It was with no small amount of excitement that Louis Connelly watched the cab transporting his family pull up to a small, hole-in-the-wall guitar shop in Manhattan. He smiled. Despite the tinted windows, he saw Evan hurriedly unclip the seatbelt and rush out of the taxi while Lyla paid the man.

"Dad!" The boy called, right before nearly knocking Louis over with his momentum and the force of his sudden hug.

Louis smiled, and he hoped it hid the sharp stab of pain as Evan gripped his shirt just a little too tightly. The kid was still afraid one or both of his parents were going to leave him, although Evan wouldn't quite admit that was the case. If either he or Lyla were separated from him for more than a workday, Evan became a little…clingy, upon their reunion.

Of course, Louis didn't exactly mind at this point. He had a lot of hugs to catch up on, after all. He just wished the hugs weren't born from Evan's fear and pain.

Louis bent to return Evan's hug. He heard the tinkling of wind chimes and looked up to see Lyla, haloed by the afternoon sun and smiling at the sight of them.

It wasn't her real smile though—it was tighter, pained, colored by worry and concern for their son. He met her eyes and hoped he could convey something like reassurance.

Don't worry. This will pass. He's adjusting, that's all. Adjusting.

She nodded and he heard a low thrum, like the hum of her cello.

Suddenly Evan's grip relaxed and Louis knew he'd been assuaged of his fears for the moment. He let the kid retreat, and Evan looked suddenly shy, blue eyes hesitant. Louis ruffled his hair in order to reassure him.

Laughter like wind echoed around them and Louis responded with a grin of his own.

"Ya ready for your first guitar, lad?" He asked cheerfully. Evan nodded his assent enthusiastically.

Louis gripped his shoulder and took Lyla's hand before leading them to the door. It was a small shop in terms of floor space, but in terms of quality and variety, this place was one of the best Louis had ever been in. And Louis had been in a lot of guitar shops in his lifetime.

Today was something of a celebration. The revocation of Evan's adoption papers finally went through, after months and months of tedious denials of their willingness to adopt in the first place. He and Lyla were finally the proud parents of Evan Connolly. Legally speaking, that is.

The whole issue had been complicated by his status as an immigrant at the time of Evan's conception. Plus every official was suspicious of Lyla's claim that her father had been the one to sign the adoption papers in the first place. Luckily, Louis had gained citizenship six years before, and Lyla's actual signature on other legal documents from that time was different enough to warrant their claims.

Basically, they'd gotten incredibly lucky. But Evan was theirs now, and it filled some unspoken part of Louis to know that his son could not be taken away.

So the guitar was an adoption present. It was also kind of a necessity, since Evan couldn't seem to stop playing things, and Louis hated feeling so guilty when he was trying to pry his own axe away from Evan for a gig. So they were buying a guitar. Something that Evan could hold when one or both of them was out of the house, and remind himself of the music that bound them.

The storefront was filled with some truly beautiful pieces—a Gibson Les Paul, a Stratocaster and even a Doug Irwin. They were items that were not truly for sale, but displayed as a point of pride for the storeowner. Classic axes that would be truly a sin to endanger, but whose notes probably rang with all the power of their masterful craftsmanship.

A shame they probably weren't played all that often, if at all. They were lovely things.

Lyla squeezed his hand, and he smiled at his wife. Her eyes were playful and teasing.

Are we going in, she seemed to ask, or would you like to continue staring?

Louis smirked in response and shifted their hands to wind their fingers together, cherishing the way their callouses matched. Hers were a result of the cello, his from the steel strings of a guitar. Despite the callouses, her hands were delicate, the craftsmanship even more beautiful than the masterpieces in the windows.

Evan, too was looking at the guitars in the window with a certain sense of awe about him.

Louis had to stifle a laugh. His kid knew next to nothing about a guitar besides how to make them sing, but Evan could obviously identify quality when it came down to it.

"Those beauties aren't for playing, I'm afraid," he commiserated, Evan tore his eyes reluctantly from the window with a question in his eyes. "They're too valuable. The makers did their job too well and now we're afraid to taint them." Evan frowned, turning back to the guitars on display, and Louis continued his explanation. "They're perfect, ya see? Perfect condition, perfect quality. Everything an axe is supposed to be. And if there's even the slightest chance, you know? That they'd be worn down by use or damaged? Well that'd be a damn shame."

"But they're guitars," Evan objected, "They're meant to make music." The big blue eyes flickered up to his face and then to Lyla's. "I can hear it."

Louis sometimes wondered what it was like to be his son. While Louis heard the music often, especially around his family, Evan heard it always, unable to turn it off even a little. Not that Evan seemed particularly interested in the prospect, but it was something Louis often found himself wondering over.

