Hey, I'm back. Finally. Sorry for the delay! Ends up law school applications? Yeah, they really, really suck. A lot. Don't apply to law school, readers (or do, if you happen to be significantly less lazy than I am, which you probably are). I wrote the first part of this chapter months ago, but the second half gave me a lot of trouble, mostly because application essays sucked me dry of inspiration and I was a nervous wreck waiting to hear back from schools. When I was finally ready to write for fun again, it took me a while to get back into the headspace of this fic (thus why it took me forever and a day to update). Hopefully this chapter meets your expectations after the wait I put you through.
I should also clarify that this fic is canon compliant until around "Real Life & Reel Life," at which point I include certain developments (like the rockumentary) and ignore others (like their second kiss). It really shouldn't cause any confusion, but I just wanted to clear up the timeline since this chapter does reference things from that episode. So, to be clear: the Austin and Ally in this fic did not do anything to demonstrate they still had feelings for each other after "Tunes & Trials" and prior to the first chapter of this fic (like Austin's letter or their conversation in the S3 premiere about how much they need each other).
Shout out to ExtremeSaucicity for cheering me on and demanding that I finish this fic when all I wanted to do was lie in bed all day, whining about how the second half of this final chapter was never going to get written (and for putting up with said whining). As Leslie said to Ann: "You vivacious rainbow of joy."
Okay, enough of my blabbering. To the chapter!
They are 29 and hard at work on their latest album. They've locked themselves away in Ally's apartment, determined to finish the last of the songs by the end of the week.
"I think the chord progression should actually go like this," Ally says, gently pushing Austin's hands away from the keys so she can demonstrate. She watches Austin's face for a reaction as she plays both the old and new versions a few times. He stares straight ahead, eyes unfocused as he listens, and finally nods slowly. "Yep, that's it. That's what was missing."
Ally beams before turning her attention back to the piano: she plays around with a melody to fit the chords they have finally chosen as Austin tinkers away an octave higher. Trish always complains about the noise whenever she visits during one of their songwriting sessions, but Ally likes the process despite the mild chaos. Because every once in a while they stumble on the same melody, or in the midst of her frustration Austin will play the perfect measure, and suddenly Ally will hear a verse or even the entire song. Like now.
"Stop!" Ally says before Austin can move on to his next experiment. "Can you play that again?" He does, and when he finishes Ally hums it to herself, working out what comes next. Austin follows along on the piano, and ten minutes later they have a chorus.
"Thank god," Austin exclaims, slumping against the piano (a sudden eruption of noise follows as his arms crash onto the keys). "I thought we'd never get past that block."
"We still have the rest of the melody. Not to mention the lyrics," Ally points out, because there's no sense in glossing over the truth. Austin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Yeah, but we have something. It's not just a blank sheet of paper. Well it is," he acknowledges, glancing up at the staff paper. "But it's not blank in our heads. Or something."
Ally presses her lips together, smothering a laugh. "That was very poetic," she says with faux solemnity. Austin makes a face and she finally lets out a giggle. "Okay, let's figure the rest of this out."
At which point Austin groans and rolls off the bench.
"Austin!" Ally shrieks. She leans over to find him smiling up at her from the ground. "You could've seriously hurt yourself," she scolds, but Austin just laughs.
"I was two feet off the ground. What was going to happen?"
"You could've landed on your wrist," Ally sputters, "or your foot could've caught on the leg of the bench, or—" Austin raises his eyebrows, clearly amused. "It's possible!" Ally insists with a small huff, crossing her arms for good measure.
"I'm sorry for scaring you," he says sincerely, despite still twinkling eyes. "Better?"
"A little," she relents – just barely. "But we seriously need to get back to work. And you're not going to be much help from down there."
"I think we need a break. We've been at this for nearly two days. Including all the time we wasted sleeping," Austin adds before Ally can correct him.
"But we're so close."
"Yeah, just the rest of the melody and all of the lyrics, right?"
Ally cannot help but stammer as he throws her words back in her face, complete with a smirk. "Just because we have a ton left to finish doesn't mean we're not close," she argues, but even as the words come out of her mouth she realizes how ridiculous she sounds. "Ugh." It's her turn to collapse on top of the piano. A moment later she feels a small poke at her calf.
"You know what would help?"
She lets out a preemptive groan. "Please don't say video games. My thumbs are still sore from the last time you made us try that."
"That was, like, six years ago, and it was totally a good idea. But no; if you came down here and joined me."
Ally looks over at him. "Oh, I can definitely see how not being anywhere near the piano and just staring at my ceiling will help us finish this song."
"Our brains are practically fried at this point. We need to give it a rest or we'll end up ripping the sheet music to shreds."
