A Change in My Life, 3/?

[ladybug_tales]

Title: A Change in My Life, chapter three
Fandom: Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?
Rating: K+/PG; rating could rise later
Word Count: 5,046
Main Characters: Fictional Rockapella (Sean, Scott, Elliott, Barry)
Summary: Meetings.

Will be posted to 10_hurt_comfort when complete.

Chapter Three
But With You I Belong

Elliott groaned at the sound of the shrill alarm ringing through his ears. He burrowed deeper into the pillow, hoping to drown out the sound. But it was insistent. He had to get up.

He ordinarily slept in on the days without morning classes, but today was different. He had promised Ms. Parker he would pick up her sister. He rose off the pillow, flaming red at the thought. He still did not have the faintest idea how it was going to go. He could only pray that he would not say or do something terribly embarrassing.

The quilt fell from his shoulders as he pushed himself out of bed and to the floor. He only reached behind himself long enough to make sure the comforter was not hanging on the floor itself before shuffling into the bathroom.

His reflection looked as half-asleep as he felt. Unsuccessfully stifling a yawn, he opened the medicine cabinet and took out his toothbrush and toothpaste. Almost mechanically, he squeezed the toothpaste onto the bristles and stuck the end of the brush in his mouth.

The odd feeling that had come over him last night was still haunting his heart and soul. For ages after returning home, he had racked his mind trying to determine what it had meant. He had not fallen asleep until after two A.M., and it had been a troubled sleep at that. In his dreams he had seen the limousine just ahead of him and he had struggled to run to it, to call to the mysterious occupant, but it had always driven away, leaving him alone.

He spit out the toothpaste and rinsed his mouth. He would never have the answers to the puzzle. Why couldn't he just forget it and move on? He needed to get back to logic and facts.

. . . But the fact was, the depression from last night was still hanging heavy on his mind. And the logical course of action was to figure out why, which could only be accomplished if he learned who had been in that limousine.

Which, logically, would be almost impossible to learn.

After further freshening up, he hurried to get dressed. With his mind still so involved in the bewildering matter, his actions were once again almost mechanical. He had already gotten into a red shirt and black pants and was running a brush through his unruly curls before realization dawned---he was missing something. He turned with a groan, looking to the glasses on his nightstand. If he forgot them, he would reveal one of his secrets---he could see just fine without them.

He set the brush aside, picking up the frames and sliding them onto his face. He was always hiding behind something, he supposed---a book, the glasses, and anything else handy, even physics itself. He was so afraid that the real him would not be liked that he did whatever he could to conceal his existence.

And who was the real Elliott? A scholar? A professor-in-training? The shy, quiet guy who kept making a fool out of himself?

. . . Or someone even he did not know?

Well, the real him had stayed unknown this long. And he would have to remain that way a little longer. He was going to be late if he did not hurry. He already planned to eat breakfast at the airport so he would not have to grab something on the go.

He fumbled to lock the door as he hurried outside a moment later. It was an overcast day, the clouds dark and ominous as they hung in the sky. He sighed, jogging down the steps as he unlocked his car from a distance. Just as long as it did not pour rain, he was fine with the clouds.

Something white and square on the windshield caught his eye. He frowned, grabbing it out to examine. It was too big for a ticket, and anyway, he would not be ticketed at his own home. It did not look like an ad, either. What it really looked like was a piece of paper from a looseleaf notebook.

As he unfolded it and looked at the newspaper clipping letters, his eyebrows knitted further.

We know who you really are.

What did that mean? There was a certain ominous quality about the note, but he did not have any dark secrets or skeletons in the closet. Maybe it was just a childish prank. Those twins from his class would be capable of pulling something like this. For some reason, they were dead-set on making him lose his temper.

With a sigh he opened the driver's door and slid into the car, setting the paper on the passenger seat. He would confront them about it at the afternoon class.

Traffic was terrible, as usual. He had gotten up early enough to anticipate the daily New York traffic jam, but even at that, he only managed to pull into the airport with a little over thirty minutes to spare. But if the flight was on schedule and not early, it should be plenty of time. He quickly parked and hurried towards the entrance.

