Archive of Our Own ^beta

New York City, 2009

Zoot slept the whole way to New York City. Even as the Electric Mayhem's bus headed downtown, with the sound of car horns blaring at it from every direction, Zoot was so deep into his dream world that nothing could faze him.

Nothing seemed to faze Dr. Teeth, either. He pulled up onto the curb, knocking over a parking meter in the process, and announced over the screeching brakes, "Looks like we've reached our designated reunification location!" He waved at a familiar face in the distance. "Now, time for the Mayhem to get it lit - and I ain't just talkin' about the Christmas tree."

"LIT!" Animal echoed from the backseat.

In between snores, Zoot gave a little nod. "Ye Ole Acoustic Mayhem."

Janice did a double take at him. "Was that, like, a British accent?"

"Ah, he's just havin' that dream again." Floyd reached over and shook his shoulder. "Hey, Zoot. You know who's gonna be here?"

"Shh, don't tell him." Dr. Teeth glanced back at them with a grin. "Let the sax man be surprised."

And then the doors of the bus swung open.

* * *

London, 1799

Zoot stood outside the Fozziwig Rubber Chicken Factory, adjusting the ruffles on his cuffs, when the door swung open.

A young man, probably an apprentice, was glaring down his nose at Zoot. He took in everything about him with a sneer - the frayed threads and faded colors of Zoot's only good coat, the violin and clarinet tucked under his arm, the pipe in his mouth with its contents still smoldering. But all he said was, "What do you want?"

"I'm with the band." Zoot pointed inside, and the other members of Ye Ole Acoustic Mayhem waved to him.

That didn't ease the sneer on the young man's face; if anything, it made it worse. "You're late."

"Am I?" Zoot looked up at the sky; it was well past nightfall. He'd lit his menorah before the gig, and he had no idea how long he'd been gazing at the candles, lost in his thoughts until they went out. But then again, time always seemed to get away from him like that. "Wait. What year is it?"

"Perhaps you'd remember if you put that pipe out." The apprentice wrinkled his nose, catching a whiff that couldn't have been mistaken for tobacco. "Good to see that's where the firm's money will be ending up."

"Hey, it's medicinal, man," Zoot protested.

But before Zoot could say anything else - not that anything would've helped - a bear in a powdered wig poked his head around the corner. "Who is that, Master Scrooge?"

"The fiddler you're paying five shillings for, sir." Scrooge's tone was lighter now that he was talking to his boss, but it still carried the suggestion that Fozziwig was paying an exorbitant amount for the evening's entertainment.

But Fozziwig didn't seem to pick up on that. He responded with a jolly, "Oh, lovely! Well, what are you waiting for? Show him in!"

Scrooge acquiesced. "Right this way, Mr...."

"Just call me Zoot," he said.

But Scrooge already had his back to him as he headed into the building.

"Man, that guy's a drag." Zoot looked down at his shoe. "Right, James?"

The buckle of his shoe curved up into a smile. Zoot nodded and went inside.

Zoot took his place on the platform where the band was setting up. He slid an arm around Floyd's shoulder and kissed Janice on the cheek in greeting, then set down his clarinet.

Dr. Teeth eyed it knowingly. "I see you brought the licorice stick with ya."

Zoot nodded distractedly, skimming the sheet music. He'd brought his clarinet just in case; he always liked how it sounded with Lips' trumpet. Every time they jammed together, Lips would throw him a wink and a "blowthahorn, Blue," in that way of his that never failed to make Zoot's insides go weak. Perhaps it was foolish of him to get his hopes up, but Lips usually came home for the holidays.

"Do any of these songs, uh..." Zoot cleared his throat, bending his head down to focus on tightening his violin bow. "Do any of them require the trumpet?"

"Why do you ask?" Teeth's glasses rose up with a mischievous little gleam.

Teeth knew, of course; the whole band did. Whenever Lips was in town, they saw the way Zoot followed him like one of London's stray cats, forgoing his usual trips to the apothecary to accompany Lips to the tavern. Though "accompany" didn't quite capture it. At the tavern, Lips was the center of attention, regaling the patrons with the most fascinating, most incoherent stories of his worldly travels. Meanwhile, Zoot lingered in the corner, staring into space and occasionally talking to his shoe.

But it didn't matter. They always disappeared together at the end of the night, renting a room above the tavern with whatever money they'd gotten from their gig earlier that day, their mouths inseparable from the moment the door closed.

And with how generously Fozziwig was paying the band, there was no reason they couldn't make the most of it tonight. That is, if Lips was going to be here at all. The party was already starting without him.

