"Good evening, Chicago!" Heath called with an energetic wave. "Thank you for coming out to see us tonight!"

The crowd roared back, a seething mass of smiling humanity.

"As you know, there's been a bit of a shake up on our tour of late, a bit of unpleasantness for us to deal with," Heath continued with the understatement typical of the British. "Due to circumstances beyond our control, the show that was scheduled for last night and unfortunately had to be canceled has now been rescheduled for tomorrow night." He laughed as he spoke, and made twirling motions with his hands, encouraging the audience to laugh along with him. "I sound like the crazy teacher from the old Willy Wonka movie, don't I?" he continued. "Mr. Turkentine? Anyone remember him?"

Heath made a funny face, and changed his voice, doing his best impression of actor David Battley, who did such a brilliant job playing the nutty Mr. Turkentine in the original Willy Wonka movie:

"I've just decided to switch our Friday schedule to Monday, which means that the test we take each Friday on what we learned during the week will now take place on Monday before we've learned it."

He had the crowd howling by the end of his impression, which, to do him credit, was very good. "At any rate, if you had tickets  for last night's show, it will be honored at a show that we have scheduled here at this same venue for tomorrow night. If, however, you can't attend, you can return your ticket for a full refund, and our sincerest apologies."

Another roar of approval went up from the crowd, as Heath held his hands out in a pushing down motion, trying to quiet them so he could speak.

"We also have a couple of line up changes for tonight and tomorrow, so listen carefully, there will be a test on this material," he said, making his face stern. "Our bassist, Sawyer, has suddenly left the tour for personal reasons, and, while we do believe we'll be able to replace him permanently by the time we hit Nashville, which is the next stop on our tour, we needed someone to pinch hit in the interim, so to speak."

The truth was that Sawyer's departure had come as a complete surprise to everyone. Apparently, he'd been "carrying on," as Sally put it, with Meredith, unbeknownst to anyone, and had decamped to her hotel in the middle of the night, leaving them high and dry. Sally had a line on a couple of good bassists, but none that could be in Chicago on eight hours' notice.

"In the absence of a suitable permanent bassist, we lucked upon an amazing guitarist, who happens to be an incredible bass player as well, a bass player who happens to know all of the songs I'll be playing tonight, because he's my brother, ladies and gentlemen, let's give it up for the one and only Archie Spencer, everyone!" Heath finished with a flourish, gesturing toward the spotlight, where Archie stood, a shy smile on his face, as he did a little riff on the bass, his second favorite instrument.

"And, we figured, since we had two of the Spencer children on stage,  we might as well make it a hat trick and have the most beautiful of us out here as well, so here she is, everyone, let's hear it for my lovely sister, Poppy Spencer, who will grace us with her skill on the keyboards for the next two shows!" And he gestured toward Poppy, who was standing behind a neat looking double-decker keyboard set up and waved merrily toward the audience.

There wasn't really a need for another keyboard player, as they did already have a perfectly wonderful keyboardist named Midori, but Sally had approved it, saying that making the Chicago shows special would mitigate the fact that they'd had to cancel a show and move it to another night.

"And, finally, we've added a permanent member to our line-up, along with some permanent changes to our show," Heath said, clasping his hands together. "Ms. Meadow Rain has been joining me at the very end of my show, just to sing one song, her incredibly beautiful tribute to her late mother, 'Calliope's Lament.'

There were a few cheers, whistles, and hoots, which Heath waited on before continuing.

"I'm sure you'll be happy to know that she has decided to take a larger part in the show, and will be joining me onstage from beginning to end, both as a guitarist and as a singer, performing many of her own songs from her upcoming album." Heath paused again for the applause and cheers.

"Come on out, MJ, let everyone see your lovely face, please," Heath called, gesturing to the wings.

MJ came out, blinking in the light, waving to the audience, who went crazy when they saw her, shouting their approval, chanting her name.

This wasn't just about MJ as a performer. This was for MJ the survivor, and it went on and on. MJ, standing at Heath's side, didn't know what to do, and finally just leaned into him, covering her face and shaking her head.

Heath put an arm around her, smiling and bussing her temple.

There was no way Meredith was ever going to be able to claim "Calliope's Lament" as her own.

Heath released her so she could pick up the Seagull and turned to start the musicians, lifting his hand and counting off the beat for the first song.

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"Oh my god, what a massive rush!" Archie shouted as soon as they were offstage. "That felt incredible!" He jumped into Heath's arms, wrapping his long legs around his brother's waist. "No wonder you skived off Uni for this!"

"Hold on, hold on," Heath said with a smile, lowering Archie to the ground. "Don't you even think about it, Arch. You want to be a Veterinary Surgeon, right? Remember? All those animals?"

"Yeah, but think how many more animals I could help if I became, like, a madly successful pop star," Archie enthused. "How much good I could do with all that money?"

"What's that?" Margaret asked, approaching the four performers, handing out towels so they would wipe themselves off a little. "I didn't quite catch what you said, Archie."

"Nothing, he said nothing," Poppy tried, but Archie talked right over her.

"I think I should join Heath's band, mum, what do you think?"

By now they'd entered one of the large dressing rooms backstage where the fathers were waiting for them.

Margaret only blinked at her son, but Tasos spoke before either she or Hugh could think of anything to say.

"What?" he asked, his deep voice practically making the dishes on the table rattle. "You have parents who can pay for you to go to five years of one of the best prep schools in the world, a school that's produced Prime Ministers and kings, then four years of any university you want, and you want to thumb your nose at it for this?"