Inside, people were milling in all directions---dragging their baggage one way or another, some hurrying to the restaurants or gift shops, others rushing to the ticket lines or the terminals. Elliott tried to slip past them, clutching the flight information in his hand. A glance up at the scrolling marquees revealed that Geri's flight was still coming on schedule. He could grab breakfast and then seek out the gate.

But he had only rarely been at the airport, and now that he was here he was discovering that it was so large it would be easy to get lost. Instead of being able to find his way to a restaurant, he was heading towards a gate for a flight that had apparently just arrived now. Swarms of people, Asian, American, and others, were getting right in his way. He stumbled back, hoping to let them all get by.

Instead he backed right up into someone.

"Hey!" the person exclaimed.

Elliott jumped a mile. "Sorry . . . I'm sorry!" he gasped. Without even looking behind him, he scrambled to the side. But he had not anticipated luggage laying in wait to attack. He yelped, tumbling backwards over a carry-on bag to land in the middle of the aisle. For a moment he could only lay dazed as some of the people walked around him, avoiding stepping on him but not moving to help him up. Others did not seem to notice him at all, too intent on getting out of this part of the airport. It was really a miracle that he was not trampled. He groaned, pushing himself up on an elbow.

"Twice in twenty-four hours," he sighed. "Could things possibly get worse?"

A shadow fell across him. He stiffened, looking up as his pesky glasses slid down his nose. A man not much younger than himself was crouched in front of him, his eyes filled with concern.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "Here, I'll help you up."

It was the same person Elliott had bumped into moments earlier. And as Elliott reached out, letting himself be helped, something invisible pierced his heart. He stared into the blue-green eyes, searching, bewildered. What was he feeling? Why? From the stranger's own expression, he had felt something too.

We know each other. Somehow.

The moment passed. Elliott stumbled, getting his footing. "Thanks," he said with an embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry . . . I've been falling all over everything today."

The other man laughed. "I've had those days," he said. "Oh. Here." He held out Elliott's glasses. "They fell off your face when you were getting up."

Elliott blinked. How had he not even noticed?! "Thanks," he said again. "They're just glass, but it's still a pain to replace. . . ." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he stiffened. What was he saying? He never told anyone that he did not need the spectacles. Come to think of it, he never talked about his clumsiness, either. And now, to this stranger, he had done both.

His rescuer raised an eyebrow. "This is the first time I've met anyone who wears glasses for aesthetic reasons," he commented.

Elliott laughed. "Well, it's not that, exactly, but . . . oh no, I'm keeping you," he realized.

"I just got in. I don't have anywhere to be . . . except getting my luggage. Louie'll have a conniption if I let it get away from me." Realizing something else, he held out his hand. "I'm Scott, by the way."

Elliott froze. "Scott," he repeated. Of course. It sounded so right. Before he could stop himself, he said, "I know." He grasped Scott's hand, but to shake it felt wrong. It was too formal for them. "I . . . I'm Elliott," he stammered.

Scott froze too, the color draining from his face. "Elliott," he said. "You're Elliott! . . ."

Again they stared at each other.

Don't let him get away. He's precious to you.

Scott snapped out of the near-trance first. ". . . You don't have any luggage," he observed. "Are you meeting someone?"

Elliott nodded. "It's a long story," he said as they withdrew their hands.

"Well . . ." Scott looked towards the luggage belt. "Come with me while I pick up mine and tell me about it."

Elliott could scarcely believe the offer. But at the same time it felt completely normal. It was as if they had been meant to meet all along. But it went even deeper than that. It was as if they had met before and had known and loved each other, though now neither remembered.

Despite the fact that such a thing was impossible. How could they both forget something so important?

He broke into an actual grin. "Okay," he agreed. There should be time, if they hurried. "And you can tell me about yourself, too."

"It's a deal," Scott said.

