavage, no wonder somebody had tried to spike her. She was a damn fool to go out in it, Richie had warned her and she hadn't listened in her own stubbornness. "I dressed like a whore," she sniffled. "I acted like a slut. You were right about everything.. I'm a fool."

"Don't be silly," he comforted, pulling the covers up and over her. He rested his elbow and chin on her knee, speaking to her like one might speak to a child. "You looked beautiful, Amelia. You were right in what you said yesterday, nasty guys are gonna be nasty no matter what you wear. Wearing a dress doesn't make you a whore, neither does dancin' with Tommy Lee, although of the two that's definitely the more egregious transgression."

She cracked a small, watery smile.

"You're not a slut, and if you were who cares? Hey, I'm a slut, a man-slut."

She expelled a small giggle and pushed playfully at his face. "You are. We gotta get you on one of those pole things."

"Oh, a little shimmy on the pole?" He wibbled his shoulders.

"That's right." A fully-fledged smile returned to her face, even if tainted by the tear stains on her cheeks. "You'd make a pretty penny."

"Oh yeah, you think?"

"Oh, most certainly. Ladies would pay fortunes to see you shake your booty on stage."

"Ladies do pay fortunes to see that," he smirked. "Haven't you seen one of our shows?"

She mumbled an agreement. "I suppose so."

Last night's events loomed over her, she turned somber again. "What else happened last night?"

"Well, after you ate a little I took you home."

"Was I difficult?"

"Oh, plenty difficult," he chuckled. "You're difficult enough sober, nevermind drunk."

She wanted to refute that claim but how could she? She was, for all intents and purposes, a very difficult woman.

"What did I do?"

"What didn't you do?" He began to list on his fingers. "Well, you berated me for starts. You called me controlling, said I made you sick, oh that's right you called me a chauvinist, you-"

"A chauvinist?" Amelia could hardly believe it. In all her life she'd never been so ashamed, what a disgraceful thing to call a man like Jon.

He nodded and continued. "You hurt your ankle but made a fuss when I tried to carry you. You said all sorts of things which I won't go into for the sakes of your pride."

Amelia dared not think what that meant.

"You put up another fuss when we got back to the hotel, in fact you slapped me in the elevator."

"Slapped you?"

Her shame turned to horror. It was one thing to verbally abuse him, but physical harm?

Jon nodded silently.

"Where?" She asked.

"On the cheek."

Amelia didn't know what to do with the information. How hard a slap was it? Had it stung? Had it left a red mark? It didn't bear thinking about. In a moment of intimacy she scooted closed to him and pressed a feathery kiss to his smooth-shaven cheek.

His eyes flared in sudden surprise and elation. He marvelled at how such a small kiss had the power to make his heart leap in such a way, how his cheek tingled with the gentle contact.

His mouth curled into a smirk. "My other cheek," he tapped his finger by his jaw.

Her eyes narrowed at him, lips forming into a defeated and yet amused pout. Nevertheless she granted his wish, dropping a kiss to the delicate area hoping to atone for her previous violence.

Jon's grin hadn't dissipated. His index finger grazed his plump bottom lip. "Is it too much to ask?"

"You play a dangerous game, Jon Francis."

Hearing his full name only made his grin flourish further. "C'mon, you know you want to," he dared, admittedly bracing himself for a fiery scolding. He hadn't expected to feel Amelia's warm and rosy lips on his own, he hadn't prepared for it, all breath left him in one fell swoop. He was powerless against her. Both his stomach and heart erupted into numbness, he tingled, lost control of all his senses bar the delicate touch of her lips.

She parted all too soon, and not without her own cartwheeling insides. She'd never known that a simple, tongueless kiss could be so remarkable. "That was for getting me home safe," she whispered softly. "And an apology."

"Apology accepted," Jon smirked, fighting the urge to touch his lips.

Amelia dared to touch and ruffle his hair, sighing. "I don't know what came over me, I don't understand what'd make me want to hit you."

"Well, probably the drugs," Jon shrugged. "It's alright, it only stung for a moment. It was more of a pain just to get you out of the elevator, you can be so damn stubborn."

