Title: That's Our Song on the Radio (Turn It Up Loud)
Category: Thor/The Avengers
Genre: Romance/Humor
Ship: Darcy/Tony
Rating: T+
Prompt: Darcy and Tony bond over their music tastes when Tony sees her wear (a particularly tight) band t-shirt – for vibranium
Word Count: 5,182
Summary: Darcy falls in love with a guy who listens to music just as loudly as she does and can recite lyrics just as effortlessly.

That's Our Song on the Radio (Turn It Up Loud)
-1/1-

It began with a love of music.

Few things in this world could get Tony out of his head, especially when he was chasing an Idea (capital fully warranted). So Darcy had every reason to be surprised when she turned around to find him standing in the doorway of the lab she'd commandeered in the name of Filing (again, capitals necessary). She'd been hanging around SHIELD for a few months now, playing lab monkey to Jane and occasionally Bruce, when he was distracted enough not to see her sneak in and leave him food with sticky notes that ordered him to eat. He had a whole 'no squishy humans where Hulk could accidentally smoosh them' policy that she only kind of appreciated. She happened to think he needed more squishy humans around, because he had lonely written all over him. In any case, while she had those two scientists under her proverbial wing, Stark wasn't on her roster, which made him standing there, staring at her, his hair sticking up in every direction, grease staining skin and shirt, all the more curious.

"JARVIS, my good dude?" she said, turning her chin up. "Can you lower the volume?"

"Of course, Miss Lewis," he responded, before the music fell to a level that wouldn't make ears bleed.

Eyebrow raised, she took a step back from the table she stood at, covered in Jane's many papers, scraps, napkins, and a few chunks of Pop-tart box, all of which she'd written little bits of information on for remembering. It all had to be documented and put away in places she, Jane, or, on occasion, Coulson, could find. Son of Coul was big on organization and he didn't want anything of Jane's getting lost since any small part of it was probably important. The woman might have trouble remembering to put pants on in the morning, but she knew her science.

She approached Stark slowly; he looked like he was coming off a 72-hour stretch if the crazed look in his eyes was anything to go off of. "Did you suddenly get the grumblies, you inhale some weird chemical, or can we chalk this up to you just needing a hot bath and some sleep?"

"Grumblies?" he repeated, his face screwing up.

"Yeah, y'know, when you're super hungry because you haven't eaten in like, a few days, and your stomach suddenly revolts and starts shouting at you 'Feed me or die a terrible, painful death, mortal!'"

He blinked. "Is that how it's defined in Webster's or did you come up with that off the top of your head?"

She smirked and offered a wink. "Not just a pretty face."

His lips twitched. "I can hear that."

Her brows furrowed.

"Your music." He stepped into the lab, casting his eyes around as he tucked his hands in his jeans. "The Black Keys," he said, moving toward the table she'd been occupying and looking over her paperwork curiously.

Darcy intervened; he might be Iron Man, but unless Coulson gave her that expressionless head-nod, Stark wasn't allowed a peek. She moved in between him and the table and shook her head. "Sorry, Big Red, but you shall not pass."

He grinned slowly. "What, no appreciation for my world-saving abilities? I can't get a tiny peek at what Foster's playing with…?"

"Your tiny peek could mean my job." She shook her head, chin lifted stubbornly. "Might not hit you in the bank account too hard, but to use a Destiny's Child song to emphasize my point… 'bills, bills, bills.'"

He gave a snorting laugh. "You don't strike me as a Destiny's Child fan."

"No? Then it would surprise you to know that I happen to be an avid listener… I was into them back during the original four children years." She nodded, her brows raised.

"So your Motley Crüe t-shirt is a dastardly lie then?" he asked, tipping his chin forward, gaze falling toward it. "A very attractive lie; I won't argue that."

Darcy looked down at herself, suddenly remembering she was wearing one of her old t-shirts. She was still a Crüe fan, until the day she died, but the shirt had seen better days… and smaller bust lines, because it was stretched tight across the girls. "Uh…" She frowned. "Hey, don't you have something you could be blowing up?"

"Always." He walked away from her, humming absently under his breath. "I applaud the distraction technique, but it needs a little work," he added dismissively, before turning abruptly on his heel to face her. "Favorite song," he said, eyes narrowed.