It was only then that Elliott realized he had never put the glasses back on. He slipped them into his pocket as he followed his new-old friend. Something strange was happening. And while he did not know or understand what, he was aware of one thing.

He liked it.
****
Sean sighed as he strolled down the street in the light autumn breeze. He had practically scarfed down the Ramen breakfast before flying out the door. Somehow he had to get the rest of the rent money before the end of the morning. Maybe he should have told the landlord it would be there by the end of the day instead of morning. He had said the first thing that had come to his mind, hoping to pacify the guy quicker. He really had to stop doing that. It was a great way to dig a pit for himself.

And the only thing he knew to do now was to go to a street corner and sing---so he would try a neighborhood where he had never before gone and hope for a miracle. That was what it would take to get as much money as he needed.

"This looks like a possibility," he mused, arriving on a residential block. Taking out his guitar, he quickly tuned it with his nimble fingers and then began to sing.

Is it the sky today,
The way that the wind's pushin' the clouds?
Or is it the late-day sun
Stretchin' the shadows over the ground
That brings on these memories
Of people and places that I've never seen? . . .

As he played, the feelings he had experienced last night while looking at the newspaper and the mail returned. He frowned, wavering in his song. Why was he thinking of those people again? He did not know them. But he could not deny that it felt like he did. He was living the words of that song.

An older woman turned up the walk, a sack of groceries in her arms. She glowered at Sean as she moved to walk up to her apartment building.

"I'd better not be able to hear you from my apartment," she snapped.

Sean stopped singing, giving her a cheery smile. "Do I really sound that bad?" he said.

She sniffed. "No," she admitted. "But you're too loud."

Sean shrugged. "I want to make sure I'm heard," he said.

"You don't have to worry about that---you will be!" she humphed, going up the stairs and into the building.

Sean blew out his breath. "Ooh, touchy," he muttered to himself. But he turned his attention back to the guitar as he resumed his song.

And voices so strange and so sweet,
Asking me softly,
"Where is my home?
"Where is my home?" . . .

A red car drove up to the curb and stopped. Sean continued to sing as he watched, curiously wondering who might get out. But he stopped his song again as he saw who was alighting.

"Hey!" he said in disbelief, gawking at the tall, well-dressed celebrity with the brown ponytail. "You're that Barry guy from the opera! What are you doing all the way down in a neighborhood like this?"

The other man raised an eyebrow. "I was taking a drive," he said.

Sean smirked. "I know, I know, I can tell from your expression---you're wondering how a guy like me knows about the opera," he said.

Barry grunted. "It did cross my mind," he said.

Sean strummed a chord on his guitar. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not a connoisseur or something," he said. "But you're in all the papers and the news! It'd be impossible to not hear about you."

"I see." Barry stepped a bit closer. "Your singing isn't bad. And the song you're playing is deep."

"You think so?" Sean grinned. "I wrote it myself."

"Really." A frown crossed Barry's features. "Then I couldn't have heard it before."

Sean blinked. "You think you did?"

Barry looked frustrated with himself. "It's impossible, unless I heard you singing it on some other street corner."

"It's possible." Sean strummed another chord. "I've been all over Manhattan."

Barry's serious eyes appraised this man who was an inch shorter than him, sporting bleached braids and a cheerful smile in spite of his down-and-out circumstances. A smile Barry could almost swear he had seen before, somewhere. . . .

"What's your name?" he wanted to know.

"Me? They call me Sean," was the smirking reply, as if he was delivering a line in a Western film.

"Sean," Barry repeated. He was firmly rooted in logic, and he could tell that Sean was, too. But as they looked at each other, it was clear that they were each trying and failing to deny what they felt. It was the same sensation Barry had experienced while at the semaphore and the same one Sean had experienced at his kitchen table. They were supposed to be with each other.

". . . Are you looking for work?" Barry asked at last.

"It couldn't hurt," Sean said, noticeably perking up.

Barry nodded. "Come with me," he said. "I can find something for you." It was true; he was certain he could. But mainly he had made the offer so that they could converse further. He was determined to get to the bottom of this illogical feeling.