She pulled the covers up to her face bashfully. "Sorry," she reiterated.

"That's alright. Like I say, I'm just glad that you're safe."

"All thanks to you."

It was a moment of slight intimacy. Prior to that morning the pair had hardly spoken for a month; Amelia had very stubbornly stuck to her word, she was not to talk with him until he took steps to ensure his health. It seemed all of that had just gone out of the window, she'd just kissed him after all.

Richie burst in without warning, looking around like a frantic stray dog. "Amelia-" he lunged at her, shoving himself between Jon and his sister. "My god, are you alright?"

He hugged her fiercely, perhaps a little too rough. There was an insurmountable fire in his eyes. Oh, he was mad! Furious even, Amelia braced herself for the inevitable onslaught.

"What in god's name were you thinkin'?" His voice made her head ache. If she'd thought Jon's scolding was bad this was immeasurably worse, Richie lacked any of Jon's tenderness. "Drinking whiskey! My god, you're an airhead, an imbecile! You stupid woman, you swore you'd watch your drinks, you promised- !"

"Richie," Jon muttered, placing a firm hand on his friend's shoulder. "Don't."

"Don't?" He dared, eyes of a wild animal. "My sister could've gotten herself kidnapped. Drugged, Jon, she was drugged. She's a moron, dressin' and drinkin' like that."

Amelia watched painfully as the two men discussed her transgressions as though she weren't there. Hearing her own brother call her names such as 'imbecile' and 'stupid woman' both broke her heart and wounded her pride.

"I know, but you don't need to be so harsh," Jon sighed. "You don't have to name call, she isn't stupid, we all make mistakes."

"That was a near-fatal blunder!" He argued.

"It wasn't, Rich. I had my eye on her."

"And it's just as well," he muttered harshly. "Who knows what could've happened."

He turned back to his sister, an ounce of warmth restored to his expression. "At least you aren't hurt."

"No thanks to you." There were tears in her eyes from his previous lecture. "Where were you, Richard? Where were you when your little sister was drugged and passed out?"

His nostrils flared mightily. "You assured me you'd be safe, promised you would watch your drinks. You said you knew how to deal with places like that!"

"Well, I was wrong," she admitted, though it took all her strength to do so. "I don't know what happened, somebody must've put something in my drink, I see no needle marks."

"Your whiskey?" He grumbled.

"Yes, my whiskey. I'm curious, Richard. You make such a fuss of my safety and whereabouts, you were adamant last night that I was being foolish in both drinking and wearing this dress, so much so that you demanded I take it off. And yet when I didn't you were nowhere to be found, why is that? Does your protectiveness only extend so far as you can control me? Why, the one time I needed you, were you nowhere to be seen?"

"If I'd lingered around you would've called me controlling and overprotective."

"You are, Richie! Perhaps I'd never have been propelled to drink at all if I weren't looking to escape you and your overbearing-ness. I wanted to piss you off."

"What, by getting yourself hurt?"

"Sure, maybe," she mumbled. "You have no right to be angry at me, you weren't even there to witness it. Thank goodness Jon was there, he has half a wit about him and makes up for both you and I."

"No right to be angry? How can I not be angry."

"Well, for all the times you've watched over me like a controlling and overbearing asshat of a big brother, the one time I really needed you you were nowhere to be found!"

"And that's my fault?" He almost laughed.

Behind the pair Jon sat mute. The Sambora's each had their own fiery disposition, Jon was so plain and placid in comparison. Arguments tired him even as a spectator, he found it both admirable and ridiculous that the Sambora siblings could go round in circles with each other in such a way, though he dared not step in.

"It's nobody's fault, in fact if it's anybody's fault then it's likely my own. All I'm saying is that you have no license to be angry at me, you don't know what it's like to live as a woman. I was vigilant, or at least I thought I was. I'm paying for my mistakes with an ungodly hangover, one that you're worsening by the minute. Now leave me, I'm tired and drained."

"Leave you?" He uttered in astonishment.

"Yes, leave me."

"Well what about Jon? You'll speak to Jon but not your big brother?"

