MARCH 6th, 1993, SEATTLE, WA

     "I DON'T WANT him to come. I'm done."

Reagan stood exasperatedly in front of Dave, her hands full of flimsy party streamers that she flopped up into the air before letting fall back at her sides.

"Dave, please. It's a little late for this."

Dave was sitting on the couch, leaning forward with his hands clasped. He was angry, which was an uncharacteristic look on him. Reagan could see him chewing the inside of his cheek in replacement of his usual stick of gum and his eyes were dark and piercing as they stared straight past her and into the wall.

"No. I can't look at him right now."

"It's Gracie's birthday. Everyone is coming and it would hurt Kurt's feelings if you all of the sudden uninvited him."

"Hurt his feelings if I uninvited him? Do you think he wondered if he hurt my feelings when he uninvited me out of the band?" Dave demanded, jabbing his finger into his chest.

"He never said that," Reagan protested. "He never kicked you out."

"But he wanted to. He said I was a shitty drummer and that he wanted a new one. So I'm done. I'm fucking done."

Dave got up and started towards the hall that led into their bedroom, but Reagan jumped in his way and raised her hand to his shoulder.

"I know what he said was terrible. It was wrong. It was totally uncalled for and trust me, I'd love to kick him where it hurts for saying that. But he's not himself right now," she said.

"He hasn't been himself for almost a year," Dave argued. "I don't know that person. I don't want to know that person. And I sure as hell don't want to be in his band, nor do I want him in my house."

"Please wait," Reagan begged, planting her feet firmly into the ground as Dave tried to push past her. He waved her hand away from caressing his neck.

"I'm done talking about it."

"No, we're not done talking about it."

She clutched his arm and dragged him back in front of her, hardening her gaze. She felt the streamers in her hand crunch when she closed her fist around them.

"Don't shut Kurt out for this," she said. "He was being stupid and you know he didn't mean it. He would be fucked without you."

"All the more reason to quit."

"You can't quit!"

"Why not?" Dave asked harshly. "If he doesn't want me, then fine, I'll leave. I'm expendable, according to him."

"You aren't," Reagan said. "You aren't expendable at all. Kurt is just in one of his funks and by next week, he's going to regret ever saying that. You can't walk away from this."

"Why are you doing this? Why are you saying this to me? You want me to stay somewhere where I'm not appreciated? You said I could make it on my own. I'll find another band, hell, I don't care. I'm not going to give the time and effort to something that's going to be taken out from under me on a whim."

"You could make it on your own. It's not your time yet, though. Right now, you're in Nirvana and that's just —,"

"How are you okay with this?" he interrupted. "I didn't expect this out of you. I thought you'd be just as mad as I am. I thought you'd defend me, yet you're acting like I'm the idiot here."

Reagan inhaled, pulling her shoulders up to her ears and closing her eyes. He was testing her patience, he really was. They'd sworn that they would never let this part of his life impact their relationship, but she couldn't let him make the mistake of leaving Nirvana. It was divine intervention at work, forcing her to step into the mix that she'd promised to stray away from. Her gut was telling her to.

"Look, Dave," she began. "I get it. I'm not in the band. I don't have to put up with Kurt like you do. But you need to realize that he's a dumb ass, sometimes. He's going through a lot of shit right now and he's still your friend. Friends fuck up."

"I still don't get why you're defending him," Dave snapped. "And it wasn't a fuck up. He meant what he said."

"Do you want to leave it like this?" Reagan shot back angrily, refusing to believe that Kurt had made some kind of Freudian slip. "When you get the phone call one day that something happened to him, do you want it to have ended this way?"

Her rationale silenced him quickly. His face fell but he recovered only a moment later, moving his mouth though unfortunately for him, no sound came out.

"No," he finally said.

"Exactly. You don't need Kurt's approval to know that you're a great drummer. You're amazing, Dave. You may think you don't need them, which maybe you don't if you want to do this for the rest of your life, but you do right now. They're your friends and they need you."

"Do you know how badly it hurt to hear him say that?" Dave asked. He brought his hand to the underside of his chin, rubbing it as if he were willing himself not to break down. The sight of his weakness made Reagan nearly eat her own words. Seeing him in pain made her want to deliberately hurt the person who'd put him there in the first place.

But this was Kurt they were talking about.

"I know," she said gently. "Like I said, he's a dick for saying it. Do you want me to slap him when he gets here?"

"I don't know if I want him here, Reagan. Not after that."

