Title: The Daring Young Man on the Flying Trapeze

Author: Fighter1357

Date Published: 7/6/13

Rated: T for Teen

Characters: John Grayson, Mary Grayson

Genre: Romance/Family

Summary: John Grayson is looking for his song-girl. The woman of his dreams, the one that would fill his heart with wisdom and love and patience. His song-girl. To her, she was looking for her daring young man. Then they meet.

Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable characters, places, names and/or items. These characters/places belong to their respective owner. I am simply toying with them

It was early morning, the circus wasn't even open yet. They were still unpacking, half of the train was already undone. They liked to think themselves like the Romans, able to build something and take it down in a matter of hours. That was how the circus was supposed to be, pack and unpack as fast as possible. Still, it was morning and despite the circus' performers usually early waking hours many were still slumbering within their trailers, unaware of the early morning fog that seemed to have crept its way through to Philadelphia. Many were awake, however, making small fires and cooking over them instead of the small kitchens the train cars held. Two young men were sitting on top of a trailer, their legs swinging. One bit into an apple and the other snacked on a piece of slightly cold bacon.

"You know," one began, "I bet you I could spit all the way to that tree stump."

"No," the other replied, shaking his head as he looked warily one. He was clearly older and you could only tell because he was barely taller, even sitting down. He glanced at his brother (it was the eyes, if you looked closely) and smirked just a little. "It'd probably land on your lap."

"Tt," the younger scoffed. "Wanna bet? Five dollars."

"You don't have five dollars and certainly neither do I," the elder retorted.

"Um… fine. A nickel," he replied swiftly, grabbing the edges of the worn trailer and pulling himself up and holding his hands up as if he were taking a picture. Taking a step back he gestured to the stump, smiling as he awaited his brothers comfirmation. "And? The verdict is?"

"I would imagine," the elder began, "that you are expecting a yes and I, however, shall reply with a nay, dear brother for I am above childish games."

"You're twenty-seven Richard, you're barely old enough to realize your meaning in life," the younger said, to the elder (Richard, we find his name to be), scrunching up his nose.

"And you are seventeen, brother, I doubt you have any knowledge of knowing my thoughts," Richard retorted, shrugging with a mocking look on his face as he rolled on his back and stood straight up on his feet, as if he hadn't thought about falling forward from the sloping roof and onto the ground a good few feet down. He sat there with his hands on his hips, his gray eyes scowering the Philly skyline, he peered into the fog and scrunched up his nose. "Too much pollution," he muttered, "It's upsetting Kuntari."

"Pah," the younger snorted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It's fog brother, though I will admit the air is stickier here than most, however, how can we complain?"

"With our voice," the elder replied sarcastically. "Come, we have to help unpack. We're here for a week and the faster we can unpack the circus, the faster we can get inside in the air."

"I believe, if I'm correct, that the fresh air is outside you religious nut," the younger retorted, laughing gayly.

Richard rolled his eyes and walked to the side of the trailer, climbing down a slightly rusted ladder. The younger brother smiled, turning back toward where the stump was and spitting. It fell short. Frowning, he followed his brother down the ladder, they ducked inside the trailer. It was large, for such a transportation device and held a small kitchen stacked high with fantasy and science fiction novels, there were two bunks and a small curtain that led to a thin hall with a bedroom at the end and a bathroom to the right. Richard glanced back at his brother and sat down on an old couch that was nailed to the ground, looking like it was well loved and used and probably constructed in the sixties. He watched his younger brother by two years pick up a few books off the ground, stacking them high with the others.

"You realize that they will keep falling off if you put them on the already limited counter space we have, John," he replied nonchalantly.

The younger, who we can now call John, gave his brother a sheepish look and shrugged, glancing at the stacks of books that were scattered not only on the counter but across the top bunk, which was already a mess with an array of magazines and sketch books filled with costume ideas and singers. "And you sitting on the couch telling me off isn't very well going to help unpack the tent, now is it?"

"Smartass," the elder replied.

"Better than being a dumbass if you ask me," John retorted smartly. "Where's Karla? And John?"

