DECEMBER 19th, 1993, SEATTLE, WA

NIRVANA'S TOUR TOOK a brief interlude for the Christmas holidays, which in turn settled an air of peace over Reagan once Dave was back home, dropping his things on the floor of the living room.

It had only been a few days since she'd last seen him. The band had returned to Seattle to perform for MTV's Live and Loud, but it had been a short-lived stop, only lasting a day before Dave had departed on another flight headed for Massachusetts. Days apart from him had felt like years and the feeling was only exacerbated by Reagan's fears that she'd stoked the tension festering in the band. Her skirmish with Courtney hadn't gone forgotten, and despite her nagging worries, Dave had delivered a different outcome to her over the phone in late November.

Kurt, apparently, was holding no grudges. Courtney very much was and had forbidden Reagan from coming within a mile of her, but Kurt had shrugged the incident off, refusing determinedly to talk about it. Reagan's hopes had been filled with the inclination that he could have never been truly mad at her, but Dave let her down gently, alluding that Kurt's complacent reaction was no more than an example of his failure to care about much of anything these days.

Reagan had put it aside. If she could escape from the altercation without consequences, except that of Courtney's everlasting wrath, then fine. So be it. She didn't need Courtney's approval or friendship. What was more important was that Dave had returned to her in one piece for the holidays.

"Need help unpacking?" she asked. Dave didn't have much with him, but it would be a good way to spend their rejuvenated time together, emptying his things and catching up. He'd come from Denver, so his internal clock was only running an hour ahead of time, meaning that he wouldn't be too tired to hang around her.

"Nope. I'm not unpacking."

She cocked an eyebrow curiously. "Oh? Are you going to live out of your suitcase for the next two weeks?"

"Sort of. I can't unpack, because I've got a flight to catch in two hours," Dave explained casually.

Reagan's heart tripped over its rhythm pattern of beats. She froze, feeling her face go slack with shock.

"What?" she whispered, a rasp of pain in her voice. "You're leaving? You just got here."

"We're leaving," he clarified.

"Leaving? Where? What about Gracie?" She jerked her head in the direction of Gracie's room, where she was down for a nap. Sarah had just left for the day after fulfilling the job of putting Gracie to sleep. Reagan had asked her to come watch Gracie while she'd retrieved Dave from the airport, having taken the whole day off to be reunited with him.

"Sarah's coming back. I had it all arranged," Dave explained, a growing smile pulling at his mouth. "She's staying with Gracie until we come back on Christmas Eve."

"From where?" Reagan gawked. Her heart had started to function again, now picking up rapidly as it thudded. "Where the hell are we going?"

Dave smiled fully at her. "Hawaii. I said that we would go, so we're going. Today. Now."

She stood frozen, her jaw hanging open though no sound emitted from her mouth. It took several seconds worth of her replaying what he'd said in her head to make sense of it.

"Hawaii?" she asked. She wanted to be sure that she'd heard him correctly. "We're going to Hawaii?"

"Yep. I booked the tickets back in Florida. Merry Christmas."

"But . . . but Gracie," Reagan stammered. Gracie's face swam to mind, all smiles and cheer. What the hell were they supposed to do? Up and leave her?

"I told you, it's taken care of. I called the house one day while you were at work. Sarah knows. She agreed to stay here while we're gone. I figured you'd trust her the most, since she spends so much time with G."

The blood in Reagan's body was rushing to her head in droves, pounding so hard throughout her veins that she could feel the thrum of it under her skin. No matter how many times she mentally repeated his words, it still wasn't clicking.

Hawaii. They were going to Hawaii.

"You waited until now to tell me this?" she demanded.

"It was a surprise. I think we both need it. I know I do."

"Dave, Christmas is six days away. Gracie —,"

"Sarah's got it, Reags, I promise that I made sure it's all set."

"Not that. What if something happens? What if . . . what if we missed out on Christmas with her? A delayed flight or something?" Reagan threw her hands up and let them flop back down limply at her sides. "Hawaii, Dave?"

"Are you mad?" he asked softly. He gave her that look, the one that required him to soften up his eyes with apology and tentative hurt. She gritted her teeth.

"I'm not mad . . . just . . . I don't know, shocked."

"Do you not want to go?"

She paused, considering her answer. Did she want to go to Hawaii with him? Of course she did. They'd joked about going back for a belated honeymoon slash anniversary for months now, though time had never worked in their favor. In truth, it was romantic that he'd concocted the surprise vacation right under her nose as a Christmas present.