"Can't you be the bigger person for five seconds? If you would just realize how stupid Kurt sounds! Do you think that Nirvana would be what it is without you?"

"Sure. Probably. I don't know. I don't care."

He started to slip away again, but Reagan re-latched her hand onto his arm. "Hey," she said sharply. "They had three drummers before you came along. Four if you want to include me, which I know you like to do. Do you see any of them drumming on the records? Going on tour? On the front page of Rolling Stone?"

Dave sucked in his cheeks. "That was luck."

"If it was luck, then Kurt is right, you're just a shitty drummer who got lucky. And we both know that isn't true."

He looked like he wanted to sneer at the valid point that Reagan had made, but Dave only stood there, rolling his tongue across the inside of his mouth and turning over what she'd said. After heaving a long sigh, he pushed his hands back through his hair and let it fall into his face. Before he could curl a finger upwards to tuck one side of it behind his ear, Reagan completed the gesture for him.

"Maybe I am being a little bitch," he admitted.

"I'm on your side. I don't appreciate what Kurt said at all," Reagan reassured him. She wouldn't let him escape without making that one point clear.

"It's not the kind of thing that I'm going to forget any time soon."

"You don't have to. Let's just get through today, please, for Gracie at least. And if you're still bothered by the end of the day, maybe you should talk to Kurt yourself."

"He hates confrontation. I'm sure it would only piss him off more."

"Well, I guess that means you'll have to be the bigger person then, doesn't it?"

Dave sighed again. He brushed his hand against Reagan's, the one that wasn't clutching a fistful of streamers, and gripped it. Raising it to his lips, he kissed her knuckles longingly, as if he wished that he could have done more than that. Reagan was merely grateful that she'd managed to calm him down.

"The one time I need you to be all fired up and here you are, playing peacemaker," he said regretfully.

"I can't exactly be 'all fired up' when I'm surrounded by Winnie-the-Pooh decorations."

He chuckled and spared a glance around the living room, which was only half-papered in the decorations that Sarah had helped Reagan to pick out.

"I'll be good," Dave promised. The assurance was half-hearted and brusque, but Reagan accepted it anyway. He was making an effort to listen to her which was enough.

"Thank you," she said softly. "So, now that you're not sitting on the couch stewing . . ."

Dave tilted his head back and groaned. "Please tell me you're not putting me to work."

"I need your help. Can't you pin the streamers, at least? We've got to finish before Gracie wakes up from her nap."

"Where do you want them?" he asked, taking the streamers from Reagan's hands.

"All over the place. Just throw them wherever. Gracie's not going to know the difference."

Dave started toward the couch, toying with the yellow and red streamers between his fingers and looking at them wearily, but Reagan grabbed his shoulder and jerked him backwards. When he looked at her questioningly, she gave him a quick kiss.

"Is that a thank you?" he grumbled.

"Yes," Reagan said. "A thank you for actually listening to me."

________

Gracie's first birthday party went smoothly, though it couldn't have possibly gone wrong considering how small it was. Reagan was certain that there would be plenty of years to come filled with obnoxiously loud birthday parties for Gracie, held in sweaty bowling alleys and ice skating rinks and attended by droves of sugar-high kids that she'd come to call friends.

For now, a small party would suffice. Gracie wouldn't remember it, but Reagan knew that she would personally look back on it for the rest of her life.

She'd spent the whole day with a camera in hand, documenting every single moment. She snapped photos of Gracie burying her hands into her birthday cake and tearing at her presents, giving up opening them when the wrapping paper got in her way. Reagan was most pleased with the shots she'd captured of Dave and Gracie together, him holding her and singing happy birthday to her over a single, flaming candle. Gracie had been looking up at him with a big, toothy grin. That picture was definitely going into a frame.

The Abners had come, bearing all the gifts in the world for Gracie. Reagan had tried not to roll her eyes when Kimberly had come striding through the door with an armload of gift bags and colorfully wrapped boxes. She couldn't imagine where her mother had dug up the funds to purchase half of a Toys R' Us inventory, but her bitter thoughts were cooled when she reminded herself that the gifts were for Gracie in the end. And surely Richard had had something to do with it. Reagan wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been saving up just for the occasion.

Ginny was there too, having flown in from Virginia the day before to attend. She was perhaps the one guest that Reagan was the most excited to see, all due to the extensive journey Ginny had taken just to be there. An airline flight across the country hadn't stopped her from being present at her granddaughter's first birthday, something that delighted both Reagan and Dave to no end as they watched Ginny cuddle Gracie on her lap.

