November 25th 1986 / Amsterdam, Netherlands

"Won't you talk with him?" David pleaded with Amelia.

His eyes, when asking something of someone, where always something like a lost puppy's, big and round and desperate. Most people might cave, but in this situation Amelia only straightened her posture and met him with a much firmer gaze.

"No, David. I will not talk with him. He can send off all the minions he likes to come and get me to talk to him, fact of the matter is I'm still angry and I'm not interested."

David's body sagged, he flopped himself down on Amelia's bed dramatically and groaned. "My god how can you be so stubborn."

The woman giggled slightly, sitting beside his splayed out body and massaging the back of his shoulder. "I'm not being stubborn," she said, to which David snorted into the pillow. He turned over and pinned her with a half-amused gaze.

"Are too."

"Am not." She reached to lightly ruffle her friends hair, freshly washed and free of gel.

David's face morphed into some degree of sincerity, his eyes now plain and heartfelt.

"He really is sorry, you know? He feels terrible," he said, no teasing or pleading in his voice, just ordinary David.

"And so he should," Amelia responded, her tone cool and flat.

David gasped, putting his hand on his heart dramatically. "Oh you are cruel, Amelia Sambora. Cruel, iron lady."

"Oh stop," she giggled, smacking his hand away and pushing him further into the mattress. "Don't say that, I'm not heartless."

"Are too."

"Am not." She grabbed a pillow and whacked him in the face with it somewhat harshly. A small 'oof' sounded.

"So how much longer will you allow him to wallow in his own grief and repentance before you begin to accept that he made a mistake?"

"Longer now you've said that," she snickered. "How much is he paying you?"

"He's not paying me at all. The only money he gave me was to give to you."

David dug into his pocket and pulled out a small wad of cash. "He wanted me to give it to you for the taxi fare."

"I already told him twice, I don't want his money."

"Amelia that taxi fare must've cost at least fifty bucks, you went all other the damn place, just take the money."

"No," she repeated, straightening her back. "You keep it, if you'd like."

He took Amelia's hand forcefully and shoved it into her palm. "Don't be stubborn, it's not benefitting you."

She glared and considered shoving it back in David's pocket. Under his intense gaze, she decided it better merely to accept it. "Fine," she spat out.

"Don't go in a strop," he said, only half jokingly.

"Don't get on my nerves."

"When will you talk to him? He really is sorry."

"He is paying you, isn't he?" She giggled.

"No, but he should be, right?" Dave smirked. "I'm givin' him quite the pitch."

"You are, but it won't work," she told him. "I'm angry at him, that poor girl was just nineteen and he practically left her to the wolves dressed like that. Anything could've happened to her."

"And believe me Amelia he knows," Dave stressed. "He feels awful, he's been quiet ever since. He's tense and it's making the whole band tense."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that David but it's not my problem. I can't save him from his own guilt."

"No, but speaking with him would certainly help. He cares so much about you, Amelia, I know you know that. You know that your good opinion of him has the ability to make his day."

"Well that's another thing he'll have to work through," she replied coldly, pushing her chin upward. "My opinion of him shouldn't have such a sway on his mood and emotions, I'm just his employee."

David sat up now, looking at his friend with a hardened scrutiny. "You're being cruel."

"Cruel?"

She stood up and pinned him with a glare that quite frankly terrified David. In that moment he was the direct target of her wrath.

"That isn't cruel," she told him harshly. "You know what is cruel? Bringing a nineteen year old girl backstage, kissing her, telling her she was beautiful and promising her the world only to humiliate her and deny her it publicly. And, to top it all off, leave her there half naked!"

David stood up fast, approaching Amelia. "Stop it, Millie, you know he didn't mean to hurt her."

"Intentions aren't enough, the fact is that he did. He should feel guilty about that, I'm glad he does, it should teach him a lesson."

"You're emotionless, I don't believe you!" David laughed in utter shock. "What happened to you, you were never like that before."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Oh yes you do, you've got a heart of stone encased in iron. You're impenetrable!"

