There was a second of complete silence that surrounded and enveloped MJ and Heath. They looked at each other, joined by the moment. Then the applause began, somewhere in the back of the arena, swelling and growing like a wave under them, until it was huge, an enormous living thing, carrying the two of them on its crest, buoying and bearing them, the best kind of high.

Heath was somewhat used to it, but MJ was not. He looked over at his love; her chest was heaving for air, her lips were parted, her eyes sparkled as she gazed around the arena in amazement. She looked magnificent. She looked back at Heath, the sides of her mouth tipped up very slightly, and he could see her dimple.

"Take a bow, darling," he said, gesturing toward the audience. "That's for you."

She shook her head, and they were sitting so close that he could smell the tantalizing scent of flowers that drifted from her hair. "It's for us, Heath, it's for both of us." She grasped his hand and they both slid down from their stools, holding their guitars by the necks.

They bowed, smiling and holding hands, and Heath released her hand so he could put his arm around her waist and pull her closer. He kissed her damp forehead, and they bowed again before walking off stage, arm in arm to where Poppy and Archie were waiting.

They got hugged all over again by Heath's brother and sister, then it was a run to the car before the fans got there. They were laughing as they piled into the car, and sure enough, they were being chased up the streets of Buenos Aires, even though it was freezing, and there was a depressing drizzle falling.

"Oh my god, Heath, that was incredible!" MJ shouted, nearly taking his ear off in the confined space of the car. "It was like the audience was--was--inside us or something, you know?"

"I do know, actually," Heath agreed, putting an arm around her and pulling her close. "It's not always like that, but when the song's really good, and the performance is really good, it can feel like that." He looked at MJ. "And tonight was both."

"So what now?" Poppy asked. "Basically, you just performed Meredith's song without consent, right?"

Heath nodded, looking out the window. "Now, what we do is get our version recorded and released, and we don't pay Meredith a fucking penny." He looked over at MJ. " We fly to Rio de Janeiro tomorrow morning, so tomorrow afternoon, we set up to record in our suite, which won't be difficult, because all we have are two guitars."

He took MJ's hand. "I know you wrote it for one person and one guitar, and it sounds just lovely like that, of course it does, but I recommend that you let me back you, both on guitar and vocals, if that's okay? Just because it will sell better, especially at the beginning, with my name on it, all right?"

MJ nodded. "Of course." She stared at Heath. "What, did you think I'd have a problem with that?" She looked at the other two. "Did he?" She looked back at Heath. "I mean, why would I? You sound great, we sound great together, and two guitars just give it so much more depth."

Heath laughed as he patted MJ's hand. "Your lack of ego is so refreshing and almost astonishing, MJ. In this business it's nearly unheard of that anyone would want to share anything with anyone, especially if there's any possibility that it's going to be a hit, which this very well could be, with all the surrounding publicity."

"Well, I think that's dumb," MJ declared, turning her hand over so she could hold Heath's hand. "I never thought I'd be recording or releasing anything, ever, so this is all--um, this is all icing as far as I'm concerned," she finished, giving Heath an embarrassed smile.

They arrived at the hotel, so they went up to their suite and continued their conversation in the main seating area.

"So if performing it live without her consent is a problem, won't recording and releasing it without her consent be an even bigger problem?" MJ asked as she sat on the couch in her PJs.

"It's huge, isn't it?" Archie agreed. "She should get royalties and that, right? At every show when you perform it, and for every download, every stream or livestream or whatever?"

Heath nodded. "And we're not going to offer her a penny," he said as he swirled his drink. "And we've filed a lawsuit already over ownership of the song, so we'll how big her balls are, won't we?"

He saw MJ taking a deep breath, and he gave her a look.

"If you're going to say anything about how much this is costing, or about how I shouldn't be helping you, or anything even in the neighborhood of all that, you can just let all that air out of your great big mouth right now," he told her.

MJ shut her mouth and stared at Heath for a moment before saying, "The air you were talking about was in my lungs, anyway, sir."

Heath just gave her his best "whatever," look and continued talking.

"In addition to recording and releasing the song and filing the lawsuit, there's just one more thing I want to do."

He pulled his laptop toward himself.

He typed a few things, typed again, typed yet again, and rolled his eyes before typing even more things, his strokes getting more and more frustrated.

"Blast, Poppy, what's my Twitter password?"

Poppy, who'd been scrolling through something on her phone with her wineglass in her hand, sat up in surprise. "What? Why?" she asked.

"Obviously I want to log into my Twitter account," he answered, gesturing toward his laptop in frustration.

"But you never log into Twitter," Poppy said. "I take care of your Twitter." She looked at MJ. "I've been his social media proxy for the last three years," she explained. "He doesn't really have the time or the interest, you know? He sends me photos, or thank you messages or whatever, and I post them, or if I think something needs to be said, I'll just post on my own as him. He trusts me."

"She's better at it than me," Heath continued. "I have no idea that my fans want to know what book I was reading on the plane to Stockholm, you know? But Poppy will tell me to send her a photograph of it, she'll post it on my Instagram, or my Twitter, and suddenly the author, who's a good friend of mine, is a bestseller, and everyone's happy, so it all works out.

"So anyway," he said, looking back at at his sister, "what's my Twitter log-in?"

MJ was smiling as she poured herself another glass of wine.

"What's so funny?" Archie asked.

