Chapter 02—

"Guys. Set list. Now." Belle ordered the three men that were sitting around the airport doing absolutely nothing.

"I'm exhausted, Princess," Brandon replied with heavy eyelids.

"And the sooner you make out a set list, the sooner you can sleep," she pointed out, clutching Brandon's Marvin the Martian phone as if it were a life-line.

She still had to make about ten calls, dealing with marketing situations and other such things, while she was also trying to work out rescheduling a few cancelled shows. There were tons of scheduling conflicts and she was about to pull her hair out if she didn't get some kind of reprieve from the entire affair.

Brandon curled his legs up to his chest. "Darling, I wish you would relax. You're giving me a headache."

"Oh how could I be so thoughtless. I'm just having a mental breakdown over here, but your measly little headache is obviously more important in the grand scheme of things."

"I'm so glad you agree," came the bored remark.

Belle seethed.

"Belle," Matty took the phone out of her hands, "the phone calls can wait until we get to Germany, okay?" He turned the small device off. "You've taken care of everything that you can for the meantime. So would you just do as Bran says and relax already."

"You know what this?" Brandon piped up again. "She's more nervous about flying than anything else."

"Right, like you aren't scared to death of flying yourself," Belle threw at him. He quirked an eyebrow and looked as though he was going to come out with another biting comment. Before he had the chance, Belle stood up and announced that she was going off to find something to eat.

As soon as she was gone, a nasal voice asked, "Matthew?"

"What Brandon?"

"Besides the fear of flying thing—what's the matter with Isabelle?"

"Why are you calling everyone by their given names?" Andy asked.

"Because I feel like it, Andrew," Brandon emphasized his name.

"Probably just stress," Matty answered Brandon's question. "Besides which, you don't exactly inspire tranquility in a person."

"Thanks a lot," he mumbled, closing his eyes again and dismissing the subject all together.

"Guys—what about that set list?" Andy asked.

"What the fuck about it?" Brandon near growled.

"Don't you think we should at least attempt to make one out?"

"Why would we want to do that?"

"Oh gee, I don't know—possibly because we're about to play the biggest crowd we've ever played for? Just a random thought, though."

"No need to get sarcastic, Andrew," Brandon opened up an eye to glare. "Fine. Who's got a pen and paper?"

The boys put their minds to developing an hour plus set list, while Belle was off trying to find something to eat. She wandered into the food court, but saw that every single eatery had about thirty people in line. She sighed and headed back in the direction that she'd come, remembering that there were some vending machines somewhere around the place.

She was less than excited about this whole plane trip to Germany.

Planes, as she saw it, were not her friends.

Usually, Brandon's equal hatred of all things related to flying made things a little easier, but she was wound up more tightly than usual for some reason. And for once, it had nothing to do with the singer.

"What'cha doin?" said singer drawled lazily into her ear.

"What does it look like?" she said over her shoulder, concentrating on the rows upon rows of candy bars before her. Which one to get?

"Hmmm, and everyone says I'm the moody one," he off-handedly commented, whilst moving over to the drink machine, depositing a few stray coins and punching the corresponding button.

"You are the moody one. You're in a constant state of PMS."

"What an original retort there, Princess," he rolled his eyes at her oft-repeated phrase.

She twirled around to face the loud-mouthed young man. "Bran, can I ask you something?"

"Suppose it depends." He popped open his soft drink. "What did you have in mind?"

"Snickers or Milky Way?"

"My rabbit's named Snickers…" he pretended to think about it for a minute, "so, Milky Way."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that," she shrugged—referring to the rabbit—and turned back around to the machine, putting in some money. Pressing C1, she waited for her selection to drop down and then retrieved it.

"Hey!" Brandon pouted. "Why'd you ask my opinion if you weren't going to take it?"

"Oh you know me well enough by now to know that I like to do things just to spite you." She sweetly smiled, heading over to the drink machine with the king sized Snickers bar in her hand.

"And yet you call me immature if I do the same thing to you."

"Whatever Bran," she tried to wave him away.

He scowled, but waited for her nevertheless. He'd just noticed some girl a few feet away, eyeing him. He didn't know if it was merely simple paranoia, but he was convinced that she was looking at him in a scary, psycho killer kind of way. He unconsciously moved a tad closer to the petite Belle—although in reality, what could she do about it? After all, he didn't need her to run away for him; he was more than capable of doing that himself.

"Still here?" she asked once she'd retrieved her drink.

"Tell me again why we never looked into bodyguards?"

"Who are you convinced is trying to kill you now?"

Belle never found Brandon's mind invented, weekly assassination attempts very amusing. He was always convinced that he had some nut job following him, just waiting to hack his small body up into pieces.