Sean grinned. "Now you're talking!" he exclaimed. After carefully placing his guitar in its case, he took it and followed Barry back to his car.

This day was looking up. He should be able to get the rent money for sure. And he had made the acquaintance of one of the people he had mused about last night. Which was actually pretty weird.

But not as weird as feeling like they had been best friends in another lifetime.

"So," he said as he climbed into the passenger seat and set the guitar on the backseat, "have we ever met before?"

Barry grunted. "Yesterday I would have said No," he said, going around to get into the driver's seat. "But I don't know anymore."

"Yeah," Sean said, "same here." He pulled down the seatbelt. "You seem like a nice guy to get to know, in any case," he said.

"You look like someone who might enjoy a joke," Barry said, not specifying whether that was good or bad. "Someone played one on me last night." He turned the key in the ignition, revving the engine. Then he began to maneuver out of the parking space with care.

"Oh? What kind of joke?" Sean asked.

"A rubber fish was placed in my pocket." Barry nodded to the elongated object now on the dashboard.

Sean leaned forward, staring at it as he picked it up. "It looks just like mine," he said, stunned. "And that is the kind of innocent joke I'd play, but since we haven't seen each other before, I don't know how I could've played it on you." He twirled it around his finger. "This is a good quality fish."

"Keep it if you want," Barry said, his tone weary. "I'll probably never get to the bottom of the mystery."

"Thanks!" Sean said, now dangling it in front of his face. "I don't know where mine is."

". . . Or maybe we both do, even though it's impossible," Barry muttered under his breath.

Sean stuck the rubber fish in his shirt pocket. "So, are you feeling like you're having deja vu?" he said, returning to their previous discussion. "That you've met certain people before and that kind of thing?"

"What do you know about it?" Barry said. The memory of last night was very clear in his mind---as well as the feelings he was having right now.

Sean shrugged. "If we weren't from these different walks of life, it almost feels like we could be friends," he said. And a strange and ridiculous thought hopped into his mind, one that he decided to give voice. "I don't suppose you know Scott L., do you?" he said. "He's a musician too."

Barry gave him a look as they slowed down for a red light. "I've heard the name," he said. "We perform in different genres."

"True," Sean said. He reached behind him, opening his guitar case and removing the ad from the university. For some reason, he had brought both it and the newspaper clipping with him. "What about this Elliott guy? He teaches Advanced Physics."

"I don't know why I'd . . ." But as Barry turned to glance at the ad, the color drained from his face. He slammed on the brakes, grabbing the piece of cardstock from Sean. It couldn't be . . .

Sean gave him a strange look. "What is it?" he asked.

Barry shook his head. It was the same person he had seen last night. He knew it.

"Something bizarre is happening here," he said at last.

"Yeah, no kidding," Sean said. "I wouldn't have even brought the subject up if I'd known it'd almost get us in a wreck!"

"Do you know these people?" Barry pointedly asked, ignoring Sean's comment.

"Nope," Sean said, taking the ad as Barry finally handed it back. "But I feel like I do. Same with you." He gave Barry a sidelong glance. "So why did the sight of an Advanced Physics teacher almost make you lose control of the car?"

Barry grunted. ". . . I saw this man last night," he confessed at last. "For some reason, he intrigued me." He handed back the ad. "Then I lost track of him. I was wondering how to go about finding who he was . . . and then you show up with this."

Sean blinked. ". . . Weird," he said. Actually it was beyond weird. But that was the first thing that had come to his mind.

Barry looked Sean up and down. ". . . Let's try to find where Scott and Elliott are right now," he said. "Maybe if we're all in the same place, we can figure this out."

"I'm all for that," Sean said. "I guess you've got connections and could get us in to see Scott, even though you and he 'perform in different genres.' And we could track El . . . Elliott down at the university." He grinned. "Let's get dangerous."

Again Barry turned, giving him a Look.

Sean responded with an innocent blink. "What?"

Barry just grunted. This man was strange.