Sarah had come and even Krist and Shelli had shown up, having brought their own special presents for Gracie (a child-sized keyboard that played nursery rhymes and a small, homemade Nirvana shirt, compliments of Shelli's crafty hands). Chris had of course been there for the party as well, presenting Gracie with her own plastic toy guitar that was equipped with equally plastic strings.

"Why didn't I think of that?" Dave had muttered after Gracie had opened it with a squeal.

It was just what Reagan had wanted. It might have been Gracie's party, but Reagan had devoted much of her time to planning it and was overjoyed with the turnout. She couldn't have imagined a more perfect way to celebrate Gracie's first full year around the sun, surrounded by everyone who loved her most.

The only notable absences had been Kurt and Courtney. It wasn't until the party was an hour past its end that a knock came from the front door.

Reagan was bending over by the couch, sweeping discarded wrapping paper into a trash bag when she heard it. She stood up and tucked her fallen hair back behind her ear.

"Did someone knock?" she asked aloud.

Robbie was sitting behind her drum set, twirling the sticks between his fingers while he practiced. The Abners hadn't left yet, preferring to have stuck around in order to chat with Ginny. Gracie was in her bedroom playing with the twins, being minded over by Dave and Kate.

"Pretty sure it was," Robbie answered.

Setting the trash bag down, Reagan went to the door and opened it without looking through the fish-eyed peep hole. She felt her eyebrows almost disappear into her hairline when the door swung clear out of her vision.

"Kurt!" she exclaimed. Sure enough, Kurt was standing on the doorstep with his hands fisted into the baggy pockets of his patchy jeans. Reagan's eyes slid to the right.

"And Courtney," she added, though on a much weaker note.

"Sorry we're late," Courtney said flippantly, sounding not in the least bit sorry for their tardiness. "We had a few personal matters to attend to."

Frances was propped onto Courtney's hip, looking around with her wide-eyed baby stare as she played with Courtney's necklace. Her displeasure at seeing Courtney aside, Reagan smiled.

"You guys brought Frances."

"Duh, did you think we were going to set her up in front of the television and leave her at home?" Courtney snorted, nudging past Reagan and stepping into the house. Kurt followed suit with a blank look on his face, as if he wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up there.

"I just meant . . ." Reagan began, thinking of all the custody troubles that had befallen the Cobains.

"She can be with us," Kurt answered. "It's fine."

"I wasn't trying to insinuate otherwise," Reagan said quietly to him. She didn't want Courtney to overhear.

"Don't worry about it."

She closed the door and walked him and Courtney both into the living room. As she stood behind Kurt, Reagan noticed a bright pink gift bag hanging by its handles from his wrist.

"Cute place," Courtney remarked. "How much did you guys shell out for it?"

Regan opened her mouth to tell Courtney to mind her own business in the most PC-way possible, but she was cut off by the sound of a drum stick cracking against a cymbal and tumbling to the floor.

Her line of sight shot over to Robbie, who was still sitting behind her drums except now, he was gawking. His hand was hanging frozen in the air, fingers still curled from where the drum stick had been clutched.

"You didn't tell me you had another kid," Courtney said, whipping around to face Reagan with an accusatory expression.

Reagan couldn't tell whether or not she was joking. How could she, a twenty-three year old woman, have produced the obviously pubescent boy in front of them?

"That's my brother," she said. "Robbie."

Robbie didn't say anything. He scampered out embarrassedly from behind the drums and onto the couch, where he curled up far away from Kurt and Courtney. Reagan noticed that his eyes were pinpointed directly on Kurt.

"Was your family all bred to play drums?" Courtney asked. She smirked slightly as she said it.

"Robbie's been learning. Right, Rob?" Reagan looked encouragingly at her brother, but he didn't speak, choosing to remain mute. She'd never seen him look so shell-shocked.

"Hey Reagan, do we have any double-A batteries, Grace got this thing and it —,"

Dave strolled out from the hallway with one of Gracie's new birthday toys in hand, but he came to an abrupt stop when he saw the new guests standing in his living room. Reagan tried not to squeeze her eyes shut. The interaction was bound to go either one of two ways, and she was praying that it would be the better of the two.

"Hey," Dave said. He sounded surprised. "You guys came."

Still acting as the working voice box for both herself and Kurt, Courtney went over to Dave and gave him a one-armed hug. He didn't stiffen when she touched him, allowing Reagan to mentally breathe a sigh of relief.