Darcy didn't answer right away, since it caught her completely off guard. "Favorite song ever, or are we talking Crüe or The Black Keys?"

He waved a hand. "Crüe first, then Keys."

"Okay…" She put her hands to her hips and tipped her head back, going over her extensive mental list of Motley Crüe songs before snapping her fingers and saying with inspiration, "'Dancing On Glass.'"

He hummed, crossing his arms behind his back.

Feeling like she had to prove it to him, she recited, "One foot in the grave, such a foolish child. For a date with death, sign the dotted line."

He nodded approvingly, lips twitching with a smile. "Okay, Keys," he said, nodding his chin at her.

Her brows furrowed and she chewed her lips. "Well, 'Lonely Boy's' good..."

"Overplayed," he dismissed. "Another."

She rolled her eyes. "I like 'Gold on the Ceiling.'"

"Lyrics. Give me your favorite."

Her lips pursed as she let a few of their songs run around in her mind before finally picking out the ones that spoke to her most. Her lips moved as she sang them to herself in her mind before finally raising her voice so he could hear. "Here I am, I'm not here now."

He paused before nodding slowly, approvingly. "Not bad. Okay. I'll give you that one."

She shook her head, grinning. "Yours?"

"Easy." He held up his hands in a grandiose gesture and shared, "The boy with the broken halo, that's me, that's me, the devil won't let me be…"

Knowing what she did about him, she thought it was quite fitting.

His smirk said he knew it too.

She raised a brow suspiciously. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you came here prepared for this."

He shrugged. "I heard your music all the way from my shop… Not many people can manage that."

"I like it loud."

He looked her over searchingly before finally nodding. "Great. So dinner, tonight? I'll pick you up at seven." He pointed at her. "I know a place, live band, you'll like it."

She blinked rapidly. "I— Wait, what?"

He smirked. "Come prepared, we're going to music war, Lewis. There's no sympathy!" He backed out through the doors and she was left confused.

"Uh, JARVIS?"

"Yes, Miss Lewis?"

"Did I just get asked out on a date?"

"It would appear so."

She cocked her head. "He's serious about the music war, isn't he?"

"It would be in your best interest to brush up on your lyrical prowess."

Lifting her chin, she grinned. "Challenge accepted," she said decisively.

If Tony Stark thought he could out-music her, he was in for one hell of a battle.

.

.

.

As it turned out, they were both quite prolific when it came to music and the lyrics war was soon forgotten over a bottle of wine, way too expensive food, and the live band that absolutely blew her socks off.

Which is what she blamed when she wound up back in his penthouse, naked and panting in his bed, and grinning as Motley Crüe echoing around her.

He turned over to face her, his head on his upturned hand, the glow of his arc reactor lighting up her side as his hand smoothed over her stomach. He leaned forward to press a kiss above her navel, climbing up her waist. She reached for him, her fingers combing through his hair, and watched his progress.

He had a reputation in the bedroom, the tabloids loved to kiss and tell, but she'd never really believed the hype.

Until now.

"She's a rock 'n' roll junkie," he sang, his voice much deeper than the band's. His breath skittered over her skin, followed by his lips. "That's how she gets her kicks…" His tongue licked a stripe up between her breasts, his arms flexing on either side of her shoulders. "The way she licks her lips," His gaze fell to her mouth. "It's how she gets her fix…"

Fine.

So it probably wasn't the live band.

And who was she to turn down a guy who loved music as much as her?

She leaned up and kissed him, hard and deep, teeth gnashing, before she turned him over onto his back and straddled him.

She was going to make him sing, but it wasn't going to be coherent.

.

.

.

"So I'm thinking Thai… and an open mic bar I know," he said the next morning, his arm tucked behind his head, eyes following her as she picked up her clothes from where they were scattered around the room.

She stilled, casting her eyes over at him.

So apparently one-night of hot sex was off the table and two nights (at least) was being offered.

Her brain screamed 'unknown waters, swim away,' but what came out of her mouth was. "Sure. I know a good Thai place."

He smirked, nodding, and then climbed out of bed. "C'mon… We'll shower, and then get breakfast…" He slapped her ass playfully as he walked by. "Before we get the grumblies."

She rolled her eyes but shrugged, dropping her clothes and moving to follow.

What was the worst that could happen?

.

.

.

So two nights somehow became a thing.

A frequent thing.