Why did this feel so right?
****
Scott could hardly believe the happiness and fulfillment he felt as he and Elliott stood at the luggage belt, watching for his suitcase to appear. He had known something was waiting for him in New York, but he had not expected he would find it so soon. He still did not know or understand why or how, yet he knew that Elliott was his dear friend. The connection they felt was too profound for it to be anything else.

And his dream. . . . He had not forgotten about it; this was surely the Elliott he had been crying out to there. But even without having had the dream at all, he would have known that this Elliott was important to him. He had known it before they had said their names.

Now they looked to each other, searching their equally wide and awestruck eyes for answers. But then they looked away, unable to explain despite knowing the truth of their feelings.

"Why don't we remember?" Elliott spoke at last, his voice hushed.

Scott shook his head. "I don't know," he said. ". . . Oh, there's my suitcase. . . ." He hurried ahead, snatching the bag off the belt. "And Louie's beside it. . . ."

Elliott assisted by picking it up. "Where is he?" he asked.

Scott shrugged. "He must've found a reporter or something," he said. "To tell the truth, I was trying to hide from reporters when we disembarked. So we must've got separated in the fray." He grinned. "I'm glad we did. That was when you bumped into me."

Elliott grinned too. ". . . What are we going to do now?" he wondered. When Louie did find them, Elliott doubted he would be pleased at Scott's determination that a complete stranger was his best friend. And Geri's flight would be coming. But Elliott did not want to leave. He wanted to stay with Scott, to keep talking to him and try to understand what had happened to both of them.

"We'll figure something out," Scott said. He glanced up at the scrolling marquees. "Hey, isn't that your friend's flight?"

"Huh?" Elliott blinked, looking up too. DELAYED flashed across the narrow screen, next to the flight name and number. He fished the paper out of his pocket, glancing over the printed flight information. "It is," he realized. "Well, she isn't really my friend; I've never met her, but . . . yeah."

Scott studied the screen. "They might be held up for a while," he said. He smiled a bit. "I'll come with you if you want to try to find out what the problem is. And if the delay will go on for some time, we could get something to eat."

Elliott perked up. "I'm game," he said. "But shouldn't you call your manager?"

Scott sighed. "I should," he said, "but if he is talking to a reporter, he might say for me to come over to them. And it's been a long flight. I don't want to right now." He clapped Elliott on the back. "He'll find us. Meanwhile, let's find food."

Elliott's stomach rumbled, as if on cue. He stiffened, then chuckled.

"That'll be a story for the tabloids," Scott mused as he steered Elliott to the information desk. "Famed singer Scott L. dining with a complete stranger."

"And not just that, but a stranger he claims is a best friend he doesn't remember," Elliott said, playing along. They had slipped so fast into this banter. And he could not help remembering Ms. Parker's words from yesterday.

"You just need to find the right person and then you'll open up."

That was exactly what had happened. And it did not just feel like he had opened up; it felt like part of himself had been sleeping and now had awakened. But there was still more. Even with this new and great joy, something else was still missing.

He looked to Scott. "It's not supposed to be just the two of us," he acknowledged. "There's someone else, too. . . . Two someones. . . ."

Scott blinked. "Yeah . . ." he realized, his voice vague and far-away. "Two other guys. I wonder . . ." He looked to Elliott as his blond curls bounced. "I wonder if that's what's been missing from my concerts---you and them."

Elliott turned red at the thought of being on a stage. "I don't sing," he objected. But even as he said it, the snippets of unknown songs returned to the forefront of his mind. When he found himself singing aloud, his voice was not bad. He could definitely carry a tune, and when he did not catch himself for a while, he realized that he enjoyed it.

Scott watched his changing expression. "Are you sure?" he said.

Elliott gave a weak smile. "Well . . . I guess I can sing," he said. "There's just not really any reason to sing in Physics class."

Scott laughed. "You'll have to let me hear when we're not in the middle of a crowded airport," he said.

Elliott's next look was filled with gratitude. He had been afraid that Scott might try to encourage him to sing right here. And while maybe in this other life he would have, he did not want to now.

