FOR THE FIRST time since initially discovering that she was carrying a baby, Reagan became plagued by the onset of a vicious panic attack.

It happened as she sat alone in Dave's apartment (correction —her and Dave's apartment, now), plopped down on the couch with her legs crossed and the television on in front of her.

She'd been meticulously spooning soup into her mouth, savoring her light lunch as she watched a random reality game show when it had struck her.

She was pregnant. She was getting married.

The edges of her vision blurred, tilting back and forth as if suddenly on an axis. She carefully set her spoon down against the ceramic edge of the bowl she ate out of and found the strength to take a deep, steadying breath.

It had hit her out of nowhere. For some reason, as she sat perched on the couch that afternoon watching television like a grandmother, she was overwhelmed by her own life. It had seemed so easy so far that week. Living with Dave had gone seamlessly along with everything else they'd gotten up to. They'd even managed to register for a marriage license without resulting in her going to pieces.

Reagan swallowed, surprised to feel the dryness in her throat after she'd been sucking down chicken noodle soup like a fiend. That reminded her — she needed to go grocery shopping before Dave left. How was it that she could be whipped up in the midst of a panic attack and still have time to ponder mundane things like stocking a pantry?

She guessed that she shouldn't have been so mortified to succumb to another freak out. Her life, after all, had veered off course like a race car speeding out of control. And then there was the looming dread she felt of knowing that soon enough, she'd be saying goodbye to Dave.

Slowly, Reagan lowered her face into her hands. She massaged her temples with her fingertips, hoping the action of doing so would ease her back into a state of calm. It would have been easier if Dave was there. He had driven to Olympia for the day, hoping to rehearse a little with the band and keep Kurt company for a few hours.

She had busied herself at first in the wake of his absence. After scarfing down a Cheerio breakfast, she had contacted Kate and asked for her first big favor, which was for help in buying Dave's wedding band. Reagan was not opposed to the act of doing so, but the mushy, gushy implications of the entire thing set her teeth on edge. Therefore, she relied on Kate to be her source of comfort.

They'd gone straight to Olympia in search of a jeweler who had been a friend of their family for years. Since he knew the Abners, he was able to give Reagan a good deal on a shiny, grey steel band that she imagined would suit Dave best. After turning over more of the little money that she had left, she'd walked out ready to bestow the ring upon Dave within the coming days.

The reminder of the ring caused Reagan to flicker her eyes away from her soup and towards the surface of the coffee table. Sitting there was the very ring she'd bought earlier in the day. Carefully, she plucked it between her fingertips before slipping it on over pointer finger. It was big, big enough to fit Dave's finger of course, and it rode loose past her knuckle.

It was killing her. She was being torn in two ways, each side vying for victory as they tugged on either half of her heart. She wanted to be happy. So badly did she want to rejoice in the luck she had found. But she was scared. For once she did not feel like the responsible adult she'd groomed herself to be. She felt like a kid who was too absorbed in the imaginary play world she'd created in her own head.

She slipped Dave's ring off, turning it over in her hand. Her heart was starting to hammer a little harder the longer she stared at it. The baby, she presumed, was a reasonable thing for her to freak out over. She had accepted that she was bound to be a mother, but she guessed that she still had the unspoken right to fret over that lingering fact. Any rational woman who had never been pregnant before was owed the right of that length of time given in order to panic.

But her engagement? She was bitter to think that she had any reason to worry over that. It wasn't like she'd wound up in some sort of arranged marriage; it was Dave who she pledging her love to and that felt justified enough. But the tiniest of voices in the back of her head continued to question if it was happening too fast.

Reagan loved Dave. She loved him wholeheartedly, perhaps more than she would ever love another person besides the infant who would be turning up in her life within nine months. Alongside that love came the terror of possibly losing him one day. It was like the two varying concepts were a package deal. She could love him all she wanted, but of course that love came with consequence of knowing she'd never be the same if he departed her life.