"Get out, David," she gritted, tiring of his insults and observations. "Run back to your master and tell him I will not be forgiving him. Maybe he'll give you a little treat for all your troubles."

David ground his jaw, glared at her for a moment before stalking off. As soon as he was gone, Amelia collapsed back onto her bed with exhaustion.

Quickly, she felt a wave of regret begin to suffocate her. First Jon, now David. If she wasn't careful she might succeed in pushing everybody away, and then she'd be completely alone.

†††

The tour had continued into Germany. Not only was Amelia still refusing to speak to Jon, but David would hardly so much as look her way.

Richie had dragged her out sightseeing while the rest of the crew got registered and dealt with the luggage.

It was night time in Munich; while touring Amelia had gained a great respect for the night, it was truly beautiful being able to admire the stars in all different countries. She was glad to spend a little time alone with her brother, too, it'd been an exceptionally lonely past few weeks.

By the time the pair returned to the hotel it was almost midnight. Richie gave her the keycard to her room and bid her goodnight.

Amelia was just dying to get into bed and curl up in the warm sheets. She had no energy to even get changed for the night, she'd been on her feet all day.

Upon unlocking the door she froze. Already two people occupied the room, James the light engineer and some lady she didn't recognize were canoodling in the small bed.

She began to sputter out a fit of apologies before quickly shutting the door. Oh, if that was some prank her brother had put her up to then she'd surely kill him. She stormed into his room, finding him sitting on the side of his bed and applying some cologne.

"And just where do you think you're going?" She demanded, folding her arms across her chest. Her brother looked as though he'd just been swept away by a whirlwind.

"What? What's the matter?"

"Did you do that? Give me the wrong key card on purpose?"

"What?" His brows now furrowed as he stood up. "No, what do you mean? Who was in there?"

"James! And some woman making out with him."

Richie's frown intensified. "I don't understand, that's the key I was given."

"Well unless James ended up in the wrong room then you were mistaken."

Richie scratched his stubbled chin. "Hm. C'mon, let's go speak to Jon."

She marched behind her brother into the singer's room, finding him lounging around in the king-sized bed with his shirt off reading a newspaper.

"What's wrong?" He asked, sitting upright. "Where have you guys been?"

"Do you know where Amelia's room is? There's been a mistake," Richie started.

"Mistake? How?"

"I got given the wrong keycard for it," he explained. "Amelia walked into James' room."

Jon put his newspaper down and frowned, looking to Amelia. "I don't understand. I didn't book the rooms, David got us registered."

"David Bryan?" Amelia asked.

"Yeah, Davey." Jon stood, rubbing his forehead with his hand as he picked up the list of the rooms. He skimmed through it multiple times. "I don't understand," he said. "There's only twenty nine rooms."

"How many should there usually be?" Amelia asked.

"More," was all Jon answered.

He threw a jacket on and moved past both Samboras, slipping his feet into his shoes and leaving for the reception. Amelia and Richie followed him.

"There should be thirty rooms," Amelia overheard Jon saying to the receptionist. "Thirty."

As they neared, Amelia realized that the woman spoke little to no English. "Oh dear," Richie muttered gravely beside her.

"Thirty, thirty," Jon tried to stress. "Rooms, hotel. Thirty, drei, drei zhen." He tried to show her on his hands, pointing up the stairs and drawing squares as if to say room. Thirty, rooms.

The lady took the phone from its holder and began to dial, putting it to her ear and turning away. Jon turned to look at Richie and Amelia in bewilderment, his hands flailed out in disbelief. "Brilliant," he muttered. "Just fantastic."

The woman spoke on the phone for perhaps thirty seconds before putting it down and smiling at Jon.

"Well?" He questioned expectently. No answer. Amelia was beginning to understand how such a problem might have occured in the first place.

Soon enough another man emerged at the desk. "Hello gentlemen, and lady," he said in a thick German accent. "Is there a problem?"

"Yes," Jon sighed exasperatingly. "We booked thirty rooms but we've only got twenty nine. There's been a mistake."

