Graham didn't know what to do. He knew what he should do, but what he wanted to do was miles away from that. He had it bad for his upstairs neighbor, to the point that it was distracting him from what he needed to do. He and Ash were a team, it was them against the world, right? And Ash needed him right now, to help with school. Which he could only do if he won the competition.

Simple.

He sat down to practice, knowing that he was tense from the surprise visit from Professor Thurman. He could feel it in his shoulders and back, and he knew he needed to work it out first, so he began with Hanon exercises, still the best ones he knew for pure technique and strength.

He pounded on the piano, working out his aggressions, his anger with his Prof. It didn't help that she looked so much like Kath, either. Thinking of her just made him more angry, and he continued onto the next exercise without stopping. He also upped the tempo on his metronome, just to keep himself honest.

This was the part so many people didn't understand. Most people thought that musical performance was art, and of course it was, but technical perfection had to be the starting point of any art, not just a romantic musing with the composer or whatever. Most great artists of canvas spent thousands of hours learning to draw, how to compose a picture, and most great pianists spent thousands of hours on arpeggios and scales. Once that was finished, then you could think about art, because without the proper tools to wield, art couldn't be produced.

He could feel himself relaxing, and wondered if Professor Thurman knew how much damage she did when she just showed up like that, with no warning.

He moved on to the Rachmaninov, trying to erase the boxes from his music as he worked on issue after issue. Sometimes he would spend an hour or more on just a few measures, trying to tease out the meaning of the notations, what Rachmaninov had intended when he wrote it.

Finally, hours later and dripping with sweat, he was ready for a break, and took his customary beer out to the garden. He found Cressida out there with a book, and sat down next to her.

"Sounded wonderful," she told him with a smile. "Isn't it just about perfect by now?"

Graham snorted. "Far short of perfect, I'm afraid. I just hope it's ready in time. I only have eleven weeks left."

"Did everything work out okay with your Professor?" Cressida was hesitant to ask, but felt like she had to.

"Yeah. She didn't stay very long."

"I hope my being there didn't cause any trouble?"

"No."

Cressida felt frustrated by him, by how he could just, shut down, when he didn't want to talk about something, but she didn't know how to combat it.

He rose without another word and went back inside, and shortly the sounds of the piano could be heard once more.

Cressida sighed.

She listened for a while, her studying forgotten, and when the music stopped, she rose to go inside.

Graham heard her footfalls on the stairs, and opened his door. "Cress?"

She paused on the landing. "Yeah?"

"Are you busy this Saturday?"

"I have class, that's all." She came back down the stairs.

"I have a thing at night that I have to go to, I thought you might want to come?"

Cressida shrugged. "Sure. What kind of thing? I mean, how should I dress?"

"It will be sort of dressy, I guess." He shrugged. "I'll be wearing a suit, if that helps."

"Got it."

"I have to perform at a dinner the Prof is having," he finally explained. "She asks me to do this sometimes, and I don't feel like I can say no."

"Okay. What time?"

"We should probably leave around 6:30."

Cressida nodded and turned to go.

"Cress?"

She turned back around.

"Thank you, Cress."

"You're welcome."

*

Cressida spent the next few days wondering if the invitation meant she wouldn't see him until then. Apparently so, for he didn't open his door when she came or went, and she heard the piano all the time. She spent hours hanging around in the garden, hoping he'd come out and join her, but he never did.

"So? What's new with you and your moody piano player?" Andrea asked after class one day.

"His name's Graham, and there's nothing new," Cressida informed her friend. "He's invited me to a dinner, given at his Professor's house. He has to perform, and I think he just didn't want to go alone." She explained her suspicions about Katherine. "I think she really hurt him, but she's still interested in him, and he wants me to go as armor or something."

"Ooh, a love triangle, interesting."

"Andrea, it is not!" Cressida couldn't help but laugh at how large her friend's eyes had gotten. "He just doesn't want to be bothered by all that stuff, and it will be easier if I'm there, I think."

"Whatever, you still get to spend the evening all dressed up and with him, so that's good, isn't it?"

"I guess, but I mean, what's the point? He's not that interested in me."

"Come on, Cress, you said yourself he doesn't have time or room in his life right now, that's all."

Cressida looked at Andrea soberingly. "Please, you know and I know that if he were really interested, he'd find time. He just doesn't like short, skinny girls who look like they're ten years old."

Andrea nudged her shoulder as they walked out onto Broadway in the evening dusk. "Come on, Cress, you're beautiful. You look like a teensy little fairy." She grinned. "You are pretty short, though, I must admit."

"Next to him I look extra small, too, he's so huge. You should see his shoulders. And legs for miles."

"Sounds yummy. Can I meet him?"

Cressida made a sound of exasperation. "I don't see how, since I haven't seen him myself for days. Let's face it, he doesn't care if he sees me or not."

"Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, you big baby. Come on, stop feeling sorry for yourself. At least you have the prospect of romance in your life, unlike yours truly. I haven't had any masculine interaction of any kind in weeks."

"What about Sean?"

"Dude, I said masculine," Andrea responded with a laugh. "He's as gay as Josh, he just doesn't know it yet."