A thing with usuals and habits and being able to look at each other and know what the other was thinking.

She kind of liked it.

.

.

.

The beginning was abrupt. It surprised her. She'd never seen him coming.

But the middle… The middle was a haze of lyrics; of guitar riffs and picks and chorus lines that tugged at heart strings.

It was fights that were solved with him having JARVIS play John Lennon's Woman, repeating through her lab until she cracked a smile, signalling for Tony to enter.

"Two tickets, best seats in the house, Mumford and Sons because even if they're folky, I own stock in earplugs."

Rolling her eyes, she snorted at him, stole the tickets from his hand and then poked his chest with them. "And what did we learn?" She put a hand to her hip expectantly.

He rolled his eyes, lips pursed. "You know, I can't remember… I just remember you shouting something and threatening to have DUM-E use my own blowtorch against me, which…" He raised a finger. "Wouldn't be the first time he did that, and without provocation too, so really, you should strike that off your big list of threats."

"Duly noted." She crossed her arms over her chest, which had a habit of emphasizing her cleavage even if she didn't want it to.

And of course, Tony noticed, proven by his smirk. "Whatever it was, let's face it, I'll probably do it again." He nodded in faux-remorse. "But…" He reached for her, hands squeezing her shoulders. "I've realized the error of my ways, so we can put a tick in the apology accepted column—" He made a checkmark in the air with his finger. "—and get dinner." He turned her toward the door. "My treat."

She looked back at him over her shoulder. "One, I have work still. Two, it's always your treat. I'm a slave to the man; I don't get paid enough to take you anywhere you wouldn't whine about."

"Hey, we went for shawarma that one time and I didn't complain about the appalling state of the restaurant." His eyes widened, brows hiked. "Really, it was disgusting."

"All you did was complain, and you called the health board when we left!" she argued.

"Fine, bad example, but I dare you to find another…"

"Hah!" She threw her head back. "I can give you five!" She held up a hand, ticking off a finger. "One, that time we went for Chinese and you tried to have your own cook flown in to cook in their kitchen."

"Mitchell is a food genius," he said simply, shrugging.

Darcy was well aware that he was still maneuvering her toward the door, using the distraction of her annoyed example-giving to keep her from sticking around and finishing her work day, but she chose to ignore it and let him. She'd missed him these last few days they'd been fighting and between JARVIS' non-stop updates on how he was moping or pouting or crying in the corner of his shop (a total lie, but Tony did like to have JARVIS dramatize the situation so she'd either crack earlier or take pity on him), and the playlist of 'forgive me for being an ass' songs that had been playing, she figured maybe she was due a three hour early break from work to get dinner.

"And then, seriously, don't even get me started on that time that we stopped to get ice cream in the park and you tried to pitch an Iron Man themed set of ice cream flavors at the guy!"

"That was legitimate business advice; he could've gone far with that."

As they left, JARVIS turned off the lights and locked down the lab until she returned so nobody would get to her unfiled paperwork. She appreciated how well he knew them.

It was sitting in smoky bars, the glitz and glamour of Tony Stark left back at the tower.

"You want me to pull into the alley?" Happy asked, brows raised skeptically.

"This is what puts you off?" Darcy returned, frowning. "You work for him. He who legitimately goes out of his way to be more eccentric every time he's interviewed, and me asking you to pull down a dark alley is weird?"

"In my defense, he prefers to walk the red carpet..."

She shrugged. "All right, point taken."

"Is he still sleeping?"

She turned her head to find Tony was passed out at her side, arms crossed over his chest loosely, feet up on the seat across from him.

"He said not to wake him up until we were there…" She glanced out the window to see they still had a few blocks to go. "He's been pretty busy lately; the new schematics are giving him a hard time."

"Well it's a good thing he's got you around to keep him together," Happy offered, grinning at her through the mirror.

"I don't know about that. He should probably be at home, not going to a bar for a midnight show." She turned in her seat and reached out to brush her fingers through his hair, cleaned of the usual product.

"We all show we care in our own way, you know?" Happy shrugged. "Whatever you're doing, it works with him."

She hummed thoughtfully.

When Happy pulled into the alley, she rubbed a hand up and down Tony's chest until he pursed his lips and grumbled.

"C'mon, Rocketman, we're here and there's cheap beer to get wasted on." With that, she reached for the handle on her door and climbed out.