"Jon rescued me last night and looked after me this morning. He too chastised me, but he was not cruel in his observations. He did not call me a stupid woman, nor an airhead for that matter. Now go, I need to use the bathroom."

Richie did not move, instead he silently fumed at her. In his mind he had every right to be angry, she could've been hurt! She couldn't just dismiss him like that, he wasn't finished.

"Move, Richie," she ordered. When he didn't she took matters into her own hands and stood up to leave. She felt straight to her knees with an agonized wail, it was Jon's arms that caught her.

"Amelia-" Richie stood in urgency and approached both his friend and sister.

"What?" She scowled. "It's a sprain, is all. Haven't you ever worn high heels?"

"Well, let me help you," he begged, attempting to support her weight.

"Jon helped me last night and he can help me now," she clutched tighter to the man. "Jonny, take me to the bathroom."

He did so dutifully and silently. "Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"Yes, I'm an adult woman, I know how to use the bathroom."

Jon reluctantly left her. She struggled to stand before the mirror, using the basin as a crutch. How Jon had kept a straight face when her make-up was smeared in such a way was beyond her, and so was the idea that Richie could scold her so harshly when it was evident she'd already been crying. Was he heartless?

Oh, her head was killing her. She did her business in the bathroom and slowly made her way out.

Upon exiting, Richie lifted her off her feet in an emotional and panicked embrace. "I'm sorry, Amelia," he mumbled to his little sister. "I love you so much, you scared me to death and I got angry."

She was in too much shock and too hungover to understand him fully.

"I burst into tears when Spankie told me what'd happened. I was terrified. Don't.. don't do that to me again, or god help me."

Amelia patted his back awkwardly. "I'm okay. Hungover his all."

"And thank god it's no worse," he rejoiced. "And Jon.. how can I thank you, brother."

He put Amelia down on the bed before embracing his old friend heartily. "You saved my little sister, I owe you everything."

Jon merely shook his head. "I don't want any credit for it."

The brotherly embrace was slightly overshadowed by Jon's conscience. If Richie knew that merely a few minutes ago him and Amelia had kissed, no matter how platonically or chaste, Jon would be exiting the hotel room with two black eyes and a broken nose.

Richie turned back to Amelia and sighed. "Rest," he patted her shoulder. "Try to get some strength, we're going for a meal for Davey's birthday, might hit up the bars and watch a few kids play."

He hugged her again. "I'll see you later. Look after yourself Millie, I love you."

His entire change in demeanor had been such a whirlwind for Amelia that she remained in silence even after he'd left. One minute he vicously scolded her and the next he was practically crying in her embrace.

"He's a funny man, isn't he?" Jon took the words from her mouth. He sat beside her on the bed with a great sigh. "I don't know how much walking you're gonna be able to do on that ankle, maybe we'll have to get you a stick."

"I will not use a crutch," she snarled. "I'll be fine later on. It was a shock is all, when I stood up."

"Let's hope so," Jon said softly. "Try to sleep."

"Wouldn't you rather me go to my own room? You haven't slept all night."

"I'm alright," he sighed. "I'll sleep tonight. You just stay there and get some rest, I might go and get some breakfast. Would you like something?"

"Nothing more that toast. I worry I won't keep it down."

"Your wish is my command. I'll be back shortly."

She took his hand just as he was about to leave. "How can I repay you? For all that you've done for me."

Jon only chuckled. "There's no need to repay me, 'Melia. Though if you do insist, you could always kiss me again."

"Don't push it Jon."

"I'm kiddin', I'm kiddin'. Actually, there is something you can do for me."

He perched on the bedside cabinet. "I've taken your advice, or rather demands, and we're taking a week off in a fortnight. I'm still lookin' for a house, I'm gonna be visiting some. I'd like you to come with me."

"Come with you. Why?" She frowned.

"You're my assistant," he shrugged nonchalantly. "And I enjoy your company. Besides, us men need women's advice on this sorta thing."

"Well, if you insist."

He smiled a little. "I do. I'll be right back."

†††

Jon arrived at the Sambora household to pick up its youngest resident. With quick greetings and farewells to the rest of the family they were soon off.