The man really had an overactive imagination.

"I'm serious," he hissed, very miffed over her sarcasm.

"I'll call someone tomorrow," she shrugged, not intending to do any such thing. Unless, of course, he kept at it and bugged her until she caved. Something that Brandon had down to an art.

"Hey, where the fuck have you two been?" Matty yelled at the petite persons, "The plane is boarding as of now! Andy's already gone ahead."

"Coming, coming." Belle grabbed her bag, while Brandon did the same, pausing for a minute to look over his shoulder.

The brunette girl made a comment about Brandon's imagination acting up again and then skipped ahead of the disgruntled singer, despite her hesitations about flying. Still, the best way to annoy Brandon was to show him that you were happy when he was… less than happy. And he was definitely less than happy over his fears being reduced to less than nothing.

"What was that about?" Matty asked.

"Nothing," Brandon pouted. "Princess Belle is just annoying me as usual."

"The Princess and the Pixie," Matty commented before breaking into a fit of giggles.

Brandon looked at him like he'd grown a third head. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing." Matty grabbed his friend by the arm and headed toward the plane.

"Belle, what are you doing?" Matty asked when he reached the entrance to the plane, only to find her standing there with her boarding pass in her hand, looking as white as a ghost.

"Heh, I just thought I'd wait for you guys, is all," she shrugged, trying to get some composure back.

"Scaredy cat!" Brandon taunted.

"I wouldn't talk if I were you," Matty glared down at the much shorter man. "You're fucking crushing my hand!"

"Sorry, Matt-Matt." Brandon loosened his grip, but still didn't slip his hand out of the bass player's.

He didn't care what it looked like—planes made him fucking nervous and it didn't matter how nervous they made Belle, he never took much pleasure in her fear because he was too afraid himself.

Although, if he was drunk, it was another situation all together.

Matty took hold of Belle's hand as well and escorted the two reluctant fliers to their seats. He couldn't help but find it amusing sometimes. It usually didn't last long though because Brandon had a tendency to get drunk when flying and when drunk, he was a belligerent asshole.

"Can I have a gin and tonic?" Brandon looked imploringly at the stewardess.

"Sir, we haven't even taken off."

"Yes, I am well aware of that," he snapped, preparing to go into full on Diva mode.

"I'm afraid that you'll have to wait until we take off and then I'll—"

"Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Sir, I—" she stuttered, obviously not very used to dealing with first class passengers.

"Is there anything the matter, Mr. Tamblyn?" another voice asked, this time male in its origin.

"Why yes there is… Ted." He reached out a hand to touch the steward's nametag in a blatantly sexual manner. "I was simply requesting a gin and tonic and was informed that…" he trailed a finger down the flustered young man's chest before pulling away, "I had to wait until take-off." He finished by putting on his best pout.


"Uh—yes?" she nervously gulped.

"Why don't you go get Mr. Tamblyn that drink?"

"Um… yes, right away," she muttered, scuttling off.

"Thank you, Ted." Brandon smiled, leaving the poor man practically breathless.

Belle rolled her eyes as Ted asked Brandon if he needed anything else. The stewardess returned with his alcohol before hurrying off to get ready for the flight instructions that she should have been doing about two minutes earlier, if Brandon hadn't decided to throw a fit. Ted didn't seem to want to move, even though the sex dwarf had turned his attention to the drink in his hands, completely ignoring the man he'd been shamelessly flirting with not two seconds earlier.

"You know what, Ted?" Brandon gulped down his drink in record time. "Why don't you keep these coming?"

"Yes Mr. Tamblyn, of course." Ted took the empty glass off the small man's hands.

Belle, meanwhile, kept getting more nervous by the second. She wished she was an alcoholic, sex addict like Brandon, because at least then she would have something else to focus on. That usually seemed to work pretty well for the singer, although he was starting to look a little green when the engines started up and the plane slowly make it's way to the run-off.

Much to Andy and Matty's amusement, Belle and Brandon both re-checked the security of their safety belts before latching onto the nearest arm. For Belle, that arm just happened to be Andy and for Brandon, it was Matty. Andy was just thankful that he didn't have to worry about the black-haired man's talons ripping into him for the second time in a short interval.

Belle had never dug her nails into his arm a day of her life.

"Fucking hell!" Andy yelled, all benevolence towards Belle completely dissolving in about two seconds. The plane lifted up off the ground and, if he wasn't so distracted with the pain of Belle cutting off his circulation, he would have seen Brandon get a horrified look on his face and curl up into Matty's arm.

As soon as the plane leveled out a little, the drummer tried to de-clench the manager from his hand, which was throbbing from her tight grip on it. All his squirming and wiggling only made her clutch tighter and he thought he'd pass out from the sheer pain if he didn't manage to get her away from him.