A minute later, he joined her, stretching his arms above his head, his t-shirt riding up, before he waved a thumb's up back to Happy sleepily.

Darcy climbed the stairs to the backdoor and knocked her knuckles against it a few times. One of the bartenders opened it for her, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. "You guys are late," he said.

"Somebody needed his beauty sleep." She walked past him inside. "The set start yet?"

"He's on stage now, won't be long."

Tony offered up the fifty that got them in the back and another to make sure no paps were called before he joined Darcy, moving through the dark bar toward the table they always reserved. A low-lit candle sat in the center and she dropped her jacket on the back of the chair before taking her seat, resting her elbows on the small, round tabletop. Tony sat next to her, rubbing his eyes with his fingers and yawning until his jaw cracked.

She leaned over to him, resting her chin on his shoulder. "You sure you don't wanna go home, put some music on, take a bath?"

He nodded, resting his head against hers. "Bubble bath's got our name on it after the show, Lewis."

Her lips stretched in a smile and she hooked her arm around his loosely before her gaze found the stage, where a reed-thin man stood with a guitar over his shoulder, a microphone, and a spotlight.

"Cover song or original?" he asked, like he always did. "Winner gets a back massage."

Darcy took the man's measure, the too long hair and the untucked shirt. She noticed the battered guitar and the care he held it with, but she lied and answered, "You're on. He's a wannabe cover artist," because Tony deserved the backrub.

The man broke out an original song and he sang with heart; those were always her favorites. The nobodies that sang out their pain before they became somebodies. She loved every song they sang and every minute spent sitting in the smoke-cloud of a bar, listening to him croon, with only the spotlight, the faint glow of a candle, and the blue of Tony's arc reactor to battle the dark room. They weren't interrupted, weren't asked for pictures or autographs, they were just allowed to be. Just Darcy and Tony.

When they left later, climbing back into the car where Happy was reading a gossip magazine as he waited, she cuddled up against Tony's side and watched the streetlamps flash past the windows.

"You let me win," he said, his lips against her hair.

She grinned. "Pictures or it never happened."

He laughed, deep into his chest, and she thought she could spend a lifetime just like that.

It was baring souls over cold take-out and expensive liquor.

"I hated my dad," he told her, combing his fingers through her hair as she laid her head in his lap, scrolling through the Stark-label tablet filled with his vast music collection.

Thinking of her own dad, who'd cut and ran when she was four, she replied, "Mine wasn't much of a prize either."

He nodded; he knew the story well. She'd told it a few months in, drunk off ridiculously good vodka. She might've cried. It'd been embarrassing, but he was pretty good at making her feel better about it. Especially after he offered to hunt him down in the Iron Man suit. She'd seriously considered it but then decided nah, she had it pretty good now, Papa Lewis could suck it.

"I tried to be good enough for him, but I never felt like I was."

Darcy turned her eyes back up to him and frowned. "Maybe it's not him you really have to impress." She put the tablet away and sat up, turning to face him. "Maybe satisfy you first and fuck the rest."

He turned to look at her, lips twitching. "Is that in the approved syllabus of A Girlfriend's Guide to Cheering Her Damaged Boyfriend Up?"

"Chapter Four, in fact." She shrugged, offering a dramatically weary sigh. "I have it dog-eared."

He laughed under his breath. "I appreciate your dedication. I might have an award made for you, or a fancy plaque."

"I appreciate that you appreciate it." She leaned in, pressing her forehead to his. "But hey… All joking aside…" Her brows hiked. "You're enough, Tony." She rubbed her hands up his shoulders and squeezed his neck gently. "You're enough."

He swallowed tightly before nodding, quick and short, and burying a hand in her hair. "Your dad missed out," he offered back.

"Hell yeah he did," she agreed, grinning. "Now…" She sat back on her haunches. "Pity fest over. JARVIS, my faithful friend, we need music."

Daddy issues were shelved for the night, a little less heavy than before, while they partook in their favorite kind of therapy.

Musical.

It was a mix of slow, sweet, lingering sex that made her toes curl and her lips part on that exquisite sigh of relief, and loud, hard fucking to the tune of Metallica filling every crevice of their bedrooms, every grunting breath as he pressed her against the wall or she pinned him down on the bed.