"Yes," the man nodded. "That is because we only had twenty nine rooms available, Miss Caroline here mentioned that to your managers earlier."

"I can see how that might have gotten misconstrued," Jon muttered. "Don't you have one more room available? No matter how small?"

"No, I am afraid not," the man said. "We are fully booked, your crew has taken up two of our floors."

"Not even a cheap room?"

"No, no room is free, I am sorry," the man repeated. "Though if it is the lady in need of a room she is welcome to sleep in my quarters."

Both Richie and Jon stood up straighter, moving closer to the front desk and shielding Amelia from the man's view.

"Excuse me?" Jon's tone wiped the smirk straight off the man's face.

"Hey, you watch yourself," Richie warned, drawing the attention of anybody wandering about the lobby. "That's my sister you're talking about."

"You got any execs around here?" Jon asked, slamming his hand on the counter. "Anyone I can talk to?"

"No, I am the manager," the man grinned, flashing his numerous slightly chipped teeth.

"You're lucky." Jon gritted. "I'd have had you fired for that comment."

"Good luck with that, American. Round here we do not care about this sort of thing."

"Then we'll be leavin'," Jon said, flashing one last set of daggers the man's way. "What an asshole."

"Yeah," Richie nodded.

"You guys didn't have to make a scene," Amelia said quietly, surreptitiously glancing around at all the onlookers.

"He had no right to say that to you," Jon stood taller. "You're my staff, I'm not gonna let someone talk to you that way."

"And I'm not gonna let anyone be a creep towards my sister," Richie said firmly, patting Amelia's shoulder and dragging her off upstairs.

"What about the room?" She asked. She was much more concerned about the room.

"Looks like you're bunkin' with me darlin'," Jon announced in a significantly more jovial tone. She stopped halfway on the stairs, just about ready to explode.

"No, I will not," she said, her tone the equivalent of a child stomping their foot. "I will do no such thing, I'd rather sleep on the floor."

Both the men turned and laughed at each other, continuing their way up the stairs. Amelia was left gaping like a fish; she'd expected Jon to laugh but she thought at least her brother might take her seriously.

"Richie!" She called, rushing up the stairs behind them. "Why can't I share with you?"

Richie stopped in his tracks, a genuinely regretful look on his face. "Sorry kid, I've got a date."

"A date?" She floundered. "We've been here for less than a day."

Jon smirked at his friend and lightly whacked his elbow. "Casanova," he snirtled.

"The girl at the bar, her shift ends in half an hour, I told her to meet me in my room."

"Richie you're disgusting," Amelia exclaimed, pushing him slightly. "The woman at this bar? The hotel bar?"

Richie nodded, a silly and unabashed grin stretching across his face.

"What would Mom and Dad think?" She implored him to think about his actions, sleeping with women he'd never met before, it was awful.

"Mom would keel over, Dad'd smack me round," Richie snickered, continuing his ascent up the many flights of stairs.

"You're awful!" She scolded. "What would you say to me if I took a man to bed without having spoken to him before?"

Richie turned around with an eyebrow raised. "Well that just ain't you, Amelia. You're a prude."

She saw red. If they weren't on the stairs she would've pushed him. "I am not a prude."

She'd been fighting that allegation all her life. Jon was thoroughly enjoying the sibling quarrel, snickering away to himself beside them.

"Well what about Spankie?" Amelia asked desperately, slightly out of breath after reaching the top of the stairs. "Why can't I bunk with her?"

"Amelia it's.. 12:46," Richie said after a quick glance to his watch. "Spankie'll be asleep, her bed's only a single bed."

"But, but no," she started, feeling light headed. She couldn't, this had to be a practical joke set up by either Jon, Richie or David. She could not under any circumstance be sharing a room with Jon. Sharing a bed.

"C'mon, he's not that bad. It's just one night," Rich chuckled, elbowing her gently in the ribs.

"Yeah darlin', I don't bite."

He took a step back as soon as he said it, fearing she might pounce.

"Anyhow, I gotta go get ready. I'll leave you two to sort it out."

Utterly dismayed, Amelia watched her brother disappear off into his room.