"Are you nervous?" Amelia asked him in his brand spanking corvette.

"Nah, I wouldn't say nervous. Anxious really, I just wanna move out already, I feel like a burden to my parents."

"A burden? You're financially responsible for them these days."

Amelia always found the sight of a man driving to be sexy, especially when operating such a fancy car.

"Mm. Well, I gotta get my own place. My room's too small, I could never have any girls over in my parents home. I live the life of a monk when I'm in Jersey."

"Probably some good for you," Amelia giggled.

He gave an expression to the contrary.

It wasn't long before that Jon pulled into the driveway of the magnificent estate. The leaflets Amelia had examined didn't begin to communicate the size of the place, nor its grandeur.

"You really are a rich man."

Jon pushed the gearstick and took the keys out of the ignition. "Yes," he responded plainly. "Wait there."

She expected him to take a walk around the property and meet the landlord before asking for her company. Instead, he walked around his corvette and opened the door for her. "After you, dear."

She kept her smirk concealed. "You always were charming."

"I try."

It was a brisk spring morning, Amelia was quite impatient to get inside.

"I've never been to a viewing like this."

"It'll be fun," Jon assured. "When Dave and I were young without a dime to our names we'd go to these sorts of things. Always the biggest houses we could find, we'd walk around and nod like art critics as we toured the place, eventually the owners would get the drift we were just a couple good-for-nothin' kids. Simpler times."

"Now you actually have to buy one."

"That's right. But hey, I've got a good feelin' about this one, it could be my home someday."

He rang the doorbell. The man that greeted them was an elderly gentleman, likely a few years older than Amelia's father. He had an old-fashioned air about him, his countenance strange and otherworldly.

"Goodday Sir. Welcome." He shook hands with Jon and then Amelia. There was a kind eye behind his half-moon glasses, he ushered the pair in happily.

"You are Mr Bongiovi?"

Jon nodded affirmatively.

"My granddaughter loves you, she'd be elated if the house went to you. Can I get you a drink, perhaps?"

Jon looked to Amelia, she shook her head. "I can take a coffee, if it's no bother."

The man gave a hearty smile. "Yes, of course. Follow me."

The house reminded Jon of his grandparents old home in Italy; rustic yet grand with mostly wooden furniture.

"This is the kitchen."

It was a magnificent place, spacious with a checkered stone marble floor and wooden countertops. It was a bright area, thatched windows all along the counter and a huge glass door to the backyard. It wasn't entirely old-fashioned but it was homely, the perfect blend between modern and rustic.

Jon thought of waking up in the morning to a view of the wild garden, making coffee in the picturesque home and relaxing with the doors and windows flung open listening to the birds. He hoped there were no insuperable faults to the place, he'd grown quite fond of it very quickly.

The landlord, Mr Mason as it were, continued to tour them around the property. The living room was expectedly grand, much like the interior of a stately home only marginally less ornate. Jon seemed to nod his head in satisfaction at every new room he was introduced to. Amelia found the house to be beautiful but lacking.

"If you don't mind me saying, Mr Mason, but I believe this house could use a woman's touch. Have you lived here often?"

"You are quite right my dear." The older man chuckled. "This house has been abandoned for perhaps a decade, it's in need of a good deal of renovation in order to keep up with the times."

That prospect didn't seem to bother Jon.

Each time Amelia thought she must have reached the last room of the house, another popped out of nowhere. It was a real life Tardis! She wondered what need Jon could have for a house so large, he was but a single man.

Once they'd been sufficiently toured around, Mr Mason left the pair to their own devices.

"Are you really going to buy this place?" Amelia's voice seemed louder in the grand hallways, as did their footsteps.

"Shouldn't I?"

"Well, it's so big, it'd be so solitary."

Jon regarded her concerns for a moment. "When I do buy I house I wanna live in it for a long time, maybe even forever. Hopefully forever. I want a wife and children someday, maybe even a dog. Can't you imagine having a family in a place like this, Amelia?"

She looked around. It'd certainly be a big enough place for a number of families to live all together. "I suppose."

