Title: Learn to Fly: Chapter Four, Promise not to stop
Rating: PG [mild language]

Summary: Melanie gives in and attends a Foo Fighters concert.





The envelope sat upon Mel's counter for two days, completely untouched. Often her fingers would reach for it but draw back moments before touching the white envelope. She really wanted nothing to do with him. Absolutely nothing.

And yet it beckoned. Oh so much.

Sitting on her couch, eyes attempting to read a sentence for the fourth time in a row, Mel finally gave into the seduction of the envelope. It was Thursday. If she still didn't want to go, she could get rid of the tickets before the concert the following day. But first she would have to know more about it. Tossing the magazine on the coffee table, she stood and went over to it.

Her fingers hovered a millimetre within touching the envelope. For whatever reason she could not seem to lower her hand that final distance. It felt like she was giving in to him somehow.

But how was that bad?

Her hand slammed down onto the envelope. Lifting it quickly she tored it open before she could talk herself out of it once more. Inside, as promised, was a pair of tickets and backstage passes. Slowly she slid one of the tickets out, her dark eyes scanning the text printed upon it.

"Foo Fighters?" she questioned the piece of paper in her hand. "He's a part of the Foo Fighters?"

In all honesty she wasn't certain who the band was. It was as familiar as he had been, but nothing concrete came to mind with the band's name. There was only one thing she could do: she'd have to call up someone and ask them.

Finding her phone, she pulled up a number in the phone book and listened to it ring. When the ring stopped, a feminie voice said 'Mel? What's up?'

"Hey, Kara. I've got something I need you to answer," she said.

"Sure. Whatcha need?"

"Do you know who the Foo Fighters are?"

There was dead silence on the air.

"Kara? Are you there?"

"You don't know who the Foo Fighters are, Mel?"

"It's familiar, but I can't really place it," she admitted.

"One sec," she replied, Mel could hear sounds in the background, indicating Kara was flipping through something, presumably her CDs. "Let me find the track. You know who they are, Mel. Trust me."

A few moments later 'Hello. I've waited here for you. Everlong. Tonight, I'll throw myself into—' came over the phone.

"That's Foo Fighters!?" Mel exclaimed. "What's the singer's name?"

"Dave Grohl. Why?" Kara asked.

Mel dropped her phone. Her eyes went from the tickets in her hand to the door to her intense canvases. A shout from the phone on the floor brought her attention back to her.

"Mel!? Mel, are you okay!? Do I need to come over!?"

"You don't have plans tomorrow, do you?" she recouvered.

"No. Not at all. Why?" Kara replied.

"We're going to the Foo Fighters concert. And I have backstage passes."



Staring at her reflection, Mel scrunched up her nose. No matter what face her reflection made, it did not really belie the bundle of nerves Mel had in the pit of her stomach. She had no reason to be. She was just going to a concert...... of the man from the coffeehouse's band. No big deal. Right?

"Yo, Mel," a voice came from behind her. "You ready? We need to head over there now if we want to find decent parking."

"We'll walk. It's not that far," she said distractedly, glancing at Kara's reflection joining hers.

"Sure," she shrugged. "In any event, we should be going."

Mel nodded and stood. The young woman stood a little over 5 feet, only adding an inch to her height with her rather practical shoes. Slim black jeans hugged her curves, topped with a similiarly fit cotton tee. Perhaps the only note of colour was the red ribbon holding her mess of short black hair from her eyes. It wasn't that she always dressed in black, she just.... felt more comfortable in it that day. Perhaps she could blend in with the darkness of the arena and he wouldn't even know she was there.

Leaving her apartment, the two girls headed down the street. Kara kept pressing to know where Mel had gotten the backstage passes, much less the tickets. Mel kept brushing it off and attempting to change the subject. That however wasn't really working, as Kara was apparently a rather big fan of the Foo Fighters and couldn't stop chattering on about them.

By the time they had walked the few miles to the arena, Mel was pretty certain she knew all there was to know publicly about the band. With her admittance of not knowing anything of the band and only vaguely knowing the songs, Kara had insisted Mel listen to her Ipod with one ear while she chattered on about 'the best band in the world.' At least Mel felt a little better armed should she run into Dave ever again — not that she ever intended to see him again.