"After you, darlin'," Jon said, a sickeningly sweet grin plastered across his face. She fumed, storming in through the door and looking around at Jon's already messed up sheets. She couldn't sleep in those, she'd rather sleep on the floor.

A thought suddenly occured to her. She panicked. "Where's my suitcase?"

Jon scratched the back of his neck. "I don't know.. uh. Probably in one of the crew's rooms by mistake. They'll all be asleep."

"So what am I to do?"

The worry in her eyes was almost entertaining to Jon, he'd never seen such dismay in her.

"Guess you'll have to borrow some of my clothes," he shrugged, rummaging through his suitcase for something suitable.

"What? No, absolutely not," she refused adamantly in her little strop. Jon peered up at her in a state of amusement.

"Then I guess you'll be sleeping naked. Fine by me, you know I loathe to sleep in clothes."

He didn't need to wait for the eruption, for it'd already happened.

"You're disgusting," she spat. "That's all you and your friends think about, isn't it. Sex, sex, sex. You're vile.".

"Oh stop," he rolled his eyes. He shoved a pair of gray sweatpants and an old, slightly haggard Bon Jovi shirt to her chest. "Haven't you ever heard of a joke?"

If looks could kill he'd be incinerated. She snatched his clothes away and stalked off to the ensuite bathroom. Momentarily she debated sleeping in the bathtub.

She stripped off and changed into Jon's clothes, tying the sweatpants extra tight to stop them from falling. Upon exiting the bathroom she almost fainted, yet again.

"Are you naked," she asked, her blood pressure once again rising. He was sitting there under the covers, his top half exposed as he read a book.

Jon rolled his eyes and peeled back the covers, revealing his thankfully covered bottom half. Amelia released a sigh of pure relief.

"Put your shirt back on, I'm not sleeping in a bed with you without it," she ordered strictly, busying herself with folding her dirty clothes and using Jon's hairbrush.

He allowed himself a smirk. "You've become even more prudish since I left you."

She stopped in her tracks. Her demeanor completely changed every time he alluded to the past. The idea that the man sitting in that bed was the man she'd once been intimate with terrified her, and by intimacy she didn't just mean sex.

"I'm not a prude," she repeated in her most distinguished and professional voice. "I'd merely prefer it if you put your shirt back on."

"Awh, how come?" He teased. "You know me, 'Melia. I've always preferred to sleep in the nude. From my recollection you were quite fond of it. Afraid you won't be able to control yourself?"

"That's enough," she said. She hadn't expected her voice to break. "Stop it."

Jon immediately did so. He grew quickly concerned. He'd expected her to grow angry at him, he'd been prodding her, teasing her, provoking her. He'd expected an explosion of anger, he'd never wanted to upset her.

"Sorry," he quickly said, unsure of what to do. He felt like a contrite child; Amelia's single command to stop was enough to thoroughly chastise him.

Amelia continued in silence and brushed her hair in the vanity, aware Jon was watching her every move. She thought more about the situation, coming to her own terrible conclusions.

"Did you do this?" She demanded.

Jon frowned. "Do what?"

"This. The room," she said, her lip twitching downward at the thought. "Did you make it so I'd have to share with you?"

"Amelia no," he said firmly, his brows furrowed deeply and sternly. "Of course not, I have more respect for you than that."

Her heart felt lighter. She believed him, Jon was no liar.

"I told you, David did the rooms this time, not me. Believe it or not Amelia I don't particularly want to share a bed with you either, probably for the same reasons you don't."

Well, to that there were multiples of reasons, she could guess which one he was talking about. "Right."

"You haven't spoken to me for weeks," he exclaimed. "And you're still pissed at me about Patty. Why would I wanna sleep next to the cold shoulder?"

"Well I could sleep in the bathtub if you'd like. If it'd make you feel better."

"Don't be stupid," he sighed. He was too tired to entertain her arguments, he wanted to read, and as soon as she turned the lights out he wanted to sleep.

Amelia left for the bathroom to use the toilet and wash her face. She tried to think of all the things she wanted to say to him, all the things she wanted to have a go at him for.