Still, he couldn't fault the kid. He'd had the same thought a minute earlier. A piece like that, doomed to be on a shelf forevermore? Unthinkable. "I know, kid. Ye're right." Unable to take the almost heartbroken expression on Evan's face Louis squeezed his shoulder again. "Let's go get you an axe you can play, alright lad?"

Evan nodded, slowly moving away from the window even as his eyes remained trained on the case.

Lyla, having watched the exchange silently, also followed silently.

It was perhaps amusing that he was the most extraverted member of his little family. Louis wasn't exactly loud or outgoing himself. The three of them were the same in that regard—they expressed themselves in music more than they ever could in words.

A bell tingled as Evan pushed the glass door open, and a disembodied voice echoed from the back. "Welcome to Struts & Frets, I'll be with you in a minute."

Louis had been here before, so he had some idea of what to expect. Guitars hung from literally every available surface, including the ceiling. The floor had stand upon stand of gleaming wood and composite and metal, glinting at them from all sides. At the very back, along the shortest wall, were records. They lined the walls a foot deep, and Louis felt a wave of nostalgia hit him for his old record player. He and Marshal wore the thing down until it couldn't play anymore, and then they decided to make their own music.

An elderly man came from some back room, and smiled when he caught sight of them. "Louis!"

Louis released Evan's shoulder and extended his hand for the man. "Nice to see you, Al. This 'ere's me family, Evan and Lyla."

Damn if that didn't feel good to say aloud.

Al finished shaking his hand and then turned to Lyla, grasping her free hand in his and shaking it before turning to Evan. "And I suppose Evan here is the one getting a guitar today?"

Evan smiled broadly, melancholy over the beautiful guitars outside suddenly absent.

Al raised a steel grey brow over wire-frame glasses. "Well we better get started then. Acoustic or Electric?"

And they went from there, Al asking question after question and directing it all to the boy. Louis and Lyla remained behind Evan, letting him experience the novelty of having choices and options for one of the first times in his life. Occasionally their wonderful child asked their opinion on something or other, for which Lyla deferred to Louis due to his much more refined understanding of the instrument. Louis remained as diplomatic as possible. This was a guitar—Evan's guitar. It needed to be his and his alone.

Louis could clearly remember his own first guitar. Seeing it in a store window. Begging the shop owner for a job. Sweeping the place for nearly a year before he'd saved up enough to buy the thing, and learning to play in the meantime…

Evan had waited for much longer than a year, and he already knew how to play. It was far past time the kid got a few things in life he wanted.

He could see the same emotion reflected in Lyla's eyes, this desperate understanding that they might never catch up, no matter how hard they tried, and knowing they could never stop trying regardless.

Finally, all his questions asked, the wizened storeowner started letting Evan try guitars.

The first one Evan tried was a solid Yamaha, natural tones. He strummed it once before shaking his head and handing it back to Al. The shop owner nodded his agreement and moved on. Evan followed like a cross between a dutiful soldier and a puppy. Lyla grinned up at him, and he smiled at her joy and Evan's curiosity.

The third guitar they tried, Evan actually played a little. Louis saw Al's eyebrows rise higher with every note and chord, and despite knowing Al as a little more than an acquaintance, a little less than a friend, he felt a fierce wash of protectiveness rise inside him.

His son was so young, and so terribly exploitable. Bad as Maxwell Wallace was, he hadn't been the worst thing Evan could have gotten involved with. No drugs, for one thing, at least not around the kids. No…other proclivities. Even the thought made his fists clench with rage, but it hadn't happened. Who knows what might have happened had Wallace managed to get Evan out of the city and into some kind of underground circuit, but that wasn't worth considering. It hadn't happened. Evan had been brave enough to follow his dreams and fight for his freedom.

But the possibility…the fact that his child was once exploited for his talent and his innocence used. It was enough for Louis to develop a hair-trigger on the subject.

Al surprised him though, and said nothing about Evan's prodigious talent. He just nodded when Evan told him he wasn't sure it was correct, and replaced the thing on the shelf.

Louis was charged with retrieving the next one—it was attached to the ceiling and in Al's own words, "no sense risking old bones when fresh meat's around."

It was a lost cause though—Evan played beautifully, but after a few riffs the boy shook his head sadly and touched the polished wood almost mournfully.

This gave Al pause. "What're you waiting for, kid?"

Evan looked at the storeowner and Louis knew what he was going to say before it was out of his mouth. "I'm waiting to hear the music sing."

Al raised an eye then looked at Louis. The Irishman knew he was thinking of their first encounter, soon after Louis moved to New York to be closer to Evan. The one where Louis told him the music was particularly loud that day. "He's your kid, that's for sure."

Louis just smiled proudly.

"Want to hear it sing, huh?" The storeowner hummed, calculating. He handed Evan another guitar, but Louis could tell he wasn't expecting it to work.