God only forbid that they get married only to have their union disintegrate one day. She herself had searched her soul, looking for a reason as to why she wouldn't want Dave by the time she was thirty, forty, or even fifty years old, but had come up with nothing. Despite that, she couldn't exactly say the same for him. Sure, he had promised that he'd want her forever, but she had no idea if that unwavering love would stick once he realized all that he'd lost in tying himself permanently to her.

She curled up into a ball, drawing her knees into her chest to huddle against the bursts of pain twisting in her stomach when she thought of Dave's potential regret. Just what exactly would be the drawbacks of his commitment to her? No one night stands with willing groupies, for one. She supposed that that would have been disappointing for any budding rock star, but Dave seemed content to take her and only her to bed.

What really scared her was the thought that he'd miss her too much. She wondered if the knowledge that he had a wife and baby back home waiting for him would ruin Dave's experiences in the industry. How was he supposed to tour and devote himself to nightly performances if his head and heart were somewhere light years away, stuck back in Seattle in his boxy little apartment?

Reagan bit down hard on the inner corner of her lip. She tasted the tang of blood on her tongue and felt that it served as a good punishment for all her negative thoughts. She was meant to be happy during a time like this. She couldn't dote on the future so much when she had all the time in the moment to enjoy what she had right then. Squeezing Dave's ring between her fingers, she laid it back down on the coffee table, considering where she would hide it from him.

It was a blessing that she'd managed to purchase it for such a bargained price. While Reagan was not exactly roughing it, she was well aware of the dwindling contents of her bank account. This did not sit well with her when she thought of her pregnancy and the costliness of having a kid. She would know all about that after watching Richard and Kimberly bring one too many into the world.

Richard . . .

Her father's name rang out in her head and she pictured his face wearing the same expression he'd had on the night she'd left. The image would have burned worse if it weren't for the conversation that Reagan had had with Kate that day, driving home from Olympia with Dave's ring in a small box in her lap.

"I talked to Dad," Kate had mentioned cautiously. Reagan had remained placid, picking at her cuticle skin as she allowed Kate to ease the subject of their father into conversation.

"About?" she'd said back, not meeting Kate's eyes.

"Not much. He asked me if you were okay."

Reagan had closed her eyes, waiting for the hurt to spread upon hearing this news. But it didn't come to her — she had already expected that Richard, as loving as he was, would have wanted to know that she was doing alright.

"Well, I am okay," she'd told Kate, knowing the message would be passed along.

"I already told him that. He told me to tell you that he loves you. And that he got a job."

Reagan's eyebrows had shot upwards in surprise. "He got a job?"

"Yes. Not a good one, apparently. It's definitely below his pay grade. But he settled for it so he could maybe give you some extra money for the baby."

"Oh."

Richard's face swam into Reagan's mind again, the memory of his fatherly smile causing her chest to ache. Kimberly may have been a lost cause to serve as a parental figure to Reagan, but despite it all, she'd always have Richard. To imagine him looking forward to being a grandfather made her emotional.

Reagan had an inkling that talking about Richard and his determination to take care of her, even when she was no longer under his rooftop, had something to do with her downtrodden mood and the frenzied swirls of trepidation making her insides turn. She didn't want to be at the age she was, still relying on help from her parents, but it was nice to know that Richard cared.

Kate had attempted to add that she'd spoken to Kimberly, but Reagan had wanted to hear nothing of it. Even when Kate insisted that Kimberly did in fact miss her despite all the bad blood between them, she'd merely rolled her eyes and glanced out of the car window with a grumble. That was a fat chance.

It's all a fucking mess, she thought, cursing to herself and throwing herself backwards into the couch cushions. Time was racing by and she still hadn't managed to grasp just how evolved things had become. She barely had time to blink these days.

To settle her jitters, she got up off the couch and made a move to grab Dave's junky Fender, the same one he had gifted to her on her twenty-second birthday.

A conversation, one that had taken place ages ago, entered her thoughts. In the midst of the many long-winded talks they'd had, clamoring to get to know each other better, Reagan remembered a shred of information that Dave had given when she'd asked him how he handled stage fright.