And they didn't just pertain to Patty, not even just to the tour. She wanted to go back years and question his decisions. Why didn't he call her? Why didn't he make an effort?

She exited the bathroom apparently looking more bothered than she'd intended to.

"You're still mad at me?" He asked plainly. "About Patty? Really? It's been two weeks."

"Of course I'm still angry, it was abhorrent," she snapped. "You can't just.. you can't just do what you did Jon. You're a celebrity now, you need to have more responsibility than that. You can't pull up a fan from the front row, kiss her, tell her she's beautiful, promise her you'll make her first time special and then ditch her. She was just a girl! For all you knew she could've been only eighteen, or even seventeen."

"She told me she was twenty on-"

"That doesn't matter. You are the celebrity, you're the one in power. You have to realize that girls are going to lie to you, girls are gonna do anything to be with you and it's your job to make sure that they're safe. You cannot just pull random fans up and sleep with them, they're not groupies, that girl was not a groupie."

"I know, Amelia, god." He seemed to be in a state of genuine turmoil, clutching at his forehead and covering his eyes. "How many times can I say I'm sorry. I feel terrible about it! I don't know if you've realized but this is new to me to. I'm not used to girls wanting me like that, I handled the situation wrong but I didn't know any better."

"Nineteen, Jon, nineteen-" she went to emphasize again.

"I know!" Jon snapped, truly startling her. She'd never heard quite a sound from him. "I know she was nineteen for christ's sake, what are you trying to say? That I'm a creep? That I'm sick? You think I wanted to sleep with a nineteen year old girl?"

"No," Amelia had to concede. "I don't think any of those things."

Jon admittedly felt relieved to hear her say that. "How kind of you," he mumbled.

Amelia didn't respond, she didn't have anything to respond with. She merely slipped beneath the covers and released a wobbly breath.

Jon was silent for a while. The pair of them sat upright, lights on, Jon with his book and Amelia staring directly ahead, afraid to move a muscle. The tension was unbearable, for a moment Amelia thought she really would rather sleep in the tub.

Jon dared a glance at her, saw her miserable expression and welled with pity. "Would you like a book?" He asked, a surprising level of softness in his voice. That was something Amelia had always dearly loved about him, his voice. Soft and silky smooth, it had the ability to send a wave of calm through her insides and soothe the growing turmoil.

"No thank you."

Jon shut his own book and placed it on the bedside cabinet. He pulled the covers up a little, covering his half exposed and marvelously hairy chest.

"You okay?"

She gave only the most miniscule nod. She couldn't look at him, for her joints squeaked at even the tiniest movement. She was stuck, stiff, and cold.

"You want anythin'? A drink.. a sweater, another blanket?"

She couldn't understand why he was being so kind to her. She didn't deserve that kindness at all, nor did she even really want it. She wanted him to be horrible to her, wished that he weren't so generous or so soft or so sweet. If he were bitter and cruel it would make moving on from him much easier.

Again she shook her head, pursing her plump lips.

"Have I upset you?" He asked. To that, she could respond verbally.

"No."

"Then why do you look as though you're about to burst into tears."

"I am not," she snapped. She looked over at him expecting a teasing and prodding smirk, only to be met with a kind and perpetually concerned smile. His eyes, they always held such love and attentiveness, so much kindness in those familiar cerulean, slightly teal blues.

"C'mon, surely I can't be that bad," he smiled, propping himself up on his elbow.

It was in times like that that Amelia wondered how the pair had ever worked. Amelia, with such a fiery disposition and explosive temperament, and Jon in his tranquil and acquiescent nature.

The pair were opposites in the very sense of the word. Once they had attracted, now they repelled.

"I'm sorry, I'm just tired," she mumbled. "I've said my piece, now. I suppose I forgive you."

Jon didn't feel triumphant hearing those words but instead felt indifferent, for it didn't matter if she forgave him if she still wasn't happy.

"What's the matter?" He asked with the most gentle tone he could muster. "What's goin' on with you?"

"What?"