"I'm just enjoying hearing you English people say 'Twitter,' over and over," MJ admitted, her smile growing wider.

"Really?" Archie asked. He finished off his wine and poured himself more. "Twitter," he said experimentally. "Twitter," he said again, this time giving it a bit of a Cockney vibe. He took a sip of his wine. "Twitter," he said, making it wound as posh as he could and hoisting his glass. "Twitter," this time making it sound very Scouse and Liverpudlian, very Beatles. "Twitter." Next he said it sounding very Geordie, doing the Newcastle-Upon-Tyne accent, which was very pronounced and almost unrecognizable as English to MJ's ears.

"Archie, stop, please, I can't breathe," MJ begged, gasping.

"Anyway, my password for--for--youknow?" Heath asked Poppy, looking at MJ.

"The numerical one is the same, it's the one you originally set up, you remember?" she asked.

Heath nodded. "I don't know the other one," he told her.

"It's wankerbro2003," she said.

"Why do you have two passwords for Twitter?" MJ asked. "Don't most people only have one?" She wasn't sure, because she herself didn't have a twitter account.

At nearly the exact same moment, Archie sat up and looked at his sister. "Hey! I'm very offended by that password!"

"Why?" she asked. "I don't say which brother, it could be either one of you, couldn't it?"

Archie was only mollified for a moment. "Wait a minute! 2003's the year I was born, damn you!"

"Shut up, Archie, it's just a coincidence, honest," Poppy promised, stroking his leg as she nodded.

"When you have a verified account, you get two passwords," Heath explained to MJ as he finally accessed his account.

"What are you going to put?" Poppy asked.

She rose so she could go and sit next to Heath. "You never cared before."

My dearest friend, Meadow Rain, is releasing her beautiful song, Calliope's Lament, as a single. I am lucky enough to support her in this endeavor, on vocals, on guitar, emotionally, legally. I hope you will, too. It is an homage to her departed mum. My love to you all, always.

Archie and MJ also rose so they could go and stand over Heath's shoulder and read what he typed.

"But that doesn't really say anything," Archie noted. "It doesn't tell how that cow stole the song, how she sent that wanker to erase MJ's hard drive or whatever it was he did, how she's treated MJ so badly--" he broke off and put an arm around MJ.

"And what about the fact that you're suing Meredith? Wouldn't you better off writing an open letter on Instagram or some such?" He looked around. "I don't know what it's called exactly, but you know what I mean. And you don't mention how you're a couple, either..." he trailed off, keeping his arm around MJ. "Dunno, would all that be a bad thing to do?" He looked around uncertainly.

"Never complain; Never explain," Heath quoted loftily. "Darling, please check this for typos, will you?" He patted the space next to him, and MJ stepped over the back of the couch and slid down to sit next to him.

She looked it over and gave him a nod. He absently kissed the side of her head, hit enter, and logged out.

Archie looked at the backs of the three heads in front of him.

"And where am I supposed to sit, then?" he complained.

"Oh, you will be such a sodding baby," Poppy retorted, but she scooted closer to Heath and made room for Archie on the end. He jumped over the back of the couch, like MJ had, and snuggled in next to his sister with a happy, "Thanks, Pops."

"So, when did you make up those pithy words, brother?" he asked Heath.

MJ laughed, a sound that Heath was beginning to love with all his heart. "Those aren't Heath's words, Archie. Not that he's not smart enough to have made them up also," she hastened to add. "But it was coined by Benjamin Disraeli." She looked down the sofa and was confronted by three relatively blank looks. "Oh, come on, the Prime Minister of England in the 1800s?"

"Oh yeah, Earl of something?" Heath offered. "Bacon?"

"Earl of Beaconsfield, you moron," Poppy corrected, laughing.

"But his name sounds as though he was Jewish," Archie said. "Israeli?"

Oh god," Poppy moaned.

"Anyway," Heath said loudly, "It was Benjamin Disraeli who coined the phrase, and they're the words to live by. The more I explain, the more I play into Meredith's hands, I think. I explain plenty in that tweet. I mean, think about it. I say the word 'legal,' so everyone gets that there's going to be a court thing, and I say MJ wrote it, and I say we need their support. My fans are nothing if not supportive, and they love to parse out the meaning of everything. Everything," he repeated for emphasis. "Trust me, they'll understand everything they need to.

"And as far as MJ and me being a couple, well, they know I don't talk about my love life." He put an arm around her. "I never have. And you know Meredith's going to yap her stupid mouth about it, so let her. The more she talks, the more they'll hate her for it.

"Plus," he said in conclusion. "Her version of the song sucks, plain and simple."

He looked around.

"We have to leave at the ass crack of dawn tomorrow, you guys, we'd better get packing, I think."

Everyone nodded, and Poppy and Archie left to go pack, though they hadn't really been there long enough to unpack.

"You know, things are only going to get more uncomfortable with Meredith from here on out," Heath said to MJ when they finally got into bed. "You sure you want to travel with her?"

MJ nodded in the darkness. "I haven't done anything wrong, I'm not ashamed or embarrassed at all," she assured Heath.

"Okay," Heath said. "You amaze me, MJ, you really do." He took her in his arms, and kissed in the general area of where he thought her mouth was, based on the sound of her words.

"Really? Because most times I feel next door to nothing," she answered.

"Never," he said. "Never ever."