"They went to visit Mark, saying something about helping clean knives," Richard replied, shrugging helplessly as he hefted himself up, stretching. His warm cotton shirt and well worn pair of sweat pants stretch along with him, looking only barely too short. John rolled his eyes mumbling under his breath about "how messed up that sounded" and Richard gave him a look that he always did. There was a long running joke that, instead of running to join the circus like most "outsiders" would say, John Grayson would run off and join corporate America. It was to say, at the very least, a long running joke since he had been twleve and announced he was going to be a lawyer when he grew up. That, in the end, didn't happen because here we see him in the circus with his brother, his brother's wife and son and as a Trapeze Artist. He was apart of a team with his brother and sister-in-law and his nephew, who was seven years old and still technically not allowed on the ropes till he was older but still went on anyway, and they were called The Flying Graysons.

They were good, better then most some would admit. They said there was something off, they needed something. Richard and Karla, seven years married with a seven year old son, were mostly the main act and John flew in the background but he needed someone. Those who had seen it had said John was talented, he was the real deal. He could take a simple gymnast and turn her into the most stunning trapeze artist the world had ever seen. And, thinking gayly of a song, John very much prouded himself in the fact and would dream (he was a dreamer, Karla would tell him, and she wasn't sure if that was good or bad) of a girl, someone who would come along and entice all of his hopes and dreams. The perfect woman for John, Karla would tell her husband, is in a lovers song.

"Messed up or not, I should go check up on them. You need a girl, John, you keep asking about mine," Richard stated, laughing. There was a serious note in his voice and John, being only seventeen and still a child in a brother ten years his senior's eyes, stuck his tounge out at him.

"I've told you-"

"Yes, yes, your dream girl- I know, I've heard," he stood up and walked over to the door. "You tell me where she is." Then he was gone, walking out and leaving the door to screech close, it's hinges slightly rusted and in a high need of oil both boys neglected to acquire. John sighed, picking up one last book off the ground and staring at the cover, and began thinking of his song-girl; that's what Karla called her, his song-girl. The girl of his dreams and he would say she was his song-girl because she would have the most beautiful voice that he had ever heard and that she was coming, soon. John was a dreamer and a lover but also a realist and knew someday he would have to be rid of his song-girl, because he had to grow up.

But he was young and he had time, he thought, and why begin to lose hope now?

He would find his song-girl and he would marry her and he would sweep her off her feet and carry her off, flying away on his flying trapeze.

The daring young man set the book down and sighed, taking his coat and walking out in the fog. Already fires were burning and the train, which was slightly wet from morning dew, was illuminated down the line of light. He passed by friends and family, asking where his brother had gone to. In all his years of living with the circus (his whole life, practically), he could never remember where Mark's train was. The knife thrower and his soon-to-be-wife lived by the back, he knew, but he never knew which one.

"They need to paint these damn trains," he muttered under his breath as he waved to the Lion Tamers, "they all look too much alike."

"Bangin' man!" someone behind him yelled, having heard his mutters. He turned slightly, giving a thumbs up and then walked further on. Soon he heard his brother's and Karla's laugh and came upon a crazy scene.

John (his nephew, who was named after him) was laying on the dew covered ground with mud on his face and a knife next to his hand. Richard and Karla were both laughing at their sons surprised face, though Karla was slowly dying down and beginning to look at her son with slightly fearful eyes, expecting him to cry. Mark and Susanna (Mark's fiance) both held bemused expressions on their faces.

"Look like you've seen a ghost," John remarked, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Good to see you up," Karla remarked, her brown eyes looking him over. "Dreaming of your song-girl again?"

He gave her a pointed look and smirked slightly, leaning down and pulling the knife that was stuck in the ground next to his nephew's hands. "May I ask what has occurred?"

His brothers son jumped up and began pouring out the events that had pertained merely minutes ago, his mouth slipping through the words too fast for his namesake to understand. The seventeen year old held a hand to the small boys mouth, frowning and crinkling his nose.

"What?"

Karla waved her hand, leaning into her husband. "Don't even try, I'm not even sure what happened and I was here."