He lifted an eyebrow, which was roughly the dimension of an actual caterpillar, at Archie, who shifted uncomfortably before replying.

"Well, Mr.--erm--Mr. Jass--sir, your own daughter's doing it, isn't she?" was what he finally came up with. He smiled, obviously thinking himself rather clever. "I mean, MJ's going to be famous, I reckon--she's probably going to win a grammy right out of the gate, and be very successful, that doesn't sound so bad, does it?"

Tasos took a step in Archie's direction, mustache bristling. "MJ--finished--college--FIRST." He spoke very slowly and clearly for emphasis. "She would never have been allowed to do anything that jeopardized her education. Never."

"Heath did it," Archie tried next. "And you seem to think he's good enough for your daughter, sir."

"Heath's not good enough for MJ because of what happened to him," Tasos clarified. "He's good enough in spite of what happened, make no mistake." He smiled at Heath, who smiled back. "And who's to say he won't go to college at some later date?"

Heath stared at Tasos, dark blue eyes so big they were nearly completely round. Tasos merely smiled benignly back at him.

"No," Tasos concluded. "Archie, you--stay--in-school." He poked Archie's skinny chest with each word for emphasis.

Margaret and Hugh merely sat back, sipping fresh cups of tea which Poppy had handed to them.

"Yes sir," Archie finally answered. He opened the refrigerator for a bottle of water, rubbing at the spot on his chest where Tasos had poked him.

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"They really seemed to like me," MJ murmured.

"Darling, they loved you," Heath replied, slowly scratching gently at her scalp as they lay in bed later that night. "Your new stuff was a smash, all of it. Your first LP is going to be huge. It's going to get a Grammy nom, mark my words."

"Shh, don't say that," MJ begged, covering his mouth with her hand in the dark. "It's so crazy. I mean, a year ago, I was sitting in theory of music, wondering how I was going to get to gigs with my guitar and my bike, and now I'm touring with Heath Spencer, a week away from playing at Radio City. How can this be my life?"

"We also have Carter's arraignment coming up," Heath reminded her. "And probably a trial. That's your life as well." He pulled her in closer, tucking her body more firmly into his. "I mean, it's not all candy floss and everything, is it?"

"What?"

"You know, the pink stuff, you eat it at carnivals?"

"Cotton candy?"

"Right."

MJ swallowed.

"Heath?"

"Yeah?"

Silence.

He finally gave her a little shake.

"MJ? Have you fallen asleep?"

She shook her head, tickling his nose with her hair.

"So?"

Silence.

"Heath?"

A chuckle, followed by another, "Yeah?"

A deep breath, then, "What's going to happen to us after the tour?"

Silence.

"Oh god, Heath, don't be quiet, please say anything, say you're going to kill me, but don't be quiet!"

"This from the the person who was completely mute one minute ago?"

"He-ee--ee--aathh, please," MJ begged, shaking him.

"All right, all right," he laughed, patting her shoulder. "As it happens, I've been giving this some thought."

"You have?" MJ sat up in the dark, so suddenly that she gave Heath a pretty good whack on the chin with the top of her head.

"Oh, Jesus, that hurt!"

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"

"No, no, please, don't try to touch it, you'll probably break my jaw!"

"Oh god--"

"Shit, MJ, are you crying? Have I made you cry again? Blast, I do that, every fucking time I do that! Come back, come back, my darling, please, please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry--"

After some cuddling and a tissue to wipe up the general leaky misery, Heath continued.

"Anyway, like I was saying before all of the--erm--other, I've been thinking, and I think the best thing for us to do would be to live in Los Angeles, don't you?

"Whoa, whoa, no no, do not lift your head again, please!"

"Okay, I'm not, I'm not," MJ assured him. "But really? Like really really? You'd just give up your house in England and live in LA with me and my dad?"

"Remember, love, I don't have a house in England," Heath replied. "I never bought a new one.

"But Tanglewood, that beautiful place," MJ answered. "You'd give up living there, just to be with me?"

"And your dad," Heath added with a chuckle. "Don't forget him, and that fantastic ouzo."

MJ hit him lightly on the chest.

"I'd love to live in LA," Heath continued. "I've always loved it there, the weather's lovely and all. We could get a wonderful place with a granny flat--I don't know what you call those here--"

"In-laws quarters," MJ supplied.

"There you go," Heath responded. "Or it could just be a whacking great house, you know? Where he has his own little suite on the ground floor off the kitchen, while we have the run of the upstairs or whatever?

"What the fuck, MJ, are you still crying? I said I was sorry--"

"No, you idiot, this is a completely different episode of crying," MJ sputtered. "That episode is over, this is for you being so amazing and perfect and everything, I mean, how perfect can a guy be?"

"Oh," Heath said in wonder. "I didn't realize that women's tears came in an episodic component. Wow. You lot are complicated."

MJ slapped at his chest again, and she could tell Heath was smiling.

"And--and--Los Angeles is the perfect place to try to launch a film career, which is what my manager says I need to do next, so you see how perfect it all is?"

"Really?" MJ asked again. "So--you wouldn't just be doing it for me? It wouldn't be a horrible sacrifice that you'd regret later?"

"Would you love me more if I said it was?" Heath asked.

"I couldn't love you more if you cured cancer," MJ declared. She kissed him with great enthusiasm and energy. "Does your chin still hurt?"

"Like a mother fucker," he declared. "Like it's come unhinged at the jaws. Like--oh, fuck it all, you're not crying again, are you? I'm sorry--"