And it didn't. Three guitars later and Louis became convinced Al was debating something. Finally, after a dark-stained Rain Song, Al just stopped and looked at Evan, who squirmed. Louis, a little more familiar with this particular man's eccentricities, just raised an eyebrow.

Finally, the store owner spoke. "You know, kid, I've only done this a couple of times before." Al smiled, his wrinkles creasing his face. "You're only the third person I've ever had to go into the back room for. Just a second—I know what you need kid."

Evan smiled now, and nodded.

Al took off, muttering to himself. Lyla walked up to him and ran a hand through Evan's hair. Evan smiled and straightened it futilely.

Something warm burst in Louis's chest with a deep thrum of the bass. This was his. Finally.

"We're going to have to get you new clothes soon," Lyla fussed, "You're growing out of that jacket."

Evan shrugged, but Louis heard a mournful chime and frowned. Evan grew up in that Boys' Home, and although the place hadn't exactly been nurturing, it hadn't starved those kids, and it gave them shelter. But Evan spent a good six months on the streets right when boys start needing good nutrition the most. He'd been underweight when he went for his first check-up. Evidence of his malnourishment was peeking through now, with a rapid growth spurt.

"Can it be red?" Evan asked, like he was unsure but was young enough to hope anyway.

"If you like," Lyla responded, smiling in a way that masked the pain Louis knew she was feeling.

He of all people knew that material things did not make this life. It wasn't really about that—the things Evan hadn't had. It was more about his surprise at being offered a choice, at being given such measures of freedom.

It made him wonder if food and shelter were the only things he could be grateful towards the Boys' Home for.

Al came out then, carrying an old, beat-up case that still looked strong despite its weathering.

"Here you go, kid. If this doesn't work we'll have to resort to trying everything in the shop, because I don't know what will."

Then Al unlatched the case and Louis caught his breath.

It was beautiful.

Mahogany all around—uncommon and lovely. It would produce rich sound. Ebony too, for the fretboard. Classic Dreadnaught shape with a long neck that swanned upwards into a beautifully carved scroll with pegs made of—ivory? Steel strings connected top and bottom, running over silver frets and decorative inlay.

It was with some amount of pride that Louis realized it was reminiscent of his own guitar—but more graceful. Like his mother's cello.

Evan knelt in front of the case, almost reverently. He reached forward and hesitated.

Louis took the few steps necessary to stand behind his kid. "Go on, son," he whispered.

Evan did as he was told and reached forward, this time making contact with the instrument.

And from the moment Evan's fingers touched the glistening red wood, song burst forth. A harmony of connection, of patience, of quiet contemplation for years before fruition. Something so terribly familiar to all three of them.

Evan picked up the guitar, threw the strap around his shoulder. His fingers moved to the middle of the neck, and he strummed the E chord experimentally.

A choir sang, full-throated like the gates of O Fortuna had been opened. Lyla gripped his hand with both of hers suddenly, and had he been able to look away he was sure there would have been tears in her eyes.

Evan simply gasped, and stared at the beautiful instrument with his mouth hanging open. Al smiled and rubbed at his eyes suspiciously.

Then Evan seemed to regain his courage, and his fingers played gently, coaxing every vibration from the steel of the strings and the hollow of the instrument. Higher tones, careful, wanting. Like the song of their separation. Louis' eyes filled involuntarily, and Lyla was unabashedly letting tears stream down her cheeks.

The choir sang along, the haunting melody fallen to almost inaudible sopranos as they bewailed his family's pain. The tune carrying sorrow and passion, and that ache of separation as their son patiently waited for them to listen once more to the music and the air and to their blood.

The music changed suddenly. The strings picked up speed, and there was an understanding there, that they were heading for something greater, bigger, more—that something was about to change, that there would soon be a new start.

The tenors and altos joined in, harmonizing the pain but so heartbreakingly hopeful that they could not but help to move forward, from one note to the next. The percussion joined in, a slow march of desperate hope. Bells rang the sound of fury and joy, of indescribable faith, and slowly, ever so slowly, the bass line joined with their thrumming tones in an indescribable march of gladness and desperation, for to hope at all is to have something more than what you had before.

And now their tears were awe-inspired by the hope and faith required. Lyla turned into him, face buried in his shoulder to muffle the gasps of breath she could not control.

The last notes of the terrible, haunting march beat to a halt as Evan thrummed the final note before silencing it. No one moved. Louis sensed the music was simply holding its breath, waiting. Even Al did not speak or move. Rather, he just watched the boy bond with what was very obviously his new instrument.

The silence hung for second too long. Then—

The angel's choir returned, this time in exaltation. Glory for the reunion of two lovers, who gave themselves up to each other and were forced apart. For the reunion of a child and his parents, unwillingly separated. Joy for the song that united them, bonded them by desperate strains of passion and love and longing. The low hum of the baseline moving and shifting as they tried to reconcile joy and past pain, future challenges, all in this single, perfect moment—

And the quiet, unassuming melody underneath it all, of a boy who was finally united with everything that makes him whole, finally expressed through an instrument who knows what isolation and separation are as well as he.