Amelia had lost a little of her Jersey accent during the years she'd spent in England. She had a cleaner sort of edge now; it was one of the first things Jon had noticed about her upon her return.

Her former American 'T' sound, which was really more of a 'D', was far more pronounced and pristine sounding. When she'd said 'what' it'd sounded so dainty and delicate with a rather quaint little 'T' sound on the end. It suited Amelia perfectly.

"I've been worried about you." Jon's eyes bore deeply into Amelia's. He loved them dearly, so big and brown and full of intense expression. Richie and Amelia, while sharing similar features didn't look a great deal alike; Richie was tall with more pointed attributes, areas like his nose and jaw were sharp and refined. Amelia was more rounded, short though thin, her cheeks sweet and full. Their eyes alone were enough to give away their relation, they were truly the same. "We all have," Jon continued. "You've shut yourself away from us all these past weeks, even before Patty came along. What's got in your head?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." She pulled the covers right up to her neck like she were a caterpillar in a chrysalis. Jon refrained from commenting on the adorableness of the action, he'd only just gotten back into her good graces.

"Amelia, it's just you n' me," he said quietly. "No one else is here, nobody's gonna judge you, I could never judge you. Be open and honest with me, I promise you'll feel better."

She shook her head from side to side, looking eventually to Jon with what appeared to be a renewed and reinvigorated expression. "It's nothing, I promise. I'm homesick is all, I'm not used to travelling. I was only home for a couple weeks before you all whisked me off again, I've hardly seen my mother and father in over two years."

To an outsider it was a decent and more-than-valid argument, but to Jon he saw it as a cheap deflection.

"What book are you reading?" She asked all too quickly. Jon kept his lips tight shut and staved off a mighty huff, he vowed to get it out of her by the end of the night.

"Tolstoy," he answered blandly. Secretly he'd been rather hoping she'd ask, but not as a diversion from more pressing matters.

"Tolstoy?" Amelia's excited gasp spawned a colony of butterflies in Jon's stomach. "Oh, may I see? Which one."

Jon handed over the rather hefty book. "Oh, War and Peace," Amelia beamed, looking between the book and it's owner with admiration. "Look at you reading classical literature."

Jon's smirk was tinged with an element of bashfulness, his cheeks tinted red beneath the dim light. "You've read it?"

"Read it?" She laughed, a laugh too pure for Jon's more corrupted self. "I studied it! I enjoy Tolstoy, Anna Karenina and War and Peace are two of my favorites."

"He's pretty great, right?"

"Absolutely, one of the best," she beamed enthusiastically. "It's not like you to indulge in classical literature, in all the time I've known you you've only ever read biographies and magazines. How come you're reading this?"

"It came up in our conversation a couple weeks ago, then I saw it in one of the bookstores in Belgium, an English copy of course, I thought why not? Although.. I did start to regret it when I saw the size of the text."

"Oh yes, it's certainly hefty. Took me a week or so of almost constant reading to get through it."

"Yeah.. I bet," Jon muttered.

"I see you've made quite the start," she giggled, flicking to the dog-eared page only a few short chapters in. Jon felt himself blush.

"Yeah, I got caught up with photoshoots n' stuff. I'm enjoying it though, I've never read anything like it."

"Well I know," Amelia seemed so excited by the prospect of him reading some of the texts she'd studied. Finally she seemed to have warmed up to him, and all it took was for them to start talking about one of Amelia's greatest passions, reading.

He knew picking up that book was a good idea.

"How wonderful that you're reading classical literature," she gushed. "Next I'll have to get you started on Austen and the Brontë sisters, they're my favorites that we studied."

Jon winced. "Not Austen. She's the romance one right?"

Amelia gave a frightful gasp. She whacked the rather beefy book she was holding against Jon's elbow. "Jon! To diminish Jane Austen to a mere romance writer would be to say Elvis was nothing more than an attractive singer. Austen was a genius, an innovator and a feminist, I'm disappointed in you."

Jon snickered a little. "But they're romance, right?"