Jon stepped back into the master bedroom. A plain room with not much but a bed, wardrobe and stone balcony. He opened its glass doors and stepped out into the gentle breeze, leaned on the stone rail.

"Isn't it wonderful?" He mused, his hair blowing out of his face and exposing his stellar profile. "Think, waking up to my wife on the balcony in the middle of the night and watching the stars with her in the winds."

Amelia attempted a smile. Whether he was attempting subtlety or merely completely tone-deaf she couldn't tell, she leaned toward the former. "You always were sickeningly romantic."

He beheld her quietly. "It's a disease," he said, turning back to the country view.

"It's your Italian roots," she patted his back. "Don Giovanni."

"Sure." His smile was lifeless. Somewhere, something either himself or Amelia had said had rendered him crestfallen. "Lovely view, isn't it?"

"Mm." She jumped up and let the fresh breeze fly through her hair, peering over the railing at the green expanse. "Absolutely gorgeous."

"Be careful," Jon muttered, holding her jacket and pulling her back.

"Oh come on," she teased. "I won't fall."

She hopped back onto the railing and dangled over it, endeavouring to wipe the gloom from his face. "Look at me! It's fun."

"Just watch yourself," he repeated. In the past it'd always been Jon doing something stupid or dangerous, Amelia had always been a voice of reason. Time had changed the both of them, Amelia wasn't used to his newfound sensibility.

"Be careful? What, you think I'll topple over?" She giggled, daring to drop further.

"Well, you are top heavy," he warned, growing more concerned.

The shock of his comment almost caused Amelia to let go. She squealed and pushed herself back up to the ground. "What?? Top heavy?!"

Jon took a quick step back. "No.. I, uh, that's not what I meant-" he grew flustered. "I meant, everybody's top half is heavier than their bottom half."

"Top heavy!?" She repeated incredulously. "And here I am calling you charming, you have all the grace of a wild boar!"

Jon scratched his neck. "I.. uh." There was no saving him. In his mind it was a good thing for a woman to be top heavy. He was a self-professed boob man, he loved breasts more than life itself. The woman before him was so very well-endowed for such a petite girl, who could go wrong with that?

"Were you referring to my breasts??"

Jon's stuttering grew more dire. "Uh -"

"You pervert!"

"Well what else would I be referring to?"

"I thought you were calling me fat."

"Fat?" He sputtered. "No, of course not."

Amelia Sambora, fat? The idea was ludicrous, there wasn't an ounce of fat in the entire Sambora family.

"I should hope not, Jon Francis. You walk a very thin line."

Frankly, Jon was scared of the woman. She was always at least somewhat scary but when her temper was roused she was formidable. His charm and wit didn't work on Amelia, it'd be impossible to talk his way out.

"I'm sorry," he repeated earnestly. She only shook her head.

"C'mon," he spoke in a much more cheerful tone. "Give me your hand, we'll go check out the garden."

"Your hand?" She startled.

"Yeah."

He smirked at her hesitance.

"It's a hand, Amelia. I ain't gonna wisk you into some waltz. Just c'mere."

She reluctantly gave it to him, giving him leave to drag her around the house. Why had she given into his request? Well, she couldn't exactly say.

She'd always loved the feeling of his hands. They weren't soft, persay, but they were gentle and calloused with many years of playing guitar. He had a firm, manly grip, and while not overly large they more than made up for it with strength and warmth.

The garden was wild, untamed and more like a nature resort than anything else, certainly in need of some work. Still, it was beautiful, large as a park and cosy as a forest.

Jon parked himself on the ground and spread his legs across the grass. "Oh yeah, I could get used to a garden like this."

Amelia took a seat beside him.

"What do you think of the place?" He asked her.

"It's very large," was her first comment.

"But do you like it?"

"Well, I worry about you Jon," she muttered. "You've never been much of a solitary man, I mean you've always enjoyed company. Living in an estate like this all on your own is bound to feel weird for you, I can't imagine you suited to it."

"Well like I say, I don't plan to be alone. Picture me, a wife and kids in a place like this. Do you like the house?"

Picturing him with a wife and kids was not exactly what she'd planned when she agreed to this 'business trip'.