Kara insisted on buying merchandise before going to find their seats, because afterall they were going backstage and she was 'sure as hell getting something besides my breasts signed.' Mel found it rather humourous and could barely contain her rolling eyes and sardonic chuckles. At least one of them was excited to be there, she reminded herself. That alone meant the tickets weren't going to waste.

"A-24? Mel, I think this is front row," Kara said, glancing at the marked rows, moving down the aisle. "Where did you get these tickets?"

"I said I'm not telling you," she replied, feeling a little more nervous that they were apparently in the front row.

Her nerves continued to increase after they found their seats, which were dead centre of the front row. Each minute that passed, pushing them closer to the start of the show, twisted her knotted stomach more. Her legs bounced nervously, her eyes kept darting to the wings of the stage, she missed questioned Kara asked.

"Mel!" Kara poked her friend in the side. "Tell me why you're so freaking nervous or I'll—"

"Dave gave me the tickets and passes," she suddenly blurted out.

"Dave? Dave who?"

"Dave Grohl," she replied.

Before the obviously stunned Kara could ask any more questions, the house lights went down and the opening band came out to play. Not only was she very much not familiar with the band, her thoughts were still focused on the real reason they were there. Their set, even their name, blew by Mel like leaves on a windy day. She barely even noticed when the house lights went on and off between the set changes.

The band erupted onto stage. Everyone around her jumped to their feet. Without knowing what she was doing, Mel too was on her feet. Forward the crowd pressed, pulling her with them. Her dark eyes focused intently upon Dave. She could have sworn once his eyes briefed over her, but she didn't know how much of the crowd he could really see from his vantage point and if he would even recognize her.

And why the hell did she care?

By the end of the set, she found she not only recognized many of the songs, but actually knew them. Usually she had let her music-obsessed friends take care of that part of the world. They were always slipping her burned CDs, without ever telling her who the bands were, assuming she didn't care. That much was true. But because of that, Mel discouvered she knew a good number of the songs Dave sang and could sing along with the rest of the crowd. She actually thought her voice would go hoarse from all the screaming and singing she did while they were on stage. Endorphins had certainly kicked in.

With the house lights back on, Kara pulled Mel over to gain backstage access. Mel wasn't as nervous or not wanting to go anymore, though she wasn't too keen on seeing Dave again. She was just certain there would be a look of triumph in his eyes. But Kara would not take no for an answer. Before long they were weaving through the techs and equipement, making their ways back to the band.

"I can't wait to meet him," Kara tittered.

"Who?" Mel asked.

"Taylor. The drummer," she stated.

"Oh," she replied, dark eyes looking ahead to where others had clustered around the band.

The girls joined the small crowd milling about. Kara had to repeatedly poke and prod Mel to keep her from wandering off. That is until Kara was face-to-face with the object of her affection. With the girl distracted by the drummer, Mel skirted her way out of the crowd, intent on at least putting distance between herself and a chance encounter.

As she was doing so, a hand touched her bare arm, fingers wrapping gently around her wrist, "Don't run away."

His words froze her in her tracks. She couldn't even turn around and face him.

"Did you enjoy the show?" he asked, moving around so that he was not only blocking her escape but also facing her.

"I... I did," she admitted, raising her eyes to him.

A big boyish grin lit his face, "Good. I was glad to see you came. I thought you wouldn't."

"I almost didn't," she admitted.

Dave kept grinning. The longer he did, the more she relaxed. She wasn't sure why, but his smile had that effect on her.

"Maybe you and your friend want to come hang out with us tonight?" he offered.

"Kara would love to I'm sure. I've got to—" her eyes went down to where his hand still held her wrist "—get back home. I've got a lot of... stuff."

He shook his head, "Come on, Melanie. I promise no biting, unless you instigate it."

She couldn't help but smirk at his statement, especially since he still had that goofy grin on his face, "Fine, fine. I'll stay for a little while."

"Yes!" he exclaimed, not bothering to hide his excitement at all.

It was then that he released her wrist.