"I see," John stated, standing up. "So, is anyone going to work and help set things up or are we just going to stand here and… not do it."

"I feel like," Susanna said, "you had something planned for that sentence and then it just went down the drain."

John shrugged, smiling. "What can I say? Still tired."

"You've been up since four," Karla stated dryly, "You woke me up. You know, I hope when you have kids they'll be just like you and will do exactly what you do."

John gave her a silly face, pivoting on his heels. "I'm going to see Pop Haley and I'm taking that as a compliment Karla." He began to walk off, ignoring Karla's reply and laughing quietly to himself. He loved Karla, like a sister, and she certainly acted like one; the sister he never had. They would argue and tease and poke (metaphorically and literally) at each other until the other snapped and one was explaining to John the Younger why he couldn't talk to the other. Richard, generally, stayed out of it, claiming that he was too old for childish things. Karla would then ask if she was old and Richard would reply no, because it was the safest thing to do.

He walked back along the line of trains, watching as doors opened and well known faces stepped out into the fog and early morning light, which was just starting to peek above the spring trees. That's right, John remembered, it's March Twenty-first, the first day of spring. He smirked, kicking a rock and watching it skid across the cracked cement. No matter how famous and respected Haley's Internationcal Traveling Circus was, they still got the broken, unused parking lots filled with trash and cracked cement. A railway, still connected to the original road but unused, ran past the lot and the city of Phillidelpia thought it grand that the circus trains could use this old lot, which was quite large. It held cement (cracked and stained with gum and tabacco) and a plot of trees. Right by it ran a probably very important highway, but John hadn't bothered to figure out which one it was. For all he cared, it was just a road and it would stay nameless.

He was used to this and wasn't bothered by the places he and his brother and his brothers family stayed. He didn't often comment on their situations but Karla would badger Haley into telling the city they were going to (because it was too late when they got there) that they needed a nicer, clean lot where it would be safe.

"John!"

John spun around, grinning as he saw the owner of the circus walking toward him. "Pop, I haven't seen you since last night. It's been far too long!" he exclaimed jokingly, smiling.

The older man smiled, looking at the surrogate son with kind, old eyes. He wore a pair of raggedy jeans with supenders, and a well worn t-shirt that John would see him in everytime they were unpacking and could only guess it was his working shirt. That, or he simply loved it too much. A suede jacket was over the whole charade and Haley was certainly a sight.

"A penchant for jokes, I see, today," Haley stated, crossing his arms of his large chest.

John shrugged. "I was looking for you, to see if they needed help setting up the tent." He looked to his left, above the train cars and saw the familiar red and white stripped tent already set up, it's three points of color a spotlight in the morning fog. "But I can see that's already done. Anything else need to be done? Personally, I'm bored and you know me. I've simply got to keep moving."

"The boy that never rests," Haley replied, "is what your father used to say to you. He was right, you never do."

"I slept a full eight hours last night, I find that very productive, sir," John replied, grinning at the mention of his father. The gypsy boy shrugged at Haley's wordless response (a smile), looking away. "Besides, I can help set up the boothes. They always need help with that. And we're opening today at noon and most of them aren't up."

"Boy, we've gotten so good at it," Haley began, looking as people began cleaning up their breakfasts and exiting trailers and begun to carry out large wooden posters, tables and supplies. "We'll be done in one hour. It's six-thirty boy, we'll be done before eight."

"True," John mused, "and then what? That's always the worst part. I suppose I can pull Richard and Karla to set up the trapeze, I have a new move I want to try."

"You always have a new move," Haley laughed, beginning to walk away with a slight wave of his hand.

"I wouldn't be good if I didn't," John called after him, laughing. The seventeen year old turned and slipped between two trailers, doing a set of cartwheels to the large red and white tent. It was dubbed "the big house" by most of the younger genereation (John's generation) and John thought it practically a second home, parr the entire circus of course. He skipped along, his hands stuffed still in his pockets and he knew he looked a little ragged to anyone else not in the circus who knew the boys almost "hunter" type look. His sweat pants and sweater were both loose on the muscular boy and were stained with rootbeer (despite his brothers relaxed attitude, he still wouldn't let John drink) and spaghetti sauce. His old Nike's were ragged and old n' muddy and he'd had them since he was fifteen and so they were slightly too small.