As Zoot played the waltz that was on their setlist - a bit schmaltzy for his usual tastes, but somehow he didn't mind it tonight - he kept looking out into the crowd, but all he saw were the happy couples twirling around on the dance floor in front of him. Until he slipped away into a world where he, too, was dancing with Lips.

And there they were in the crowd - Lips with one hand at Zoot's waist, Zoot with one hand lost in Lips' yellow curls, and their other hands clasped together, outstretched. Zoot had long forgotten how to waltz, but James was guiding him, helping him out with the steps. Everything was warmth and softness in Lips' arms, and Zoot felt like he'd never left them.

Just as Lips was lowering him into a dip, Zoot was shaken out of his reverie by Animal. The roar that Animal let out could only mean one thing - he'd had enough of this waltz, and he was about to go absolutely feral on the drums instead. The band had no other choice but to rock out with him. Zoot turned around to see what had caused Animal to snap, and there was Lips, climbing up onto the platform.

"Hadda tuh time geddin in," Zoot heard him mumble to Floyd. Lips jerked his head in Scrooge's direction and huffed, "Sedda he diddenwanna pay anotha muzisha. An' on Chrimazzeeb!"

But right before Lips raised his trumpet to his mouth, he caught Zoot's eye and gave a wink. "Blowthahorn, Blue!"

Zoot couldn't grab his clarinet fast enough. He was here.

* * *

New York City, 2009

He was here.

Not that Zoot had any idea where here was. He'd stumbled down the steps of the bus, shivering and half-asleep, only to find himself standing directly in front of Lips. This could've been any reality, because this kept happening, over and over, in all of them. Or maybe this wasn't reality at all and Zoot had found him in a dream again. All he knew was that he didn't want to be anywhere else but here.

Lips smiled down at him, shaking his head. "Lookayoo, ya muzzbe feezin'."

Zoot hadn't exactly come prepared for a New York winter. He was wearing a thin jacket and his usual hat, and while his shoes weren't the warmest, he'd wanted Jimmy with him. Still, Zoot thought, this was warmer than his breeches and silk stockings and his worn-out frock coat. He wondered what happened to those; he didn't remember changing out of them.

"Iwuh sabin' thizz fowonna ya giffs, buh..." Lips reached into his coat pocket and took out a hand-knit scarf, the same color red as the hat Lips was wearing, so they would match. He draped it around Zoot's neck, then paused to admire how it looked on him. "Habbahanukkah."

Zoot didn't say anything. He just stared up into Lips' face for a while. Then he flung his arms around him and kissed him, so hard Lips had to catch himself before he stumbled backwards. He'd lost track of how many times they'd done this, whether it was in the shadowy corner of a tavern, or backstage before a show, or standing in front of the bus on a city street. Every time felt new. Every time felt the same.

Lips only broke the kiss when he couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his face. He pulled Zoot in close, and Zoot buried his face against his chest, rediscovering all the warmth and softness there. It wasn't exactly a waltz position, but one hand still found Lips', and the other still crept up to tangle in his hair. He could feel the sigh that Lips let out next.

"How lon' hazza been, Blue?"

"Two hundred and ten years," Zoot answered without hesitation.

Lips just laughed. "Sho feelike it."

With his face still pressed into Lips' chest, Zoot asked, "Did you see the world?"

"Yeh," Lips said, "an' yotha bezz thing I foun' innit."

There came a muffled "oh" in response. Zoot couldn't remember ever hearing anything more romantic than that, in any of his lives. He let the words sink in for a moment, then hugged Lips so hard he ran the risk of leaving a Zoot-shaped imprint behind.

"Hey, lovebirds!" Floyd called to them as he lugged an amp off of the bus. "Save the canoodlin' for the afterparty. We gotta get a move on."

"Oh, yeah. The gig." Zoot looked around, bewildered. "Where's my clarinet?"

"Clambawuh? Boy, ya playtha zazzofo," Lips reminded him, and he started to laugh as he handed him his saxophone case.

"I do?" Zoot didn't understand why Lips couldn't stop giggling, but he'd missed that sound so much that he didn't care.

"An' damgood too." Lips pulled him in for another quick, giggly kiss, then he nodded his head down the street. The others were heading towards Rockefeller Center, and they needed to catch up. "C'mon an' blowthahorn, Blue."

And then all the years separating them fell away in an instant. Somehow, Zoot had gone straight from 1790s London to 2000s New York like there was nothing in between.

Time was just a social construct, anyway. What they had transcended it.