What was it with small people? They were stronger than they looked.

"Bran—" Matty tried to budge the singer who was still curled up in his arm.

"Where's that fucking drink!" Brandon yelled at no one in particular.

"Um, Belle?" Andy tried a gentle approach.

She seemed to realize that she was hurting him and let go immediately—eliciting a dramatic sigh of relief from the poor drummer. He shook his hand violently, not-so-silently cursing Belle for the damage she had inflicted upon him. She profusely apologized and started nervously fiddling with the jacket that she had laid across her lap. Andy felt kind of bad for blowing up at her (well, at least until he remembered how much his hand was throbbing).

By that time, Brandon was screaming at the top of his lungs, demanding that they just bring him a bottle of wine. Red wine, he made sure to specify.

"Just forget about the bloody gin and tonic, you tart!" he screeched, gaining him a few odd looks from other passengers. "Oh what?" he addressed them in a state of indignation. "Like you've never seen a rock star throw a fit?" They gave him skeptical looks. "Just mind your own fucking business!" he snapped, yelling again for his alcohol.

"Next time, you take Belle," Andy leaned forward to tell Matty.

"Fine, but you'll get Bran," Matty pointed out. "Look at what he did to me." He held up his arm that had three red spots trickling from it.

"Look at my hand," Andy held up his own injury. "It's swollen to twice its size!"

"I'm sorry," Belle apologized again. "I didn't mean to hurt you." She felt tears welling up, despite her desire to not cry.

"Oh, come on," Andy put a hand on her shoulder, "I'm fine. Don't cry."

"What's the matter with you?" Brandon addressed the girl directly opposite of him as he tore into his bottle of wine, not even bothering to pour it into a glass. "What's there to cry about? You need some wine?" He thrust the bottle at her.

She found that her muscles were relaxing slightly. First sign of turbulence, she'd freak out again, but in the meantime, she was just thankful that those annoying muscles weren't working against her any longer.

"Alcohol doesn't solve everything, Bran."

"I dunno about that, Princess," he chugged some more of his drink. "Alcohol seems to cure most things that are wrong with me."

"Now that's only because you have such a simple mind," she retorted, feeling much better when she was trading barbs with Brandon.

Andy rolled his eyes at their exchange.

"Belle, will you trade places with me?" Matty asked.

"What? You expect me to sit next to him voluntarily?" she was appalled at the mere idea.

Brandon took another swig of the wine in his hand. "You could do much worse than me, darling."

"Why do you want to trade with me?" she asked Matty.

"Do you think you'll get any sleep on this flight?"

"Not a snowball's chance in hell," she muttered.

"Well, I really, really, really, really," he paused and added, "really need to sleep."

"So what's stopping you, gorgeous?" Brandon drawled.

"You're stopping me, you alcoholic pixie!" Matty exclaimed. "Come on, I'll never get any rest if I'm sitting next to him. He grab onto me at the first sign of turbulence. Please Belle?" Matty pleaded.

She sighed, watching as Brandon pouted over the fact that no one wanted to sit next to him. He looked just like a little kid and she was so amused by it, that she finally just agreed and told Matty that she'd switch with him. He promised to make it up to her later.

"I wonder where Ted went?" Brandon poked out his lip once Belle had re-deposited herself next to him.

"Ted? Who the hell's Ted?"

"That cute guy," Brandon responded. "You think he'd be up for a quickie in the loo?"

"Absolutely." She rolled her eyes. "Let's not take into account that he's working or anything."

"You up for a quickie in the loo, Belle dearie?" he asked, gaining him a rather hard smack to the head and snickering from Andy and Matty.

"Just a thought." He rubbed the knot he was sure had already started to form. Don't get so upset, my darling little American import."

"You're half American too," she reminded him.

"But I've never even been there," he pointed out.

"Yes you have," she corrected him. "You were born there, weren't you? And besides, we've toured America before."

"A moot point in the grand scheme of things.

He closed his eyes for a minute, only to rip them open in fear when the plane started shaking.

Belle thought about grabbing onto Brandon's arm, but then decided against it and gripped the armrest instead. It was just turbulence, she told herself. Just a small rough spot. It would be over with in a few moments. And she was soon proven right when the ride became smooth again. She waited a few minutes before letting go of the armrest—scowling the entire time when she saw that Andy and Matty hadn't even batted an eyelash at the rough patch and were currently, all things considered, snoring very loudly.


"What?" He desperately gulped at his wine.

"Give me that wine!" She snatched the bottle away from him.

"I thought alcohol didn't solve every problem?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Might solve this one," she shrugged, not even caring that he was giving her a superior smirk—as if she'd proved his point.