He didn't care, honestly, and he knew that it wouldn't matter. He knew his sense of style would change by the time he was brother's age and he would be a father, something that he intended to happen before he was thirty. He knew that he would change and of course, clothing was included. He didn't exactly prefer sweat pants and a "Washington Capitals" sweatshirt but they were comfortable and warm and despite this morning spring sun, a slight wind chilled the air. It was supposed to be in the seventies today though, low seventies, but seventies none-the-less and John felt this odd because they were in Philly and that was Pennsylvania.

He'd been to many different countries around the world; Germany, Russia, France, England, Romania, Turkey, Spain, Greece, Italy and many, many more. He'd seen gorgeous country villages that make a teenage girl dream, and he'd seen beautiful, stunning castles and traveled across the French countryside, eaten at German beer gardens, performed in the Colosseum in Rome. He'd been through all types of weather through that. But Phillideplia… in Pennsylvania, that was… average, to him at least. Seventies in Philly on the first day of spring… was… normal. He took a deep breath. Normal… ish.

He stepped into the big red and white tent, walking down a wide makeshift hallway filled with posters and pictures of the different performers. The boothe-workers weren't performers and genereally weren't depicted in the posters that were in the big house, but were plastered on the posters that were put up all over the city. A group of performers from the circus and a few city workers would run around town and race to see who could finish putting up posters. He smiled at the poster of his act, blue and white, and gave the picture of himself a thumbs up.

He walked into the big area-like space, a grin spreading across his face as he saw the trapeze. "The thing sturdy?" he called out to one of the rubes. The new guy nodded, smiling dryly.

"Great, thanks." Slipping back into the changing rooms, John Grayson stripped off his sweatpants and sweater, throwing on a piece of spandexthatcovered his torso and down further. It was sleeveless and had no "pants" It was deep blue, contrasting darkly with his gypsy skin, with a yellow stripe across the chest. He slipped on two small thin cloth slippers and walked out onto the woodchip, wincing slightly. He helped the workers set up the net, and then he climbed up the tall towers. Standing on the narrow board and looking down below. He loomed over the workers, and he smiled and waved.

"Boy, are you going to go up and not invite us?"

John turned and saw Karla and Richard walking toward him, John standing in the corner doing a set of flips. He's too rigid, the elder John thought, he needed to be more fluid.

He looked back at Karla and Richard. "Well, yes, that was the plan."

Karla climbed up the laddar, standing on top of the board and glaring at him, though he could hardly see her. Richard stood up behind her, grinning.

"I'll be the Catcher and you can be the Flyer," John started, "because I've been dying to get on this thing since we left New York." He smirked at Karla's shrug, knowing she preferred Cather to Flyer but wasn't going to be bothered with arguing with the younger man.

John unhooked the bar, holding it tightly in his chalked hands. He stood straight and jumped up, falling to the ground before the momentum pushed him back up. He waited a moment and then… "Lista!" he called.

Karla jumped and flew toward let go of his bar and just as gravity was about to do it's sly moves, Karla grabbed his wrists and he was flipping back up with her. They landed on his board moments later, both smiling.

"We're going next, dear brother, and I'll show you a thing," Richard called, laughing lightly.

"Show me? What in the world could you show me on the trapeze?" John joked lightly back, both taking position. Deciding who will be the catcher and who would be the flyer, John and Richard stood at the edges of the board.

"Let's do a birdie!" John called, "We haven't done that in a while."

Richard didn't respond for a moment, musing. "How about a Flexus, I still need work on that!" he yelled back, shifting his weight onto his left leg.

"Very true," John muttered under his breath. "Alright, we'll do that."

Richard nodded, and John yelled "Hup!". Richard jumped, falling and then going back and pushing his legs beneath the bar and then flying back. "Lista!" he cried, so John could jump. John did so, falling down and grabbing his brothers hands when they came into view. They landed and then both stated the things the other could have done better. Beneath them, John the Younger was watching his family do them and was wondering when it would be his turn to go, because he had to be up there one day with them. He had started too late, in his opinion but was getting much, much better.