She couldn't feel her legs or catch her breath and her hair was driving her nuts, it just kept falling in her face and sticking to her skin. "Hold on, hold on," she said, her hands on his shoulders.

He looked up at her, flushed and sweaty, and every muscle tensed from his neck down to his thighs and she absently leaned forward and licked a bead of sweat that ran down his neck.

"That's not helping my patience problem, Lewis."

She reached up and grabbed her hair, piling it on top of her head. "I need an elastic. I'm suffocating," she said, shaking her head. "There is too much hair and not enough air going on here."

He lifted her off the kitchen counter, hands braced under her ass, and her legs tightened around his waist, one arm falling to grip his shoulders.

"Whoa, a little warning would be nice!"

He half-grinned at her as he carried her back toward his bedroom.

"Shouldn't we turn off the stove?" she wondered, casting an eye back.

"JARVIS got it," he assured before laying her back on the bed. He reached for the drawer of the left bedside table, which was slowly being filled with her things, rummaged around, and came out triumphant with an elastic. "Aha!" He handed it to her and she happily tied her hair up and out of the way, blowing that last curl from her face that just wouldn't obey. "We're good?"

She shrugged. "Eh. We'd be better with music."

"I like the way you think," he said before putting his hands to his hips, arching his back, and calling out to JARVIS to put something good on.

"Are we in a playful or romantic mood, sir?"

"Playful," they both replied in sync.

An appropriately upbeat song with a nice hook answered them and he shrugged before leaning down, hitching her legs around his hips and catching her lips in a kiss. "If there aren't any more details to be worked out, can we get back to business?"

"Mmhmm." She smoothed her hands around his back. "Carry on."

His lips twitched before he buried them at her neck, nipping at her skin.

Later, she would sit on the counter in one of his Metallica shirts while he finished cooking dinner, offering her a taste from time to time, looking appropriately messy and handsome and nothing like what the tabloids ever got to see. She liked him like this; he was still flashy and snarky and eccentric and he threw money around just for the hell of it, but he was also funny and smart and his music collection made her lady parts sing, almost as loudly as his body did. She could still appreciate the image and the guy who always wanted to shock and awe everybody, but she preferred the behind doors version she got all to herself.

She also liked that he always kept an elastic on him for those pesky suffocating hair days.

It was 'I love you's' through song lyrics. From his "Sweet wonderful you, you make me happy with the things you do," to her "This heart of mine has been hurt before, this time I wanna be sure," to his "I've been searching for the daughter of the devil himself, I've been searching for an angel in white, I've been waiting for a woman who's a little of both…" to their "The wonder of it all
is that you just don't realize how much I love you…"

It was staying up late, chewing her nails to the quick as she watched coverage of the latest Avengers versus. Bad Guys show down. Cringing every time he took a hit, only to smile in relief as he got back up and kicked ass, showing off as he did so, in true Stark style. It was meeting him in the medical bay, rolling her eyes as he argued with the doctors and nurses that he was fine, all he needed was a stiff drink and something to eat.

"Does anybody have any food? How many of you are there and nobody has a Snickers bar or a bag of chips on them? Really? Okay, you! Plucky! Go get me something from the vending machine."

"Sir? This is a hundred dollar bill…"

"You should give this kid a raise; I feel like he's going somewhere," Tony said to one of the doctors, who sighed, exasperated.

"I—I just meant that the machine probably doesn't have change for a hundred," he stammered.

Tony raised an eyebrow and stared him down. "Are you sassing me? In my own tower, while I'm mortally wounded?"

"N-No! I—"

Snorting, Darcy waved a hand. "Keep the hundred for your mental scars, kid… Here." She pulled a Tupperware container of still hot lasagne out from her bag and a fork, handing both to Tony. "Just FYI, it's weird that I can't drag you away from your toys to eat all day long, but you go out and fight one tiny battle and suddenly you're all for food."

He shrugged. "Maybe battle and the grumblies coincide somehow." He popped the lid off and gave it a sniff, grinning appreciatively. "You should look into it, give Foster a memo, you might've stumbled on something big."

Amused, she took a seat in a chair near his bed, trying to ignore the fact that there was a nurse sewing up a wound on his shoulder.

"Mortally wounded, huh?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

"Hm? Oh, it's just a scratch." He waved it off, wincing as the needle threaded through his skin. "I just like to see the new kids squirm."