"It was only that once," Ally says quickly, but his comment reminds her that she should probably notate the chorus before their "fried brains" forget what they came up with. She grabs a pencil and makes quick marks in their song book as she continues, "And I didn't rip it to shreds; I ripped out a single page."
"Which, in Ally world, is the equivalent to ripping it to shreds," Austin teases. He beckons her with a small wave of his hand and a "C'mon!" Ally shakes her head but gives in after recording the final note (although she elects to walk over and plop down beside him rather than mimic his potentially injury-inducing roll off the bench).
"Happy?" she asks as she lies down, suddenly wishing she had carpeted her living room. Wood floors can grow surprisingly cold.
"Very." He gently nudges her in the side with his elbow and she laughs. There is something about their songwriting sessions that makes her feel like she's fifteen again. When they're in the studio, they're too busy analyzing each recording for areas of improvement or arguing with their label over which song they should release as a single (or "having a lively discussion" as Ally prefers to call it). But when they are writing songs, barricaded in one of their apartments, it's like being back in the practice room at Sonic Boom.
Probably because Austin has a tendency of reverting to his teenage ways when it's just the two of them on the verge of sleep deprivation (as evidenced by his sudden fall off of her piano bench).
Ally turns to stare at the man in question. His eyes are closed, his arms now crossed behind his head. A strand of hair has fallen into his eyes, and she wants to reach out and brush it aside. But somehow, in this context – in this moment – it feels too intimate. She quickly focuses her gaze back to the ceiling.
She has spent the months since calling off her wedding struggling to come up with a way to take that risk her mother mentioned on the phone all that time ago. The second drawer of her nightstand is almost overflowing with pros & cons lists, each one analyzing a new potential scenario. Nothing seems right, however, and she is starting to accept that careful planning might not provide the solution to this particular problem.
If only she could work up the nerve to live in the moment.
"So now what?" she asks, interrupting the quiet.
From the corner of her eye she sees Austin shrug. "I don't know. We breathe. We stop thinking about music for a second. Clear our minds. We—"
A ding indicating the arrival of a new email interrupts him. Austin grabs his phone out of his front pocket, presumably to check his inbox. "Shit," Ally hears him mumble a few moments later. Concerned, Ally sits up halfway, leaning forward on her elbow. "What is it?"
"It's Connor," Austin says with a frustrated sigh, sitting up as well. "It's about the last song we sent him."
Ally's mind immediately goes to the worst-case scenario. "Oh god, he hates it, doesn't he? He wants us to rewrite the entire song and we haven't even finished this one and—"
"No, no, he likes it," Austin cuts her off quickly. "He just … well …" Much to Ally's confusion, Austin's cheeks take on a slight pink tinge. "Here, why don't you read it yourself?" He hands her the phone and Ally immediately starts skimming the contents of the message. Her jaw drops open as she reaches the end.
"Too many love songs?" Ally repeats, glancing over at Austin. "He thinks the album will have too many love songs?" Ally looks back at the phone, struggling to comprehend what she has just read. "But we haven't … I don't … they're not all love songs!" she insists, shoving the phone back at Austin with more force than intended. It slips out of his hand, but he manages to grab it before it hits the floor. "I mean some of them, sure. But what about 'At the End of the Day' and 'Brighter Than This'?" She quickly runs through the lyrics in her head and realizes that yes, actually, they do sound rather like love songs.
Dammit.
"Yeah," Austin says, as if reading her mind. His face turns a deeper shade of pink.
"How did this even happen?" She flops back down onto the floor. "How is it possible that we've written an entire album of love songs without even realizing it?"
"Hey, the album isn't finished yet," Austin reminds her, glancing down in her direction.
"Including the one we're working on now, we only have two songs left. And unless you want to go back and rewrite several of our already-finished songs or—"
"Absolutely not." He lets out a small shudder.
Silence ensues as they consider the situation. "Having an entire album of love songs isn't a bad thing, is it?" Ally asks finally, words rushing together. "As long as the album is still good. I know our fans are used to more variety, but that doesn't mean they won't like it."
"Of course not," Austin agrees. "It's still us; it's still our music. That's what they like. And you like the songs, right?"
"Of course!"
"So do I. That's what matters."
"Right," Ally says with much more confidence than she feels. "That's what matters." Austin's attention is elsewhere now – his gaze focused on the view outside her window. He unconsciously taps his foot against the floor, and Ally watches, wondering what's going through his mind. After a few minutes she makes her way back to an upright position and asks, hesitantly, "You don't think it's … weird that we wrote all of these love songs when neither of us is in a relationship, do you?" He stops his tapping, but before he can turn around to respond to her question she glances down and fingers the hem of her blouse.