The final strains hummed, and the concerto was finally expressed through the mahogany. Evan was breathing hard with the emotion of the peace, smiling in utter ecstasy in a way only he could pull off.

Al wiped tears from his eyes, and it was some surprise to Louis that he hadn't noticed his own fall.

He scrubbed quickly, so Evan wouldn't see. He didn't want to risk Evan interpreting his tears as a negative response. Lyla, too, wiped her eyes, but her emotion was obvious.

Evan, for his part, seemed utterly speechless. The smile on his face threatened to break it in half, and his fingers traced the seam where the body met the sides quietly, almost a gesture of welcome or an offer of friendship. There was white piping there, just like on Louis's own.

"I've been waiting…oh, a decade? For someone to come in for this one." Al whispered, smiling. He too, was attempting to wipe at his eyes. "I needed someone who knew her pain, you know? How could I give a special lady like her to someone who didn't know the first thing about her? I didn't think it would be a pipsqueak like you, but I guess things never turn out the way they're supposed to…"

Louis shook his head in shock and gratitude, while Lyla moved to whisper something in Evan's ear.

Al was a chatty guy. "Odd story about this one—the last owner just left her here, said he couldn't use it anymore. Said he'd done something horrible and he couldn't play anything anymore. Older man, looked wealthy." He shrugged, "'Bout time someone who deserves her plays her."

Evan finally looked away from the guitar, but was almost caressing the wood beneath his fingers. He locked eyes with Al. "I will. I promise."

Al grunted. "Don't you think I know that? I wouldn't have brought her out if I had any doubt, shorty."

Now Evan frowned defensively. "I grew an inch since May."

Louis and Lyla grinned at each other. It was nice to see Evan behave like a normal eleven-year-old sometimes.

Al just rolled his eyes and ruffled Evan's hair. "Come on, kid. Let's get you outfitted and rung up so you can take her home."

They ended up picking out a new case. In Al's words, a case was almost as connected to the soul of the player as the guitar itself, and it wasn't nearly so alive. Since the old case technically belonged to the old owner, it just wouldn't do to have Evan use it. Al surprised them by throwing the new one in for free.

"After all," he said, "It's not every day that a boy gets adopted by his own parents."

Louis thanked him and Evan shuffled a little closer to Lyla, who put an arm around his shoulder like a swan sheltering her hatchling. Louis smiled a little at the sight.

They got a few other things. Picks, for one, and a strap. An amp and a jack as well. Al tried to sell them a tuning device but Evan pointed out he'd never used one before and hadn't ever really had to. Al had kind of stared, then immediately dropped the topic. Then finally, they paid.

After Al rang it up, he lifted the thing off the counter, and held it out for Evan to hold for a minute. It was probably too big for his tiny body to carry, but he wanted to give the kid the chance.

"Thank you," he whispered quietly, almost reverently. Louis smiled at the sight of his kid attempting to hold a guitar case that probably weighed as much as him, all told.

"You're welcome, lad." I would have gotten one for you a long time ago if things had happened differently, he thought with a good deal of wistfulness and a touch of bitterness.

A discordant note hummed on the edges of his awareness, an extra distortion where one should not have existed before.

But no, he'd accepted the actions of Lyla's father, and Lyla herself. As he'd put it to Marshal later, he'd had two choices: forgive the woman he loved for being an obedient daughter, and forgive her father for acting where he had no right, or live apart from Lyla and his son for the rest of his life.

When stated like that, it wasn't really a choice at all.

The distortion wavered and ceased.

Blue eyes that were very like his connected with Louis's for a second and for a split moment he heard the thrumming of a note, low vibrant with its potential and its power.

"It's perfect," Evan whispered further seemingly caught in the music, staring at the new guitar almost worshipfully.

Louis supposed that for Evan, that might be the most accurate description possible when it comes to music. Hell, it was probably true for all of them. His little family had a relationship with music that most would consider impossible, not to mention slightly insane.

Lyla stood behind them, a smile on her face and a camera clicking unobtrusively in her hands. Louis grinned at her, and then put a hand on Evan's head to ruffle his dark hair. Evan blinked and grinned at him.

"Can we go play in the park?" He asked happily. Louis looked at Lyla for confirmation. She smiled, and he nodded.

"I don't see why not," Louis added. And his family was finally, finally whole.

A/N

I found this lingering on my hard drive and thought I may as well post it. Originally it was supposed to be longer-they were going to go to the park and run into Max, if i recall corectly-but I didn't feel like writing it and this is better anyway.

In case you're curious, the old man who dropped off the guitar a decade ago was indeed Evan's grandfather.