"Playing is what makes it better," he'd explained. "When I'm nervous, I pull out my drumsticks or my guitar and it cools me down a bit. It's the best therapy in the world."

"Time to test out that theory," she said under her breath.

She picked the Fender up by its neck and lugged it back to her indented spot on the couch. Propping it in her lap, she analyzed the placement of her fingers along the strings before strumming out a few chords. They sounded funny in the absence of an amplifier, but they didn't sound bad, which was the main goal.

Only thirty minutes must have passed when she heard the sound of the front door's lock jiggling open over the harmony of the television speakers and her playing. Quickly, she swiped Dave's ring off of the coffee table and tucked it out of sight into the pocket of the pajama pants she'd slipped into upon arriving home. All she had to remember now was not to throw the ring into the wash with the pants.

"Hey," Dave grinned, entering the apartment and shaking a few pieces of damp hair out of his face. It must have been drizzling outside.

"Hi," Reagan said back. Inevitably, a flood of happy warmth melted through her. Seeing Dave's radiant aura in the flesh was enough to put her worries at ease.

"Did I interrupt something?" he smiled, raising his eyebrows questioningly at the Fender laying beside her.

She sighed, caught in the act. "I was just trying to distract myself. I got bored."

"Bored? Bored in my place?"

He moved towards her, leaning down to wind both of his arms around her sitting figure. She couldn't help but to smirk when he guided her down onto her back, nudging the Fender to the side.

"Don't you mean our place?"

"Technically, it was first and foremost mine. I really gave it its initial charm, you know?"

"So much for charm. I was very, very bored sitting around here today." She snorted in slight disbelief for her words. Never once had she imagined that she would yearn for ways to keep herself steadfastly occupied.

"We've got the release party on Friday," Dave reminded her. "That will be fun."

"My very first record release party," Reagan mused. "Am I finally in the 'in-crowd?' Do I get bragging rights now?"

"I don't see any 'in-crowd' around here. But as for the bragging rights . . . "

Reagan laughed, relaxing more into the warm space provided to her in Dave's side. She grabbed his hand, the one that was draped sweetly over her shoulders as he held her.

"If all I have to look forward to this week is a party, then maybe I do a need job. Shit. I don't exactly like admitting that."

"It's your lucky day then," Dave said in a very self-satisfied way. He guided them both upright, squeezing Reagan's hand a little tighter in his. "I think I got you a job."

She scrunched her nose back automatically, having not expected that kind of reply to her playful banter. "You got me a job? Where at?"

Dave hesitated for a half second before forging on. "It's a good job. I promise."

"Spit it out, Dave," Reagan said with a roll of her eyes. "You're beating around the bush."

"Only because I know how you get," he interjected, taking both her hands and wringing them in his. "You're very stubborn."

"With good reason. Now tell me."

"It's a job working for DGC. You know, my record company. Nirvana's record company."

Reagan squinted at Dave as if she were not seeing him clearly. "I know DGC. But I don't understand. You got me a job there?"

"It's nothing crazy," he inserted quickly. "You'd be an assistant. You know, answering the phone calls, managing the schedules."

Bitch work, Reagan thought to herself with a mental snort. She didn't say this out loud because she knew she didn't have a right; coming from Wilson's, she didn't expect much out of her next job opportunity.

"Don't you think that's . . . I don't know . . . a conflict of interest?" she wondered.

"It's not. I got it all checked out. It's just a talent acquisition office, anyways. It's not like you'll be managing the band or anything. And even if you were, that'd be fucking awesome."

"Would it?"

"Hell yeah! You'd be a great manager. I mean, look at Chris and Susan. You know, Chris from Soundgarden? His wife manages his band."

Reagan rolled her eyes again. "Okay, so we've established that I'm not going to be managing Nirvana anytime soon. How did you do this, though? What strings did you pull?"

"Not many. Turns out when your record label is banking on your success, they'll give you just about anything you want."