"Oh. Um, I don't know." She notices with a slightly pounding heart that Austin's voice sounds strained. "No? I mean that's the sort of thing you do, right?"
Ally furrows her brow and looks back at her music partner. "What?"
"Remember in high school?" Austin prompts. "When everyone was freaking out over who 'Steal Your Heart' was about? And you said you wrote love songs about no one all the time?"
"Oh, that. Right!" Ally shifts uncomfortably, and not only because "Steal Your Heart" happened to be about her. "I said that. Because it's true." Austin narrows his eyes and Ally tries her best not to break eye contact.
"You're hiding something."
"I am absolutely not," Ally objects with just a bit too much emphasis on the last word.
"You are! You have that face!"
"What face?"
"That one when you don't want to tell me something. Your eyes get all" – Austin gestures with his hands "… and your nose …" – another gesture – "and then your mouth does that thing—"
"You do realize that all you did was wave your hands around, right?"
"Well it's your face, you should know how it— hey, no changing the subject! Seriously, what's up?"
"Nothing is up," she says with a horribly unconvincing laugh.
"Ally."
"Yes?"
"Ally."
"It's nothing, Austin."
"Ally!"
"Are you really just going to sit there all night repeating my name like that?" she demands.
He answers with a fourth rendition of her name, and she sighs and lets her gaze roll up to the ceiling. This conversation will lead to a lot of questions.
Questions that will lead to a discussion that she still isn't sure how to have.
It has to happen eventually, doesn't it? she thinks to herself. Why not now? She takes in a breath, letting it out slowly in an attempt to calm her racing heart. Five months since she called off her wedding. Five months. And with each passing month it has become easier and easier to doubt her mother's convictions, no matter how ludicrous she knows her alternate explanations sound. If you wait any longer, you'll spend the rest of your life sleeping alone, next to a nightstand filled with nothing but possibilities.
"Ally?" Austin prompts once again, only this time his tone is soft – concerned.
"Okay," Ally says. She turns to look at him. Swallows. Bite the bullet, Ally. She shuts her eyes and announces, "I lied."
Silence. A very long silence. And then finally: "Wait, what?" Austin asks, voice confused.
"About that whole 'writing love songs about no one' thing?" She opens a single eye to gauge his reaction. So far he doesn't look like his entire world has flipped upside down, so she decides it's safe to open the other eye. "I wanted to get Trish and Dez off your back … so I fed them that line."
"I … what?" Austin looks completely lost, and god, she loves everything about this man, including his occasional inability to grasp relatively easy concepts, but this would be so much easier if she didn't have to spell it out for him.
"I don't write love songs about 'no one,'" she explains. "I didn't then and … I don't now." She feels her cheeks burn at the admission.
"So … you lied?" he says, repeating her words from only two minutes ago.
"Yes."
"But … you're a horrible liar. I mean a really horrible liar. I'm talking—"
"I get it, I shouldn't consider a second career in the CIA," Ally cuts in quickly. "I know. I guess … okay, I'd written a song or two about love in general – versus, you know, actual feelings about someone – so I used that to help me … believe my own lie. Sort of. Does that make any sense?"
"Not really."
Ally chooses to ignore his response and charges on. "And I guess a major reason I was able to sound so convincing was because I was too preoccupied trying to find a way to help you, so I didn't really have time to freak out that I was lying."
"That's … weirdly sweet," Austin comments with a small, flattered smile. Ally gives an embarrassed shrug, not sure what to say in response.
"So …" Austin ventures again. "This entire time…?"
"I told you back when we first started working together," she tells him, voice soft. "I need inspiration – I need a goose."
"I thought I was your goose." Austin sounds slightly offended.
"You were; you are! But I mean a subset of goose – my love song goose." Ally shakes her head. "That sounds a lot weirder when I say it out loud."
"It does, but I get it." Ally glances over as Austin rubs the back of his neck, his gaze flickering between her and a spot just to her left. She can almost see the question whirling through his brain, and she braces herself for what will come next. "So, uh, who was your goose – your love song one, I mean?"
"Well, um, there were multiples ones, obviously. Dallas, of course. Before we met there was another guy, too. I don't think you knew him—"
"Nick?" Austin asks, and Ally looks at him with surprise. "You mentioned him a couple of times back in high school and I just figured…" Austin clears his throat. "So after Dallas it was…" He trails off again, likely realizing the answer.
Ally's palms grow clammy. She tries to minimize the shaking in her voice as she answers, "You."
"Right. Me." He lets out a nervous laugh. "And then Aaron?"
With a small bite of her lip, Ally says, "No."
Austin frowns at her response. "Daniel?" She shakes her head. "Wait, are you saying there was some other guy you never told me about?"
"There was no other guy," she all but whispers, desperately willing Austin to understand, because she's taking the risk – she is putting herself out there and if he pulls away again…
Breathe, Ally.