"You've heard of being fashionably late, right?" Courtney said with an overly sweet smile. She turned around and shook Kurt's arm, forcing him to release the gift bag into her hand. "This is for Gracie. Kurt picked it out. Well, I helped, but it was mostly him."

"Thanks," Dave said cautiously. He accepted the gift and looked past Courtney's shoulder. "Hey, Kurt."

Kurt nodded at him, pressing his mouth into a line before he spoke. "Hey."

Good god, Reagan thought. Do something! Hug! Cry! Do anything!

She held her breath, hoping that Dave's anger wouldn't get the best of him. Seconds seemed to tick by agonizingly slow until Dave set Gracie's gift bag down and waved Kurt forward.

"Come on," he said. "We still have cake left over in the kitchen."

This sentiment must have spoken to Kurt's notorious love for sweets. He followed Dave hesitantly into the kitchen, responding in head nods when Dave started talking to him with a friendly smile.

Reagan felt herself exhale with the help of her whole body. If Dave kept up that kind of good behavior, then he would definitely be getting lucky later that night.

She realized that she'd been left alone in the living room with Courtney, Frances and Robbie. The rest of her family was gathered in the adjacent room, the one that looked out to the back of the house, unaware that others had arrived. Reagan shifted her weight awkwardly on her feet.

"Want to hold her?" Courtney questioned. "My arms are killing me."

"Uh . . . sure," Reagan said. Courtney readily plopped Frances into her waiting arms. Reagan adjusted the baby gently, holding her up against her chest. Frances squirmed but went still when Reagan caressed her back with the tips of her fingernails — she appeared to find it just as soothing as Gracie had at her age.

Courtney found her way to the couch and flopped down onto it. From the inside of her heavily knit cardigan that looked suspiciously like one of Kurt's, she produced a pack of cigarettes and pulled one out.

"Do you mind?" she asked, though she'd already stuck it in between her lipstick-smeared mouth.

"Well," Reagan began, intending to tell her no. It was too late. Courtney was already lighting it.

With a well-disguised sigh, Reagan sat down next to her and continued stroking Frances's back. It was a bit of an epiphany for her to realize that it was her first time holding Frances since she'd been only a month old, way back on the night of the VMA's.

"Hey," Courtney said casually, nodding her version of a hello at Robbie. He was still poised at the far end of the couch, staring at Courtney like she was an alien specimen. A haze of cigarette smoke spooled its way out from the corner of her lips.

"Want one?" Courtney asked, tipping the box towards him.

"He's fourteen, Courtney," Reagan said bluntly.

"Oh, come on, like you weren't smoking at fourteen," Courtney replied with an eye roll.

"I don't think it's a good idea to teach him any of my bad behaviors."

Ginny and the rest of the Abners came into the room, pausing when they noticed the new addition to their numbers. Ginny spoke first, clasping her hands in front of her and putting on a warm smile.

"Courtney," she said in surprise. "How nice to see you again."

"Mommy Grohl," Courtney greeted, smiling as she took another drag off her cigarette. "Always a pleasure to be in your company."

Reagan saw the look on Kimberly's face and decided that that was one introduction she didn't quite feel like mediating. There was no doubt that Kimberly would have much to say about a lit cigarette being smoked where children were present. Even Richard looked startled by Courtney, taken aback by her booming voice and blatantly brash demeanor.

"I'm gonna' go find Dave," Reagan muttered. She left the couch with Frances still in her arms. As she slipped past her family, Kate gave her look, sucking in her lips in an attempt to not laugh. Reagan already knew what she was thinking. The Abners meeting Courtney Love — it was something out of a parallel universe. On her way out, she swiped Kurt and Courtney's gift up off the ground.

Once she had properly sneaked her way into the kitchen and removed herself from the oddball meeting in the living room, she found Dave and Kurt leaning against the countertops, talking. Kurt was pushing cake around on his plate with a fork and Dave was caught in mid-conversation, though it didn't appear to be anything of the heated kind. In fact, they looked content to be standing next to each other.

"My mom and dad found Courtney," she announced. Dave looked up and smiled wryly.

"I'm sure that will be a really good cultural learning experience for them," he answered.

Reagan tried not to wince for Kurt's sake. She knew he was unfathomably protective over his wife, even when she was more than capable of holding her own. Above all, Reagan assumed that Kurt had it in his head that any degrading comment aimed at Courtney was also doubly intended for him.

"I'll go check in," Dave insisted. He disappeared and left Reagan alone with Kurt and Frances.

"Good cake," Kurt said. He met Reagan's eyes for one flash of a second before looking down at his plate again.