"Scotty! There you are!"

Scott stiffened, looking over his shoulder. "Here's Louie," he said, speaking in an undertone. "Maybe you'd better hurry and find out about that flight. This could take a while."

"I'll wait to let him know what's going on," Elliott replied, despite the flip-flops his stomach was doing. Louie looked bewildered and somewhat put-out as he walked over to them. He was definitely not going to be receptive. What normal person would be?

"We won't tell him the whole thing right now," Scott said in an undertone. "But we'll have to say enough to let him know we're sincere."

"Scotty, what's going on?!" Louie demanded as he arrived. "Who's this?"

"This," Scott said calmly as he drew an arm around Elliott's shoulders, "is Elliott."

"Hi," Elliott smiled, holding out the suitcase. "Here's your luggage. . . ."

Louie grasped the handle almost mechanically, still staring at the duo. "How're you acting all buddy-buddy?!" he said with suspicion in his voice. "I've never heard you talk about this Elliott before, kid."

"We just met," Scott said. "But we hit it off right away."

"It's like we were friends before," Elliott put in, "and we just didn't remember."

Louie looked from one to the other in disbelief. "Oh come on!" he said then. "I'm not going to believe that, and I can't believe you do, Scotty. It's a joke, right? Or this guy's trying to take advantage of you. I would've thought you'd be wiser than that!"

"It's not a joke or a trick," Scott said, keeping his tone even. "But we're going to have something to eat, after El learns about the flight he's supposed to meet. It got delayed." He gave Louie a steady look, which said that while he appreciated and understood the concern, he was not going to back down.

"I'll be right back," Elliott said in agreement.

Louie just gawked as Elliott hurried to the counter. But then he snapped out of it, grabbing hold of the blond's arm. "Scotty, we've got to talk," he said, leading Scott out of anyone's earshot. "The long flight's left you loopy. I found you when you were eighteen, remember? The latest singing sensation! And you didn't know, and never knew, anyone named Elliott. Your family would've mentioned him even if you'd got amnesia!"

Scott sighed. "I can't explain it," he said, "and I know it sounds off-the-wall. But whatever the explanation, we really have connected. I need to talk more to Elliott; it's something I have to do and want to do. On the other hand, I don't want you to worry. You can be there while we eat, if you want, to hear what we talk about."

"Darn-tootin' I want it," Louie declared. "But if he's trying to take advantage of you, he'd never say so if he realized I was there."

"Then I guess he won't realize," Scott said with a small smile.

Louie paused, letting the words sink in. Then he grinned. "I'll go stake out the joint," he said, relieved that Scott had not turned against him.

Scott waved him off, then slumped back with a sigh. He did not like the set-up; it felt sneaky and unfair to Elliott. But on the other hand, he really did not want Louie to worry. And he hoped to convince Louie that Elliott really was someone special---which he had been rediscovering just in the short time they had been talking. Maybe Elliott would not mind if he knew Louie was present. He might even realize that Louie was there without anything being said.

. . . Which would defeat the purpose if he really was unsavory. But Scott knew he wasn't.

Now Elliott walked back over with a sigh. "They think the delay could be up to an hour," he reported. "Ms. Parker will probably be here before it comes." But he could not complain, not for a moment. If he had not come here, he might not have met Scott.

"That's possible," Scott agreed, snapping back to the present. "Come on, let's get something to eat."

Elliott nodded gratefully.

Unseen and unheard by them both, an angry figure fixed his hateful glare on the two friends.

"No!" he snapped. "This isn't the way it's supposed to be. You're not supposed to feel lonely or long for each other! You're supposed to hate each other, to not trust each other! That's why the cynical Louie exists! It's why your former best friend drifted away from you and why you're a famed solo singer. It's why Elliott was made to be a complete recluse and to even wear spectacles he doesn't need!"

His features twisted. "Just wait," he vowed. "You won't ever remember the truth if I have anything to say about it. And I have plenty to say."

He fell into place behind the duo.