"But you've written a ton of love songs since high school," Austin says, brow wrinkled. "And you just said yourself you need inspi—" The puzzle pieces must finally come together, because Austin's eyes go wide and he lets out a shocked, "Oh," and he's staring, just staring – eyes bearing into hers, lips parted – and Jesus fucking Christ just say something – anything! – and maybe she should leave (would it be weird to walk out of her own apartment?), but then where will she sleep and what if he's still here when she gets back and fuck why didn't she just—
And then her mind goes blank.
Because he's kissing her.
He's kissing her, and somehow it feels completely out of the blue and yet entirely expected and is that even possible? She decides not to think about it and instead leans into the kiss, wrapping her arms around him, and when he doesn't break away she feels the four-year-old knot in her stomach finally start to loosen. A hand goes to her back, urging her closer, until she's practically on his lap. He raises his other hand to cup her face – his fingers are cold (no doubt the work of that damn wood floor), and she lets out a small gasp of surprise when his thumb brushes against her cheek. He breaks away, just slightly, and mumbles, "Sorry."
Ally shakes her head, her nose grazing his. "Don't be." Their eyes lock, and she has a feeling they're both talking about more than just his cold hands. She smiles, and he smiles back before leaning his forehead against hers.
"Should we, uh, should we talk about this?" he asks.
The practical answer is yes. Talking would be very wise in this situation. But she can feel his breath on her lips and his fingers tight on her waist, and somehow the practical option sounds horribly unappealing. "We'll talk later?"
"Later definitely works," he answers, and he pulls her on top of him.
#
It's not the first time Ally has woken up with Austin next to her, but it is the first time she has done so while they are in the same bed. Sans clothing. She turns to look at him – he's snoring lightly into the pillow and his hair has fallen into his eyes – and she breaks into a soft, delighted laugh. She reaches out a hand, brushing his bangs back, and as her fingers graze his forehead he snuggles deeper into the pillow. She knows that she should wake him, or at the very least slip off on her own – they have songs to write; an album to finish – but all she can think is that it would be a waste to ruin this moment.
So she stays in bed, her mind alight, and stares, drinking in every last detail, until Austin finally stirs half an hour later.
"Morning," she greets when he opens his eyes.
"Morning," he returns, voice hoarse so soon after waking up. He shoots her a sleepy smile, blinking as he adjusts to the sunlight filtering through her window. "So, how long were you staring at me?"
Ally immediately feels her cheeks heat up. "W-what? I wasn't … I mean that would be incredibly creepy and—"
"Really? 'Cause I was thinking more along the lines of 'cute.'"
For some reason this makes her blush even more. "Oh, um, well—"
"If it helps, I'm pretty sure I've been staring at you for fifteen years."
Ally fails to recognize the gesture for what it is, instead focusing on the inaccuracy of his statement. "We haven't even known each other for that long."
"Okay, for the past fourteen years and however many months."
"Seven," Ally answers before she can stop herself. She inwardly cringes.
"You counted?" Austin's voice is a mixture of incredulity and delight.
"No," Ally quickly denies. Then: "Yes. It's just, you know, I've kept a detailed journal since middle school and I marked the day we first met, and then over the past several years I possibly repeatedly read all of the entries that I mentioned you in," she lets out in one breath. "Possibly."
"So you mean every entry?"
Ally's mouth falls open at his insinuation. "I'll have you know there was a lot more going on in my life than just you." (Truth be told, "every entry" is a fairly close estimate, but Austin doesn't need to know that.) "Anyway, the timing's still wrong – or are you forgetting that time you completely freaked out when you thought I liked you?"
"Oh, I was totally still staring at you back then, too. I just didn't know why." Ally shoots him a look. "Okay, fine, not the entire time. But my version sounded a lot more romantic. Jeez, way to ruin the moment."
"I'll make it up to you, I promise," she teases. Austin raises his eyebrows suggestively and Ally swats him on the arm. "No, not like that. At least not now. We have to talk, remember?"
"But my idea is so much more fun," Austin protests with a pout.
"Austin."
"I know, I know. We said we'd talk later and this is later," he intones
"It's important," Ally insists. She sits up, sheet still wrapped around her, and indicates for Austin to turn around.
"Seriously? You remember why you're not wearing any clothes, right?"
Memories of the night before flash across her mind, and she immediately instructs her brain to think of that time she had to dissect a frog or the taste of that strawberry and catfish pie Dez once tricked her into eating – anything to stop this train of thought. They are going to have this talk, dammit, and she is pretty sure that will not happen if she can't stop thinking about Austin's fingers gripping her thighs as his tongue— nope, new subject, Ally. Keep it moving.