Four hours passed before the family reached the end of their session, climbing down the ladders and opting to get a drink. John threw a towel over his shoulder, one that was hung up on the pole using the makeshift hook that he had made with a hanger years ago when he was only John the Younger's age. He had taken an old metal hanger and untwisted the hook, bending it back so it was as straight as the bent metal could possibly be. Then, he took one end and pulled it around the pole, pulling back so it was 'U' shaped and then crossing the ends. He twirled them and then curved on end up. In the end, the seven year old had been very proud of himself. John smiled at the memory and then began to wander outside.

The sun was bright and the early morning chill seemed to have evaporated with it's presense. There were cement blocks that blocked off the city sidewalk, where he could see people were standing, trying to get a look at "exotic circus performers". He smiled, though, even though there could never be anything special about him; he could fly. And that was all he did, day and night. Fly. It was all that's needed.

The other performers and circus members said he was young and impulsive and that he was arrogant. John had to disagree and who else could? Who knew him better than himself? No one. No, he mused, he was young and of course he was impulsive. He wasn't arrogant; he was kind, he was gentle. At least, he knew how to be. He was smart and was filled with love, love for someone. His family, his nephew… his song-girl.

"Sh…quiet!"

"Yeah, yeah…"

John turned around, suddenly hearing a pair of voices behind one of the cement blocks that wasn't lined up against the walk. He walked over, stopping short a few feet. "Hello? Anyone there?"

Slowly, a redheaded girl slid up behind the block. She had light auburn-reddish hair and pale skin, with bright blue eyes. She wore a green t-shirt and a pair of jeans and a light jacket. She was small, dainty and was smiling shyly. "Um… me?"

John smiled at the pretty face; she was beautiful. "And who might you be?" he asked lightly.

Suddenly, a boy about his age jumped up, wearing a nylon windbreaker from the eighties and looking very frustrated. He wore a pair of nice pants, however, though the knees were slightly scraped and John found it was probably from the cement. "She's my girlfriend," he stated defensively. John blinked. The girl gave the boy a reproachful look, glaring slightly. It didn't go with her eyes, no face like that should ever glare, John decided.

"Don't be rude," she remarked. "This is my boyfriend, Jackson King. My name is Mary Elizabeth Loyd."

"Well, Jackson King, Mary Elizabeth Loyd, may I ask what you are doing on the circus site?"

"I could ask the same thing," Jackson scoffed, looking disgruntled as he saw an older gypsy woman walk by in the distance.

John gave Jackson a flustered look, wondering why the man was being so defensive. He looked down at his clothing, holding his arms out wide. "I'm a performer, if you couldn't tell. You're not supposed to be here on the site; we're not even open yet, if I recall."

Jackson snickered. "You? A performer? How old are you, you barely look our age!"

"Jackson!" the girl cried in a scolding voice, "so what if he's a performer. And I'm sorry, it's my fault. I went to a circus when I was younger, you see, and I was honestly curious and I wanted to come and see before everyone else and so I dragged Jack along and well, we snuck in over the cement. I just… I got excited when I heard the circus was back in town." She smiled sweetly and John couldn't tell if she was lying and it was just two kids his age on the wrong block. She stepped out behind the block and Jack followed. Jack's clothing looked far too nice, not that John knew any betterand Mary just sort of had that innocent face. Heer almond shaped eyes filled with curiosity as she took John in.

"You're not going to kick us off are you? I mean, can I at least ask you a few questions?" Mary pleaded, glancing breifly toward her boyfriend. Jackson looked irritated. "Mary…" he mumbled under his breath, nudging her.

"You seem to think you're all that and a bag of chips, it's my turn now," Mary hissed, her voice going low. "So, what do you do?"

John smiled. "Don't you want to know my name first?"

"I suppose," Mry mused, smirking.

"Grayson," John said, holding out his hand. "John Grayson."

To be continued…