But it was sudden. Very sudden indeed.

"Christmas is so close," she mumbled, pushing back her hairline with both hands.

"You told me while I was in Salem that you got all your Christmas shopping done," Dave reminded her, swiping the upper hand of the discussion.

"I know, but —,"

He took an abrupt, large step in front of her, one hand cupping the line of her jaw while the other splayed his fingers across her mouth gently. She was silenced, staring up at him with round, dismayed eyes.

"Do you want to go to Hawaii or not?" he asked her simply, his voice low, almost taunting.

Unable to help herself, Reagan thought back to her conversation with Chris, the one that they had shared in her car before she'd left for New York City. Chris had gone on and on about how lucky Reagan was, how sharp the curve her life had bounded around was. Gone was the girl who'd worked forty plus hours a week, nursing her siblings in place of their parents and only dreaming of the potential that her life could have.

Now, she wanted for nothing. Things were dispensable at her feet. She and Dave weren't bathing themselves in wealth, but it was a different kind of wealth for Reagan, the kind that had them living pleasantly in their house with nice things and an even nicer child whom they both loved more than their own lives. It had nothing to do with the amount of money in their pockets. She didn't care about that.

Reagan realized that her good fortune had nothing to do with plain luck. It had been meant to happen this way, and the only reason that she might have even pocketed herself a sliver of so-called luck was because of the man in front of her. Every gift that he'd given, Gracie included, had been because he loved her. He would fly her to Hawaii on a whim not to prove that he could, but because he loved her.

They loved each other. So much.

"Yes," she whispered against his lingering fingertips. "Yes, I want to go."

__________

Their flight to Honolulu was nonstop, lasting a little over six hours before they landed. Time had shifted as the plane had crossed time zones and it was earlier on the island once Reagan and Dave got off the plane. The sun still shone in the pale blue sky, signaling the slow drawl of a late afternoon.

Reagan was tired. Something about flying always made her sleepy, her head heavy and her eyes burning with a need to bob close. She'd fought through that foggy tiredness and spent the flight talking to Dave, catching up on everything that had transpired during the tour. He spoke softly, teetering on the edge of the truth, which was that it had been a strange and unfamiliar time.

She sensed how badly it hurt him to talk about it. He tried so hard to remain optimistic, forcing himself to be the smiling face that the tour now lacked, but Dave was smart. He was smarter than anyone gave him credit for and he knew how dire things were with Kurt. Things were not the same anymore. He was condemned to watch the small empire that Nirvana had accidentally manufactured collapse, sweeping one of his closest friends into the rubble along with it.

He eventually fell asleep against Reagan's arm, burrowing his face into her shoulder as he snoozed. She pressed her cheek against his head and made a deliberate decision not to think about what he said. Instead, she thought about Gracie.

Their daughter's feathers had been ruffled when they'd left. She was nearing the age of two, but that didn't stop her from being smart as a whip and knowing what it had meant when both her parents had kissed her goodbye before walking out the door.

Her lower lip had trembled and a sheen of tears had filled her eyes, but Sarah managed to coax her into a state of calm. Of course, Reagan's heart had been clenched into a vise of pain the entire time. She'd very nearly grabbed Dave's arm and told him that she'd changed her mind, that they couldn't leave, but then she remembered that they both needed the trip. They needed to get away from Washington together, to a place where they knew no one and no one would know them.

Well, maybe they would know Dave. Reagan wasn't oblivious enough to assume that the people of Hawaii weren't listening to Nirvana records.

When they arrived at their hotel after being driven from the airport, Dave was still slumping against Reagan in exhaustion. She'd been the one with her face pressed against the car's backseat window, watching as blurs of green and blue nature raced by.

"Is that where we're staying?" she asked, staring up, stunned, at the looming hotel that they pulled up to.

"Yes," Dave yawned. "Do you like it? Or did I go overboard?"

"You definitely didn't half-ass the travel plans."

She stepped out, waiting as Dave removed their one suitcase each from the trunk of the car. She had to crane her head all the way back to see the top of the hotel, which skimmed the sky and overlooked Waikiki Beach. Everything about it screamed 'wealth,' from the luxurious coat of unblemished cream paint coating it to the glassy, blue stained windows lining its face. She started to wonder what Dave had shelled out for them to stay there, but knew that she'd never get an answer if she asked. He was careful with the money that he'd earned over those last several years, but had made obvious gestures demonstrating that he wasn't afraid to spend it, either.