"Just turn around, please?" She is perfectly comfortable with her body and has zero regrets about everything that happened last night, but she still isn't quite ready to parade around naked in front of her … whatever Austin is at this point.
Austin sighs but does as she says, even covering his eyes for the full effect. Ally leaves the sheet with him as she slips out of bed to gather the necessary clothing from her dresser.
"Do you want me to grab some spare clothes from the guest room?" Ally asks after pulling on a tank top and the first pair of jeans she finds.
"Nah, I'm good." Ally turns around to find Austin reaching over the bed for the clothing she had rid him of the night before.
She scrunches her nose. "Really?" Austin glances over at her questioningly. "It's just that you already wore those clothes all of yesterday," Ally explains. "Not to mention the day before that. So really they should be in a laundry basket, not—"
"Would you feel better if I wore whatever clothes you forced me to leave here for 'emergency situations'?" Austin interrupts, clearly indulging her.
"Just a little." Ally brings her thumb and forefinger together to illustrate her point.
Austin shakes his head, but his smile never fades. "Emergency clothes it is."
#
Five minutes later they are both dressed and making their way through Ally's living room. She figures they're less likely to find themselves … distracted if they talk in a slightly more neutral setting. She heads toward the dining room, but Austin grabs her hand and leads her in the direction of the kitchen instead. "We can at least talk over pancakes," he tells her.
Ally laughs. "I suppose that's fair enough." A few steps later, however, Ally comes to a sudden stop, their previous conversation swirling through her head.
Austin turns around. "Ally?" He moves toward her, his fingers still thread through hers. "You okay?"
Ally gives her head a small shake. "I'm fine, I just … before."
"Yeah?"
"You talked about how you were staring at me all of those years. And I know it wasn't actual staring, more like metaphorical staring, but … were you really metaphorically staring at me this whole time? Minus several of those first few months?"
Austin looks at her as if the very question is absurd. Ally decides to clarify: "And by metaphorical staring I mean—"
"I know what you meant," he cuts in with a laugh. His thumb draws small circles against the back of her hand. "And the answer is yes, this entire time."
The admission causes her heart to leap, and yet... "There's just one thing I don't understand," she continues cautiously.
"What's that?"
"When we … when we kissed. Why did you push me away?"
Austin pulls a face. "Um, I'm pretty sure I did the exact opposite. But if you need me to jog your memory, I'd be more than happy to reenact—"
"No, not last night," Ally says hurriedly. "Last night was— that's not the point." Austin's face falls at the obvious missed opportunity to praise his skills. "I meant the kiss four years ago. Before our first album came out. That kiss." She is a few thoughts of greasy food away from throwing up, and Austin's reaction does little to calm her nerves. She watches as he seems to freeze in place, his carefree expression replaced by a tensed jaw and darkened eyes. He lets go of her hand.
"You said you didn't remember that night," he says, voice low.
"Like you actually believed me," she counters, crossing her arms to hide her nervous energy. She isn't sure what reaction she was expecting, but this definitely isn't it.
"I didn't. But you wanted me to."
She knows it's just her own uncertainty about that night, but his words almost sound like an accusation. "What else was I going to say after you pushed me away like it was the biggest mistake of your life?" she demands.
"Because it was!" he bursts out. His words echo violently across her mind, and Ally feels her heart sink. Her pain must be visible, because Austin immediately takes a step forward, reaching out for her. "No, not like that," he amends, looking as if he would give anything to erase the last few minutes. "I— God, Ally. It wasn't you. I wanted— I mean…" He stops, struggling to find the right words. "You were drunk," he begins again, "and I… The last thing I wanted was to be that asshole guy who takes advantage of his best friend. That's why I pulled away. Not because I didn't…" He trails off, his face uncertain, as he waits for her reaction.
Ally stares at the man in front of her. For the first time in four years, everything clicks – just as her mother said it would. All this time the answer had been so simple, and yet she had never once considered… "Oh" is about the only response she can manage.
"… Oh?" Austin repeats, looking very, very concerned.
"It just … it never occurred to me," Ally elaborates, having regained the ability to voice complete thoughts. "I was so caught up in, well, the whole rejection thing…" And this is why you talk after making out with your best friend, her mother's voice mildly scolds her.
There's still one question left unanswered. "Why didn't you say anything?" She knows it isn't entirely fair (after all, she hadn't exactly been forthcoming with the truth herself), but she needs to know – needs to finally understand everything that happened between their kiss and agreeing to don floppy hats on Venice Beach.
Austin closes his eyes and runs his fingers through his hair. He lets out a breath and then opens his eyes again. "I was going to," he says with a small shake of his head. "That morning. I spent all night trying to figure out what to say. But when you started going on about not remembering what happened—"
"You thought I was upset that you had let things go so far," she finishes. "That the only reason I was interested was because—"
"Yeah." Austin's face flushes with embarrassment. "I thought you were giving me an out."