"It is true that they contain romance," Amelia admitted. "Wonderful romances, I would've thought you'd like that, aren't you a self proclaimed romantic?"

"Sure I am," he flaunted a most teasing and attractive grin. "Doesn't this contain romance?"

Amelia frowned at the War and Peace book. "It does, though not to the same capacity. You should give Ms Austen a chance."

Even Amelia had to admit, as much as she would've loved him to attempt it she knew he'd likely hate it, it just wasn't his thing. If he was going to indulge in classical literature it just had to be about something manly like war, romance simply wouldn't do.

In fact, she knew he wouldn't be caught dead reading something like Pride and Prejudice.

"No shot, I gotta finish this shit first anyway. I've got about one thousand three hundred and fifty pages left, it'll be a miracle if I get through it before I die."

"It's not as mighty of a task as it looks," Amelia assured.

"Thank god." Jon placed it back on the nightstand. Instead of being turned away Amelia was now facing him, her knees pulled up to her chest and an excited smile on her face, as if she were wondering what classic novel she would introduce him to next.

Jon wanted to revert back to their prior conversation; he wanted an insight on her wellbeing but he didn't want to wipe the smile off her face too soon.

"I think that you'll love it," she finished excitedly, clasping her hands together. "Oh, you must tell your mother, she would be so proud to know you were reading such a book."

Jon snickered a little. His mother would be proud if he did just about anything, but she did certainly love classic novels.

"And what about you?" Jon asked, sitting himself up cross-legged. "What have you been reading while I've been away? What records have you been listening to?"

"Oh, lots of things," she said dreamily. "I must've read about fifty books during my degree, a mix of fiction, non-fiction, poetry and prose and playwriting. I didn't listen to much music beyond the radio, I couldn't afford to buy any records. I had my small collection of seven inches, mostly just the same old stuff I've always listened to. And I had your first two albums of course, courtesy of my brother."

"I've never asked you before, what's your favorite of our songs?"

"Ooh, Wanted!" She exclaimed cheerfully. "Definitely Wanted, it's so mysterious and whimsical, it's lovely."

"That's my favorite too," Jon grinned. To hear Amelia appreciate what he considered to be his greatest achievement in songwriting was endearing.

"Oh, and-" Amelia suddenly remembered Silent Night, the song that'd put her in such a wretched state that she didn't leave her bedroom for two days, not even for food.

Silent Night, Secret Dreams, The Hardest Part is the Night, Amelia had been acutely aware as she listened to them how interwoven her and Jon's story was with the lyrics. Silent Night had inflicted the most sorrows.

"She Don't Know Me," she answered instead.

"She Don't Know Me?" Jon was the picture of offense. "Are you kiddin' me? I didn't even write that one! I got scammed into puttin' it on the record."

Amelia giggled a little, after all it wasn't really her favorite. There were plenty others that she enjoyed immensely, but being one of the only ones she remembered having a video to go with it She Don't Know Me was the first that came to mind.

"It's catchy!" She argued.

"Well it ain't mine, it's terrible," he grumbled.

"It's still you singing."

"Pfft, I sing on all of 'em."

"Oh come on, I like plenty of them. Like Wild in the Streets, that's fun. And Raise your Hands, and Bad Name."

"Oh, you like the crowd pleasers do you?"

"Who doesn't? But I love the melancholy stuff too, like Love Lies."

"Love Lies? That was one of Davey's favorites."

"Well he does get a pretty nice keyboard part in it. How come it's never in the sets?"

"It's not up to our standards these days, we have better tunes," he answered simply. "You say you like melancholy, what about Never Say Goodbye?"

Amelia thought it slightly cruel to put her under pressure like that. "It's lovely," she said diplomatically. "It has a nostalgic feel to it, such as a song like Heaven by Bryan Adams."

"Nostalgic you say?" He wanted to challenge her cryptic reply.

"Yes, something that almost anybody could relate to. I've noticed you have a knack for that, writing songs for the people."

"Well, it's what we try to do," Jon sighed. He wasn't going to get her to talk about the past no matter how hard he tried. "Give back to the kids that support us with songs they can relate to."

