Title: Learn to Fly: Chapter One, Artists
Rating: PG [nothing to worry about]

Summary: A happenstance meeting at a coffee shop...



Leaning back in a plush chair in a small coffee house in Alexandria, Virginia, Mel pushed a short wisp of black hair from her equally dark eyes. Lifting the steaming cup to her lips, she grimaced as it clinked against her lip ring, so focused on the magazine in her hands she wasn't paying attention to the cup. Eyes darting around to see if anyone had seen what she had just done, her gaze collided with a smiling gaze of a man across the shop. She half-smiled, half-smirked at him, before turning her eyes back to her magazine.

Just because she was a small town girl, far from home, didn't mean she wasn't worldly. Mel had not only traveled extensively in her twenty-five years, but had known all kinds of people during such, which certainly made her think she could read someone within the first few moments of meeting them. She already had the man, whom she could still feel looking at her, categorized. He was a ladykiller for certain. Probably swept women off their feet all the time and never looked back to see them passed out in bed.

And certainly not the type of man Mel wanted to waste any time on.

He, however, apparently had other plans, as he headed over to where she sat, easing himself into the chair next to hers. For a moment they sat in silence, her dark eyes trying to remain hidden in the folds of the magazine. She could feel his eyes on her, willing her to drop the magazine.

"Interesting read?" he finally spoke up.

"Yes," she replied, not lowering the magazine.

He leaned around to see the cover of the magazine, "Art in America? Are you an artist or just interested in it?"

Mel finally gave him, lowering the magazine. Folding the page she was on, she closed it and tucked it into the chair she was seated on. She crossed her legs, reaching for her tea again.

"My parents would call me a failure, or if it's a good day, a starving artist. I however think exhibiting in quite a few galleries in SoHo qualifies me as a little more than that," she replied honestly. "But maybe I'm wrong. I'm no rock star. That would be a success to them."

He smirked, "Being a rock star isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"But you're making money and gaining notoriety. That for some reason would be better to talk about at the country club then about what I do," Mel shrugged. "Not that I really care."

"Of course not," he responded, sipping his coffee. "I'm Dave by the way."

"Pleased to meet you," she replied, though there was a touch of sarcasm in her voice. "I'm Melanie, but I suppose you can call me Mel like everyone else does."

"Melanie," he repeated with a smile, "that's a nice name. What brings you to Alexandria?"

Her face softened some, "I like the atmosphere. It's not as... high strung or high maintenance as New York. And it's close enough to Washington I can cross the river for.... inspiration. You?"

"Downtime. Taking a little break before going back to work. A little vacation, if you will," Dave replied.

"So you chose to come to a coffee house in Alexandria, Virginia as your vacation? Man, you really ought to see a travel agent. Get yourself a better vacation," she teased, loosening up some, a combination of his smile and the jasmine tea she was drinking.


He chuckled, "Here is home. I travel quite a bit the rest of the time. Downtime at home is good. Though I'll probably be playing in the studio before long."

The piqued her interest. Granted most people in coffeehouses, well the ones who lingered without a laptop, were artsy in some way or another. He hadn't particulalry fit that bill to her. But as her eyes searched his for a moment, there was something awfully familiar about him....

"What kind of art do you do?" Mel asked.

"Music. Guitar, drums, lyrics, stuff like that," Dave smirked. "A rock star, if you will."

Mel arched a brow, "Really? Must not be that great, since I don't see any teenagers pressing against the glass or stumbling about the cafe trying to get near you."

He glanced around, "Kinda why I come here. And they serve Seattle coffee. I became rather accostumed to it when living there."

She regarded him again, trying to place him. Familiar, yes. But she still didn't see 'rock star' plastered all over him. But if he wasn't the frontman of any band, that could explain it. Rarely did the drummer or backup guitarist get the publicity.

"Fine. If I pretend to believe you, for the sake of this conversation, what boon will you give me?" Mel challenged.

He thought for a moment, "Tickets and backstage passes work for you?"

"Heh, sure," she chuckled.

"But I want something from you," Dave countered.

"And what would that be?"

He smiled, "Show me your art."