"I was giving myself an out," Ally says, feeling more foolish by the minute. "I thought you were the one who had gotten caught up in the moment, and, well…"
"I had. Gotten caught up in the moment. But I wanted to. Only I wanted to in a different situation," Austin quickly corrects himself. "Because, again, the whole you not being sober, me not wanting to—"
"Austin," she cuts in, smiling at his uncharacteristic blabbering. "I get it."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She takes hold of his hand and pulls him to her. He returns her gesture with a shy smile of his own, his cockiness from earlier that morning noticeably absent. But when she stares up at him through lowered lashes, gently biting down on her lower lip, he leans in—
And that's when a familiar voice calls out, "Hello?"
Austin immediately breaks away and stares at Ally in alarm. "Is that…?"
But Ally's too distracted to answer. "Are you serious?" she cries to herself. "Now?"
"This is why you don't give out a key to all of your friends," Austin hisses as they hear a door slam, followed by footsteps. He takes several more steps away from her until there is a respectable distance between them.
"I gave you a key! And who else would I trust with my back-up, back-up key?"
"One, I practically live here. Two, what's wrong with hiding it under a mat like everyone else?"
"Because that's the first place a burglar would— Trish!"
Her friend of nearly two-and-a-half decades greets the two with a grin, failing to notice Austin and Ally's clear discomfort at her arrival. "Oh, good, you haven't reached the 'not fit for human company' stage of your songwriting hibernation yet!" she exclaims. Ally would object to the dig, but sadly Trish's comment is very much on point. "So, how's it coming?" Austin and Ally exchange glances. Right. Their song. That they were supposed to be working on. Instead of sleeping together and clearing up years' worth of miscommunication.
"It's coming," Ally squeaks. Austin nudges her. "I mean, it's coming," she repeats, her voice a slightly more normal pitch. "We worked out a good part of the melody yesterday."
"Just a bit more melody and the lyrics to go!" Austin adds with an overly cheerful smile.
"Perfect!" Trish exclaims, and Ally has a sneaking suspicion that their manager doesn't actually care about how much progress they have (or haven't) made. "So now would be the perfect time to take a break and catch up."
"Uh…" The two exchange worried glances. Much as Ally loves Trish and spending time with her, today is just not the day for it.
Still completely disregarding their reactions, Trish teases, "Guess who I found wandering the streets of L.A?" Before either of them can answer, Trish leans around the living room entrance and screams in the direction of the front door, "Dez!"
"Dez is here?" Austin asks, his transformation into an overly excited little boy almost instantaneous.
"Yes, I—!" Dez stops short the moment he comes into view, his eyes growing wide as he looks between the two musicians. "You slept together!" he gasps. Ally's jaw drops, and she can tell from Austin's sudden lack of excited jumping that his reaction mimics hers.
"What?" Ally asks at the same time Austin says, "Where did you get that idea?"
"Yeah, that's just … ridiculous," Ally continues.
"Ridiculous."
"I mean sleeping together? Us?"
"Pfft."
"I mean … why would we ever—"
"Oh my god, they did!" Trish cries. "Ally's face is doing that thing!"
"Aha!" Austin turns to Ally and points at her triumphantly. "I told you."
Ally places a hand on her hip and stares at Austin with an expression that she hopes conveys just how much of an idiot he is. Apparently she succeeds, because his face pales and he goes, "Shit. Sorry."
"I knew it!" Dez punches the air.
"How?" Ally demands, feeling rather stressed by this sudden turn of events. While she has no intention of hiding their new relationship status from their closest friends, she would have preferred having talked over what exactly that new relationship status is first.
"Please don't mention 'love whisperer,'" she hears Austin mutter to himself.
"Love whisperer?" Dez repeats, because apparently he has super hearing (possibly in addition to an ability to read minds). "Austin, I'm a multi-Golden-Globe-winning director. Love whisperer!" he snorts. "If there's one thing my long and vibrant career has taught me" – "You haven't even been professionally directing for ten years!" Trish exclaims in exasperation – "it's how to read body language. Oh, and fish! I really get fish. We connect on a spiritual level," he adds in a stage whisper, a cupped hand raised to his mouth.
"Right…" Trish says slowly, staring at Dez with the usual slight hint of (friendly) revulsion on her face. She quickly turns her attention back to Austin and Ally. "So how long has this been going on? Who made the first move?"
"Uh…" Austin replies helpfully. He glances at Ally for help.
"It kind of just happened?" Ally explains, holding out her hands and raising her shoulders.