"Why does my opinion matter to you?" She frowned. "If you like the house then you should buy it, so long as you're sure."

"But I wanna know what you think. I trust women's judgement on these sorts of things far better than my own. And you're my friend."

Amelia turned and looked at the house. It was like something out of a movie, stunningly beautiful but almost ridiculously large and so very old-fashioned on the exterior.

"It's a beautiful house, Jonny. If you love it and you're financially capable of doing so then go for it, but only if you're sure."

It was entirely bittersweet for Amelia to think of Jon purchasing a home. He'd always sworn that the first house they'd buy would be together, that they'd renovate it as a couple and live happily married someday. Now she sat by his side as she watched him purchase a mansion for himself, meanwhile she was no closer to moving out of her childhood home.

She was proud of him; fiercely so, and yet he'd almost seemed more excited discussing their future plans together in childhood than he did now staring upon the home he might soon call his residence.

"I mean, what happened to your dreams of a beach house?" She asked.

"Eh. Maybe I'd get a holiday home there, but you were right."

"How do you mean?" She frowned.

"All those years ago. You put me off gettin' a beach home, said we'd get hit by some 'tsunami'."

"I have some recollection of such matters."

Amelia allowed herself a small smile. She looked back fondly at all the times her and Jon had spoken of building a home together, it'd turned out that Amelia's taste was far more particular than Jon's, back then the only thing Jon had really cared about was that Amelia was going to be in the home.

Things were vastly different.

"Yeah. The beach front isn't exactly a place I wanna build my 'forever home', the countryside works for me."

"Well, it's lovely."

"I like it. I really do. It's better than any of the other ones I've seen, better by a long shot. And it's gorgeous, right? The kitchen, the livin' room, all the balconies and even the vines on the side of the building. It'd be a wonderful home."

He was giddy like a schoolboy now. "I can have my own studio in a place like that, and there's no neighbors for a mile out, I can make as much noise as I please! And look at the walls around the place, it's secured like a medieval castle."

"So, you'll buy it?"

Jon looked to her excitedly. "Maybe I should bring my parents over, see what they think."

"I'm sure they'd love it."

The pair took a walk around the rest of the garden, it wasn't long until the sun began to set.

Jon informed Mr Mason on his intentions to view the house again at a later date. Mason seemed both pleased and excited.

It was dark by the time Jon pulled up in the Sambora drive. Amelia was confused by his small and not at all amused chuckle.

"What?" She asked.

"Nothin'. Just that this is the first time I've ever been able to drop you off in your drive without having to worry about your father murdering me. I always dreamed of the day I might just walk up to your home without any repercussions. It seems anticlimactic."

She quietened. All these months on she still hadn't learned how to react to his allusions to the past, she was still half trying to pretend nothing had ever happened.

"Funny how the world works, I suppose." Her mumble was meek.

"Yeah," Jon exhaled. He sucked in a quick, deep breath. "Well, goodnight I guess."

He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze, prompting her to leave.

"Goodnight. I'll see you next week."

He nodded. "You too. Take care of yourself."

Amelia smiled at him.

"And you." If anyone needed to take care of themselves, it was him. "Rest this week, alright? Stay at home when you can. And good luck with your house."

He nodded. His heart never soared more than when Amelia revealed she still cared for him. He watched her pensively as she made it back indoors.

She watched Jon pull out of the driveway from the window in her living room. He gave her a quick wave and one of those awkward compressed smiles before driving off.

Amelia felt truly lost in every sense of the word. She'd gone to university in hopes that she'd figure everything out, but coming out of it she was worse off than before. Her prior friendships had dissipated, her relationship with her family had diminished, her romantic feelings were all over the place and she had absolutely no sense of direction. She was envious that Jon could move out at age twenty five, she couldn't picture being able to move out for many years yet.

Being left to her thoughts was always dangerous for Amelia; it was going to be a long week off work.

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I feel like this took ages to write but I've just been so busy ://

Good thing is I already have half of next chapter written so it shouldn't take too long to get published.

Hope you like this one :) let me know in the comments what you thought