Reagan gave Dave a glowering look. She didn't want him pushing his luck with the Geffen company, at least not for his sake. It felt too early on for him to be making any kind of demands. But telling by his cool exterior, it hadn't been much of a problem.

"What?" he said defensively. "I know you want a job, Reagan. I know you're bored as hell sitting in this apartment with nothing to do. And you've already made it clear to me that you want to bring in more money for . . ." He paused, editing his choice of words. "What's about to happen."

"I know that, but what's the catch here? Is it really a good idea? I don't know the first thing about working for a record label, Dave."

"Reags, baby, it's not going to be that hard. You'll be doing what you did at Wilson's, except you'll be handling stuff that you actually give a shit about. Trust me, okay? I made sure that it would all work out."

"What did you do?"

"I called John Silva," he said. He examined her reaction, waiting for another scolding glare, but she only watched as he explained. "It was Krist's idea, really. I was just talking . . . about everything. And then Krist said that as a hard-working member of a DGC-signed band, they should help me out. So I called Silva up and asked if they could put you to work."

"And?" Reagan pressed, willing him to continue.

"Well, at first, he wasn't sure. He didn't seem really that uh, motivated. But then I threatened to quit the band."

"What?!" Reagan yelped, sitting up straighter on the edge of the couch and causing Dave's arm to fall slack down to her waist. "You did what?"

Dave shrugged innocently. "I wasn't actually going to quit. I just had to give them an incentive to do what I wanted."

"I'm surprised Kurt let you do that."

Dave scoffed in response. "Kurt's not my warden. I can do whatever the fuck I want."

"So, what happened? They agreed to give me the job?"

"Yep. Once I threatened to leave, it was easy. I told them that if you weren't working, I'd have to quit to go find a real job because of the baby. That really got his attention."

"As if you'd quit the band to get a real job."

Dave smiled wryly. "You may not believe that, but Silva did. He even negotiated a private doctor into the mix. One that they're willing to pay for, just to keep me."

"Wow." Reagan blinked in surprised, genuinely taken aback by the feat Dave had managed to pull off. "You really worked the system, didn't you?"

"I just want you to be happy," Dave reasoned, furrowing his eyebrows. "I know you've been nervous. I see it in your face."

"It's more than that," Reagan said, dropping her voice to a murmur and looking down at their folded hands. "I'm going to miss you when you leave. It's so soon."

"I'll be back before you know it."

Somehow, she doubted Dave's attempt at reassurance. Being alone and waiting for his return was one thing, but to be without him while pregnant? She was blind when it came to understanding how she'd cope.

"I guess everyone is going to know about my condition then if I take the job," she huffed under her breath. She could see it now — her entering the DGC office wearing some form of a maternity suit. Ugh. Ew. She shuddered at the thought.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Dave laughed.

"It could be. Who knows what I'll be like when I'm really, really pregnant? I could be a monster."

"Well thank god I'll be gone for that then," he retorted smugly.

Before she could frown at his joke, he'd pulled her back into the safety of his chest and kissed the crown of her head. She sighed, forgetting his jab almost immediately. They had so little time left that she saw no reason to bicker over his silly jests.

"I will miss you," he insisted softly. "I'll miss you so much that it will hurt."

"At least that will give you a stronger rationale to come back. Or maybe you'll have so much fun that it you won't want to return to normal life."

Dave sighed, seeming to linger upon the words he wanted to say. His face flushed faint red. "Reagan . . . you are my life. Or at least a very good portion of it next to the band. Every day on this tour will only be one step closer to coming home to you."

Reagan couldn't help herself. A smile creeped up on her face and with gentle fingers, she caressed his cheekbone down to the curve of his chin.

"Did it just kill you a little bit inside to be that corny with me?" she whispered around her grin.

"A little. But I'll survive."

And before she could deliver a swift and snarky remark back, he soldered his lips to hers, kissing her in a way that erased her deepest fears and reminded her of all the good around her that appeared, at least for now, to outweigh the bad.