Trish looks at her with disbelief. "I highly doubt that, but we can talk the real details when it's just the two of us. And I mean details details."
Ally is about to tell Trish that maybe she doesn't need to know absolutely everything when Dez pronounces, teary-eyed, "I can't believe you two finally figured it out. I just … I never thought this day would come. And definitely not before the option period ran out."
"Aw, Dez, don't cr—" Ally cuts herself off as she registers the second half of his comment. "Wait, what option period?"
"Oh, for the script I co-wrote."
"About us?" Austin asks as Trish demands, "About them?"
Dez nods. "We couldn't move into production because the ending would've felt completely hollow unless you two were really together. And it's not like we could change the ending – who wants to see a movie about two people with tons of unresolved sexual tension who are still just friends when the credits roll?" He makes a face. "But you managed to pull through in the end. I knew you wouldn't let me down!" He gives then an enthusiastic shake of his head and a thumbs up.
"You're welcome?" Ally says, not sure how else to respond to the knowledge that their friend co-authored a semi-fictitious script heavily based on her and Austin's lives … and never bothered to say anything until now. She turns to Austin – Dez is his best friend after all – but the blond just shrugs his shoulders, looking as lost as she.
"Um, hate to break it to you, film genius, but you already made a movie about them," Trish points out. "Aren't you worried all of the critics will call you repetitive?"
Dez scoffs. "May I remind you that Alfred Hitchcock remade The Man Who Knew Too Much, and no one ever called him repetitive."
"I would," Ally hears Trish mutter under her breath. "How many suspense films starring blondes can a guy make?"
"Anyway, that was a rockumentary. This will be a biopic. Completely different genre and style of storytelling."
Unsurprisingly, this explanation does not quiet Trish. "Who the hell makes biopics about people who aren't dead?"
"Trailblazers, Trish," Dez shoots at her. "And that's exactly what I am: a trailblazer." He strikes a pose to match his dramatic statement.
Trish looks ready to pull out another insult, but right now Ally really doesn't have time for an argument regarding Dez's potential overestimation of his legendary directing status. "It's really wonderful to see you both," she says, positioning herself between the two. "But Austin and I need to finish up our last two songs before the label fires us. But Dez, if you're going to be in town for a while" – Dez confirms her suspicion with several wide-smiled nods – "we should all hang out after Austin and I come out of our 'songwriting hibernation.' Which should be by the end of the week."
"Especially if you both leave," Austin adds, catching on. "Right now. Right this very second."
"Fine, fine," Trish says, sighing loudly. "We'll leave you two alone so you can get it on."
"That is not why we want—"
"Ally, she's agreeing to leave," Austin says through a clenched grin. "Doesn't matter why."
"But—"
"Real quick, speaking of your label," Trish interrupts. "Connor wants to meet with you guys tomorrow. Something about being concerned after you didn't respond to his first email about your current track list?"
"Connor emailed you?" Ally asks, Trish's news distracting her from their previous topic of discussion. "Why didn't he just email us?"
"Apparently he did. And apparently you two were too busy with other activities to check your inboxes." Before Ally can object to this slight on their professionalism (it has barely been twelve hours since they received the first email, after all), Trish advises, "You should probably let him know that you'll be there before he sends an armed guard here or something. C'mon, Dez," she says, grabbing the multi-Golden-Globe-winning director by the sleeve and dragging him behind her. "Let's go before they jump each other and permanently scar us."
"Actually, that would serve as a great reference for this one scene at the end of my movie!" Ally hears Dez exclaim before her front door slams for a second time in under an hour. She cradles her head in her hands.
"I love them," she says. "I really do. But sometimes…"
"I know," Austin says with an exaggerated sigh. "I know." He pats her on the shoulder. "Should we, um, say something about that movie Dez has planned?"
"You think it would make a difference?" she replies in a monotone. She looks up at Austin and raises an eyebrow.
Austin grimaces. "Good point."
Overcome with a sudden wave of exhaustion, Ally walks over to her couch, leaning against the back. "With everything that happened I almost forgot that Connor hates all of our songs," she admits, unable to hide her bitterness.
"He doesn't hate them," Austin corrects her. "He just—"
"Thinks we're going to alienate all of our fans?" she finishes pointedly, and she slides down until she's seated on the floor, back against the couch. Austin walks over and joins her.
"We are not going to alienate all of our fans," he insists.
"I know. But somehow I don't think that's going to stop Connor from putting up a fight." Ally lets out a frustrated sigh. "I wish he'd trust us. It's not like we've been doing this for, oh, I don't know, half our lives."
"He's just worried about how they're going to market the album. Maybe if we can come up with a marketing strategy or something…" He trails off, and Ally grows increasingly nervous as he continues to stare off into the distance, eyes narrowed in concentration.
