OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohl

ninety-three.

         IT WAS MOSTLY quiet in the house as Reagan stared through the glass door that led out back, watching the light of sun dim further into a darkened gray. The only sound that tethered her to reality was Gracie, giggling every time that Dave did something to amuse her.

Impressively enough, he'd managed to keep the atmosphere around their daughter light-hearted all throughout the evening. Despite Reagan having bursted through the front door, out of breath with a manic look in her eyes, Dave had played the calm card. While Reagan had spent the better half of the last several hours trying to compose herself, Dave had assumed the responsibility of keeping Gracie entertained.

That bothered Reagan a little bit. Not because she wasn't pleased with Dave's ability to be an attentive parent, even in a crisis, but because she seemingly had failed at that herself.

They'd been waiting around, lingering by the phone as they held their breath for news on Kurt. According to Nirvana's management team, Kurt would be fine.

For now.

That reassurance wasn't enough for Reagan. At what point did Kurt's pitfalls become something more serious? When would the world finally stop turning in the name of concern for him? Life or death concern, and not just the write off that one day, he would pull through.

It depressed Reagan. The day had been mottled with sadness, but everyone was already on the fast track to tidying up the mess that Kurt had left behind. Damage control concerning the rampant media reports, zipped lips about what had really happened.

"Accidental overdose," Dave had said hollowly earlier in the afternoon.

Reagan had stared at him incredulously. He couldn't have possibly believed that. Naturally, the gaping despair behind Dave's brown irises had given him away. As smart as he was, he didn't buy the junk story that had been fed to both him and Krist.

Whatever had happened in Rome had not been an accident.

Reagan wondered if it would ever stop. It felt so silly, so juvenile to stare out the window towards Elliot Bay and wish fruitlessly for a change. The coffin that they were all collectively crammed into was waiting for its final nail to be driven in. It was only a matter of time.

She reached down to the end table by the couch, raising the stiff drink that Dave had poured for her to her mouth. He wasn't drinking, but she was. Sweet, considerate Dave, who had so much more to lose than just the future of his band, had tended to Reagan that night. She was the one who got to tip back whiskey, washing away the ache in her chest with its amber warmth.

Meanwhile, Dave had contented himself with stopping time in order to play with his daughter. In that moment, their problems did not exist. It was just him and Gracie on the living room floor, plunging their hands into her pile of toys.

Reagan swallowed down the gulp of whiskey as her throat tightened. She thought about how Kurt must have felt, or how he must have looked. The question of his mood was really prodding at her brain — if this fiasco had been deliberate on his end, he was likely pissed to still be alive.

But then again, she didn't know. She wasn't sure. Reagan was no longer certain about Kurt's future, not that it had been her responsibility to place bets on it in the first place. Regardless, his life had become so tightly knotted with hers and Dave's. From the get go, that was how it had been.

The blanket of darkness that had sheathed Kurt's world had once seemed so foreign to her under a different set of circumstances. Familiar in several ways, but still far removed from her personal life.

Drug addiction. Heroin. Reagan had grown up seeing the rockstars of her favorite bands fall victim to their battles with drugs. She could still remember early on in nineteen-ninety, when her closely knit group on the music scene had suffered their greatest loss yet. Andrew Wood. That had cut people deep, Reagan included. She would never forget the bright light that had shone right through Andrew's flesh and bones when he'd been on stage. She'd been seeing him perform all the way back to his Malfunkshun days.