"Ginny helped bake it," Reagan said. "She even did the flower decorations. I almost ruined it when I tried."

When he didn't reply, she sidled closer to him, placing Frances right between them both. The closeness of Frances relaxed Kurt considerably and he used one hand to reach out and tickle her shoulder. She wriggled and smiled in response.

"She's really beautiful," Reagan remarked.

"I think so too."

"Can I open this? Gracie's gift?"

"If you want to . . . didn't you want her to open it?"

"She's preoccupied with my brother and sister. I'll make sure to tell her who it came from, though."

Kurt nodded in agreement and set down his plate, allowing Reagan to slide Frances into his arms. She set the gift bag on the counter and removed the tissue paper from it before reaching inside.

From the bottom, she pulled out a long, fluffy pink blanket. The edges were embroidered in silk and Reagan noticed as she turned it over that one of the corners was stitched with a darker pink thread, displaying a cursive 'G.'

"Kurt, this is amazing," she breathed, holding out the blanket and admiring it as it fell into a smooth cascade.

He shrugged bashfully. "It's nothing. I found the blanket and Courtney suggested getting the G put on it."

"It's so soft," Reagan noted. She rubbed the blanket between her fingers. "Gracie's going to love it."

"I'm glad."

She folded the blanket over her arm, waiting for him to say more, but he'd become engrossed with Frances. He held her securely, like she was the only source of comfort to him within a miles-wide radius. There was no mistaking the love that Kurt had for his child as he leaned his bearded chin onto her head, swaying her gently in his arms.

"Kurt," Reagan said softly.

"Yeah?"

"How . . . how do you feel?"

She'd said the wrong thing. His eyebrows furrowed and his mouth puckered into a deep frown. He'd mistaken Reagan's question as something else entirely, taking it as a probing into whether or not he was sober enough to withstand being in public.

"I'm fine," he said coldly.

"I didn't mean it the way you're thinking. I mean, how are you?"

"How am I?"

He sounded confused, as if those three words strung together had never been spoken to him before.

"Yes. How are you?"

"I . . . I don't know."

"You can talk to me, you know. And you don't have to sugarcoat it, either. I promise I won't talk over you. I just want to listen."

Kurt stared dumbly at Reagan. She gave him a timid smile, hoping it would coax him into trusting her again, just like he'd used to. He opened his mouth like he was about to let a flow of words tumble out from it, but Dave appeared back into the kitchen before he could say a thing.

"Er, Reagan, do you wanna' come out here? Your mom is trying to tell Courtney that cigarettes are cancerous and I don't think it's gonna' end well."

Reagan gritted her teeth. It wouldn't have made sense to stick her in between two bickering women who had no place amongst her good graces, but Dave had obviously seen it fit to interrupt her conversation with Kurt for this. Reagan turned to Kurt apologetically.

"You can call the house any time you want," she reminded him.

Kurt bobbed his head up and down in understanding. Reagan felt a small spark of happiness in seeing that he really did look moved by her gesture.

"Yeah," he said. "I'll do that."

The rest of the evening panned out awkwardly, with Reagan trying to tend to Gracie while keeping Courtney and Kimberly far apart, but it wasn't the nuclear disaster that she'd thought it would be. Dave and Kurt were in good spirits together and everyone for the most part got along, listening to Courtney fill any silence with her chatter and watching as the little ones chased each other around.

Reagan tried to keep a watchful eye on Kurt without making it obvious, attempting to note any reluctance on his part to be there, but he was very much collected as he sat amongst her family members. He even smiled at one point, a real smile that touched the corners of his eyes, while he was talking to Richard.

Now that wasn't a surprise — Richard could make just about anyone smile.

The nicest part of the day came at the very end though, at least concerning the matter of Kurt and how he was feeling. As he and Courtney prepared to leave with Frances, Reagan watched as Kurt took the liberty of ducking into her kitchen before coming out with a pen and a sheet of yellow, legal-pad paper. It was from the same pad that she and Dave used to jot down grocery lists on.

He went over to Robbie and sat down beside her brother, placing the paper on his knee and scribbling something out on it. When he handed it to Robbie, Reagan saw that it was his signature that Kurt had scrawled in between the thin blue lines.

Robbie looked at Kurt in awe, spluttering over a hurried thank you that was thick with a shining admiration. But it wasn't the act of Kurt bestowing his autograph to her little brother that made Reagan's heart swell with emotion.

It was the fact that he was smiling, smiling with both his pale blue eyes and lips, when he did it.