"Absolutely not," she tells him before he can voice the idea she knows is forming.
"I didn't even say anything!"
"You were going to suggest that we tell Connor about how we're, well, whatever it is we are, and that he should use our relationship to promote our album of apparently too many love songs."
"I wasn't going to—" Austin tries to protest, but one look at Ally's unconvinced face and he stops. "Okay, I was. But he's going to know eventually isn't he? The paparazzi follow us everywhere, and when he finds out what's going on he'll insist on using it to the album's advantage."
"What … is going on?" Ally asks (because if she has learned anything over these past several years, it's that she would rather avoid basing life decisions on assumptions, as accurate as they may appear). "What exactly are we now?"
Austin looks slightly stumped by her question. "Aren't we just … you know … us? But with kissing and sex and stuff?"
"'Kissing and sex and stuff,'" Ally repeats dryly. "That should be the title of our album."
"Just, you know, we're us," Austin says again, rushing to correct his not-so-eloquent description of their relationship. "And we'll always be us, and nothing can change that. We're together— you want to be together, right?" he quickly clarifies.
Ally lets out a small laugh of astonishment. "Of course I want to be together."
"Okay, good." Ally detects the slightest hint of relief in his voice – the same relief she felt when he didn't break away last night. She reaches over and grabs his hand. Austin glances up at her in surprise, clearly not expecting the gesture, but he threads his fingers through hers. For a few minute they sit in silence – shoulder to shoulder, hands wrapped tightly around the other – and a sudden sense of calm and determination washes over her.
"I say screw it," she tells him firmly.
Austin furrows his brow, clearly not following her train of thought. "What?"
"Screw it. Screw what Connor thinks. Screw what the press will say. Just … screw it all. Let's be us and just … keep doing what we've always done. Like you said."
"And when Connor demands an explanation for all of the love songs?"
Ally thinks for a moment. "Music evolves with the artist, right? So we tell him this album reflects our personal journey. This is where we are right now. And if he decides to leak his suspicions about our relationship to sell the album – okay. But we don't have to be part of it."
"What about when the press asks questions? Which they will."
She shrugs. "We say what we've always said whenever they ask about our personal lives—"
"No comment," Austin finishes, and Ally nods.
"Just because all of their speculation will finally be right doesn't mean we owe them anything. I'm not saying we should hide or try to avoid appearing like a couple when we're in public," she adds quickly. "But…"
"Screw it," Austin confirms, and Ally squeezes his hand again in response. "So, now that we've settled on the 'screw it' strategy … what do we do now?"
Ally stands up, and Austin follows her lead. "We still have a song or two to finish writing."
"And then?" He sounds hopeful, and there's little doubt in her mind what answer he's looking for.
She raises an eyebrow before taking a step closer. "Well," she says, splaying her fingers against his chest. "We keep being us. Together. With kissing and sex and stuff." She grins up at him, her eyes glinting, because there is no way in hell she isn't holding that one against him for a long, long time.
Austin lets out an exasperated groan, but his annoyance is short-lived. "I guess I'm okay with that. Especially that last part." He leans down to close the distance between them, but just as his lips touch hers, Ally tears herself away.
"Seriously?" Austin whines.
"We have an album to finish, remember?" She heads in the direction of the piano, feeling a strange sense of satisfaction as Austin, weakly protesting, follows after her. Finally accepting defeat, Austin lets out a disappointed sigh and sits on the bench. Ally makes sure their song book is open to the right page, and then she lets Austin tug her down to join him, both of them laughing as her shoulder slams into his arm. When their laughter subsides she kisses him – her lips sweeping over his in a casual display of affection.
"What was that for?" he asks when she pulls away.
Ally shrugs her shoulders, but despite her attempt to appear nonchalant she can't hide her smile. "Just because."
Austin seems to approve of her explanation, because he leans down and gives her a quick kiss of his own. "Just because," he echoes before straightening up. "Now, I believe you wanted to write a love song about me?"
Ally shakes her head, in awe of how easily he transitions from sweet to … well, okay, still sweet, but also frustratingly (endearingly) smug. "Yeah, that'll make a great duet."
"Hey, I am more than okay with you going solo for this one." Ally rolls her eyes and then gently elbows him for good measure. "Or we could settle somewhere in the middle," Austin cedes. He shoots her a small grin, and Ally laughs.
"I can work with 'somewhere in the middle,'" she agrees.
They turn back to the piano, their hands brushing against each other as they come to rest on the keys.
And they begin.
A/N: A quick thanks to everyone who read and reviewed. This is the first multi-chaptered fic I've written since my Harry Potter days back in … 2007 (yikes). So thanks for bearing with me as I re-navigated the world of attempting (and failing) to update in a timely fashion.