"That kid's been working here two years," she told him.

"Really?" He tipped his head, gave it some thought, and then shrugged. "SHIELD's getting soft if they let that one on their crack team of medical assistants."

"I'm like, 90% sure he's an office lackey who was volunteered to bring you your debriefing papers…" She pointed her chin toward the stack of papers waiting for his version of the event. Papers she knew he would leave until the very last second, if he ever filled them out at all.

"Po-tay-to/po-tah-to," he muttered before digging out a bite of his lasagne.

When all was said and done and Tony was allowed to leave, against doctor's orders, they made their way to the elevator that would take them up to his penthouse suite.

"C'mere," he said, tugging on her shirt.

She turned to look at him, brow raised, and stood face to face.

His hands found her waist, thumbs rubbing. "Were you worried?" he stared into her eyes searchingly.

"Worried? Please!" she scoffed. "Big Red's got it handled." She slapped his chest lightly before resting her hand over the arc reactor.

"You were worried," he accused, eyes narrowed. "You thought I was going to bite it out there. I bet you were already thinking of what you'd say at my funeral. All the touching things you'd say about my incredible fashion sense and how good I looked from my right side which is just marginally better than my left—" He turned his head side to side as if to show her.

She caught his chin with her fingers so he would look at her again. "I get worried," she admitted. "Because I care and I don't want to think about you inside a suit; a suit that, is kickass, seriously, but not exactly a guarantee that you're going to survive." She nodded. "So yeah, I get worried and sometimes I cry, and I cook kind of elaborate meals for when you're hungry after, and occasionally I get really drunk because that's how I handle high-stress situations… But I also know that you're a hero and you need to do this and I need to support you, because even if it hurts, you love doing it. Even if it means risking your life, you do it. And if it means that much to you, then…" She shrugged. "I guess I can handle being worried."

He licked his lips, looking uncharacteristically serious, before nodding and leaning forward to kiss her, softer than he usually did after the adrenaline rush of battle. Usually, this was about the time they'd have Metallica cued up and they'd be tearing each other's clothes off, but he was kissing her like she was glass and he knew how to be gentle, like he wasn't an explosive personality and she wasn't stubborn as a brick wall.

And then he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers and said, "Did you see that last move though?"

She grinned, laughing under her breath, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You mean that mid-air cartwheel you did while shooting the robotic legs off?"

He smirked. "How many stars?"

"Four and a half; nobody quite has your flair."

"Well…" He immodestly shrugged.

Shaking her head, she turned, dropping an arm to circle his waist as they stepped off the elevator into the suite with him, ducking her head to kiss his neck.

"JARVIS?"

"Metallica, sir?"

Metallica.

The middle was amazing; it wasn't always easy, wasn't always fun, but it had its moments. It was playlist after playlist; for Iron Man, for billionaire playboy Stark, for snarky, witty, Tony. She learned about the guy outside of both suits; iron and business alike. She fell in love with a guy who listened to music just as loud as she did and could recite lyrics just as effortlessly. She fell for his charm and his ego and the late nights spent witnessing talent grow in a smoky bar they had to sneak into.

She fell, and he caught her, grease covered hands and all.

.

.

.

The end was made of music too.

Now, the wedding march was a classic, but that just wasn't the kind of couple they were.

On the helipad on top of Stark tower, Darcy married Tony with The Black Keys playing live in the background.

She danced up the aisle, shimmying her hips toward her groom, who was nodding his head, biting his lip, and possibly (definitely) playing air guitar.

He wore a band t-shirt under his suit jacket.

Their wedding bands had a matching music note engraved on the inside.

"So what do you say? We get a little married and live happily ever after?"

Sounded good to her.

Oh baby, can't you see…?
It's shinin' just for you…
Loneliness is over…
Dark days are through…
They're through.

Playlist:

Dancing On Glass – Motley Crüe
Lonely Boy – The Black Keys
Gold On The Ceiling – The Black Keys
Thickfreakness – The Black Keys
Sinister Kid – The Black Keys
Rock n' Roll Junkie - Motley Crüe
Woman – John Lennon
You Make Loving Fun – Fleetwood Mac
Waiting For a Girl Like You - Foreigner
One Of These Nights – Eagles
Everlasting Night – The Black Keys