Cressida gasped. "You're so mean! I just saw him with a girl in the Strand a few days ago, and they seemed very chummy."

Andrea turned to Cressida, stopping walking to do so. "That was his sister, I'll have you know."

"How do you know? You weren't with me, you didn't see them."

"Because I know his sister's been visiting him from Vermont, and the bookstore was one of the places he wanted to show her," Andrea responded loftily. "Come on, I'll buy you dinner."

"Sounds good."

"How about the diner where you ate with him?"

Cressida looked at Andrea suspiciously. "He's not just going to show up there, you know, if that's what you're hoping."

"I'm not hoping anything, I just want to take my friend out to eat, that's all." Andrea smiled, eyes merry. "Besides, the diner's right around the corner. Come on, let's go."

They'd just placed their orders when Cressida looked up and nearly choked on her drink. "Oh my god, that's him. He's actually here."

Andrea gasped and turned around before Cressida could do anything sensible to stop her. "Andrea! No! Don't do that, he'll notice!" Cressida hissed, leaning over the table.

Andrea turned back around. "Is that him? The dreamy looking tall guy who just sat at the counter?"

Cressida nodded.

"Oh my god, did you see his hands? Huge and beautiful," Andrea sighed with happiness. "And you know what they say about guys with big hands, don't you?" She looked at Cressida as she sucked on her straw.

"Andrea!"

"Big gloves," Andrea answered herself, laughing at her own joke. "You have such a dirty mind," she said to Cressida, slapping at her hand, which was on the table. "At least trade places with me so I can see him?"

"But then I can't see him!" Cressida was indignant.

"But then he can't see you, either," Andrea pointed out.

"Good point," Cressida admitted, switching places with Andrea. With her back to him, she could relax a little.

"Sun was in my eyes," she explained to the server when she brought their food."

"The sun?" the server asked, looking outside. It was nearly dark.

"My eyes are really sensitive," was all Cressida could think to say.

"Cress, he's going to notice you if you keep sitting all scrunched up like that," Andrea said with a laugh as they ate. "You look like you're expecting someone to hit you or something."

"But if I sit up, he might see me."

Andrea looked over. "No worries, he's reading the paper. My my, he's gorgeous, isn't he? Looks like a construction worker or a longshoreman, not a classical pianist."

"I know," Cressida moaned.

"Oh, he's leaving, he's leaving," Andrea informed her.

"Thank god, I was wondering how we'd get out of here if he decided to just sit there with a cup of coffee or something."

The girls waited for a safe five minutes before leaving themselves.

"Well, that was fun, let's do it again soon," Andrea said with a laugh.

"Yeah, let's not and say we did," Cressida responded. "See you in class."
Cressida turned and headed for home.

"Hey, gorgeous, you got a smile for me?" A voice came out of the darkness.

Jesus, didn't men ever learn any new pick up lines?
Cressida ignored the voice and picked up her pace. She jumped when she felt a hand on her elbow.

"I'm talking to you, why you being so rude?"

The owner of the voice was a guy about her age, with a scruffy beard who didn't smell very good.

"Get your hand off me." Cressida suddenly saw that the street she was on was somehow deserted, even though it wasn't even ten o'clock.

Shit.

"Come on now, gimme a little sugar, hm?" The guy got in front of her, blocking her path.

She tried to walk around him, but he put a hand out, snagging her around the waist.

"I said let go!" She shoved him as hard as she could.

"Come on now, be nice and this won't hurt," he said to her, easily recovering from her shove and getting in her face once more. He grabbed her around the waist and tried to kiss her while simultaneously pulling her into an alley that she'd never noticed before.

Cressida was terrified.

Suddenly she heard a thud and a grunt, and the guy let go of her.

"What the fuck?" he spluttered, turning around.

Graham was standing there, looking like a giant, hands knotted into fists, his stance aggressive. "You leave, right now, and I won't hit you again," he said.

The guy took in Graham's size and tone, and decided to cut his losses. He took off at a lope down the alley and was gone from sight in a few moments.

Cressida turned and jumped into Graham's arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. "Thank you thank you thank you," she sobbed.

Graham patted her back. "You okay?" he asked.

Cressida nodded and lowered herself to the ground, though she would rather have just stayed where she was.

"Did he—do anything? Did he hurt you?"

Cressida shook her head. "I'm okay, I'm okay," she assured him.

He picked up his bag of groceries and they turned for home.

Cressida swooned almost immediately, the strength leaving her legs. She went down to the pavement, her knees making a painful sound.

"Whoa, whoa," Graham said, putting an arm around her waist and helping her up. "Just a little delayed reaction, I guess."

"I guess so."

"Here, grab up, Cress—" he swung her up in his arms easily, still holding his bag.

"What? No, you can't carry me home!"

"Why not? You weigh less than nothing, I don't even notice." He firmed up his grip on her. "We're nearly there, anyway."

Once she got over her shock, Cressida wasn't so far gone that she couldn't enjoy the romance of being carried home by her rescuer. She leaned her head against his chest, imagining she could feel his heart beating.

He set her down when they got home, saying, "Why don't you come in for a minute? I'd like to keep an eye on you a little longer, make sure you're really okay."

Cressida nodded her agreement and entered his apartment.