Amelia beheld him silently for a moment. "You haven't changed one bit."

Jon took that as the most sincerest compliment. But if that's the case, why do you treat me so differently?

"Neither have you. Stubborn, obstinate, persistent to no end, awkward, absolute, -"

She rolled her eyes in amusement. "Those are all synonyms."

"I don't even know what that means," he said, though he could infer.

Jon admired the tint on her cheeks. Just as she acted, she looked the same as she'd always been; beautiful to no ends, perhaps a little paler after being absent of the Jersey sun. Her hair was shorter, bouncier, fuller, her cheeks rosy as her lips. To Jon, she were and endless and timeless beauty.

"I am not stubborn," she insisted softly.

Jon put on his best intellectual-sounding British voice. "Studies find that the majority of people to repeat the phrase 'I am not stubborn' are in fact, the most stubborn people."

"Oh hush," she chuckled, relaxing a little into her pillows. "You know this is very unprofessional, sharing a bed with my boss."

"Well, I prefer to think of you as my friend than my employee."

Amelia turned her head, looking at him for a moment. "Friend?"

"Yes, friend," Jon had to laugh. "Y'know, friends that can talk about Tolstoy and Austen and those Brontë people together, or recommend new records to each other or go sightseeing around foreign countries together. Y'know, friends."

Amelia narrowed her eyes at him, the corner of her mouth curling upwards slightly. "Alright. Friends."

Jon felt he'd experienced his greatest triumph of the whole tour. "Great," he said, snuggling up more into the sheets, on arm under his pillow. "Glad we could finally establish that."

She gave him one of her wry smirks.

"Will you promise not to shut me out anymore?" He asked much more seriously. "I'm sick of the silent treatment. If you've got a problem then let me help, talk to me, I can't do anythin' if I don't know about it."

Jon wanted to repeat one of his favorite optimistic adages, 'a problem shared is a problem halved'. He refrained from doing so, fearing that citing a simple proverb might incite Amelia's wrath; she'd likely think he was babying her.

"Alright," she muttered, albeit reluctantly.

"Good. You worry me half to death every time you go into one of your bouts of solitude. You worry all of us, especially Rich. It's not good to be alone in a hotel room every day, maybe you and Spankie should bunk together from time to time."

Amelia pulled the covers up to her face, perhaps a little embarrassed. "I love Spankie, I really do, but I really do like having my own space.. unless it's a money issue, then of course I'll share with Spankie."

"It's not a money issue, of course you can have your own room if you want. I just don't want you to be lonely."

"I'm not lonely," she promised. "I have plenty of people to talk to, you know I'm introverted."

"Yeah, I know," he sighed. "Just promise me you won't lock yourself away in your room. Come with us to interviews and sightseeing n' photoshoots."

"So I can be bored to death?"

"No," he laughed. "Bring a book or somethin', get a change of scenery."

"Fine. I might consider it if it'd make you happy."

"It would." Jon nodded. Silence befell them for a short while, each content to lay there beside each other.

"You should get some rest," Amelia spoke up. "You have a big show tomorrow."

"And you've got all my lovely paperwork to handle."

"Oh don't remind me." At least she was getting paid good money for it.

Jon leaned over to switch the lamp off; embarrassingly she admired his taut back muscles as he did so.

Even in the dark she could make out his teeth gleaming at her.

"What? What is it?" She asked, alarmed by the severity of the smirk.

"No goodnight kiss?"

"Don't push it, Jon."

She was glad he couldn't see her smile. He erupted into a small bout of chuckles.

"I'm just kiddin', you know I can't resist."

Amelia tried to ignore the warm feeling emanating in her chest, the same sensation she used to get when she was a teenager with a schoolgirl crush.

Well, she was in bed with a man, and an annoyingly charming man at that. It wasn't a sensation she was used to, she'd cut herself some slack.

"Goodnight Jon," she murmured, sweet a tone as she could muster. Jon's reply sent her already-buzzing insides into a frenzy.

"Sweet dreams, 'Melia."

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