She threaded her fingers through his as they walked into the lobby, locking her jaw to prevent a gasp of shock from escaping past her lips. A marvelous, glass chandelier dominated the center of the room, its rainbow light bouncing off the gleaming tiled floors. Her eyes were roving left and right, but Dave appeared unfazed, fighting back yawns and digging in the pocket of his baggy sweatpants for his wallet.

Reagan looked at his attire, then back at her own. Their clothes didn't match the interior of the hotel. Truthfully, they stuck out amongst the other milling guests, Reagan in her blue jeans that tattered at the ankle and Dave in his sweats and black hoodie. He must have been used to it, though, looking like he'd just rolled out of bed upon entering these kinds of expensive hotels. Touring with Nirvana had given him plenty of experience with that.

She idled behind him while he checked into their room, keeping her hands firmly grasped around the handle of her suitcase. It felt like a dream, one that she was surely bound to jar awake from any moment now. Only hours before, she'd been in Seattle, driving back from the airport with Dave in the passenger seat. She'd been surrounded by the comforting scenery of white-capped mountains in the distance and spattered rain drizzle, all the aspects of her version of normalcy.

Now, she was in a different state. An island, to be exact. Miles away from home and miles away from Gracie.

It was disorienting. In fact, she wouldn't have minded popping an aspirin into her mouth and washing it down with several gulps of water. The phenomenon of jumping between states, all in one day, was as unfamiliar to her as being in space. She'd done it before when going to see Dave across the country, but doing it in the spur of the moment left her reeling.

Of course, Dave wasn't bothered. He was accustomed to the feeling, being in one place for a brief moment and then being whisked off to another in a few hours time.

"Ready?" he asked, turning around and placing one hand on the small of her back.

No, she thought. I still need to come back down to earth, if you don't mind.

Hoping her face didn't give away what she was really thinking, she nodded quickly and allowed Dave to guide her towards the hotel elevators.

"You're quiet," he remarked. The comment was followed by another yawn and stretch of his arms as they stepped into the empty, gold-gilded elevator.

"I'm processing this," she laughed nervously.

"I'm no help. Sorry I'm so damn tired. It hit me as soon as we got on the plane."

"Well, you haven't taken a moment to stop and breathe. You've basically been living on a plane for the past twenty-four hours."

He nodded sleepily in agreement. "Yeah. I'll be better tomorrow. I promise we'll do something fun then. And I can take you to dinner tonight."

Reagan was about to politely tell him that dinner was out of the question and that he needed to rest before they did anything else, but her eyes settled on the row of shiny elevator buttons. The topmost button was glowing yellow from where Dave had pressed it.

"The top floor?" she questioned.

"Penthouse suite."

"Dave!" This time, she let herself gasp, opening and closing her mouth. "You . . . penthouse . . . what?!"

"Come on. You think I was going to put you up in some shack?"

"I don't think a normal hotel room constitutes a shack!"

"I don't want to hear it. I told you, this is a Christmas gift. We've been waiting to do this for a long time. I was trying to make it special."

The seconds passed exceptionally slow until finally, the elevator jerked to a stop and dinged, announcing their arrival to the suite. The doors parted and Dave got out, but Reagan didn't move, her feet firmly planted in place as she stared wide-eyes at him from behind her suitcase.

"Are you coming?" he asked, noticing the lack of squeak from her moving suitcase wheels.

She continued to look at him, her lips just as unmoving as the rest of her.

"The doors are going to close," Dave warned her. "Are you planning on spending the night in the elevator?"

Still, Reagan said nothing. She gripped her suitcase handle even tighter.

He sighed and wrung the suitcase out of her hands, pulling it alongside his and grabbing her arm gently as he tugged her out into the hallway.

"Do you know how difficult you make it for me to do nice things for you?" he muttered.

"Dave," Reagan said shakily, "I didn't even let you take me out on a dinner date for months after we first met. What do you expect?"

"Gee, I thought the wedding ring on your finger meant that I was entitled to treat you to whatever I wanted."

Automatically, Reagan clenched her hand into a fist, the diamond of her ring wiggled against her knuckle.

"I'm not used to it," she said. It was an honest answer. "Who else do we know that can afford a penthouse suite in Hawaii? Who do I know that can do that?"

"Considering that we know each other pretty well, I'd say me."

"This is crazy. If you wanted to give me a nice Christmas present, you could have given me a gift certificate to Taco Bell."

"Damn. I knew I loved you for a reason. There's nothing more romantic than a bean burrito."

"I'm serious. You didn't have to do this."

"You're right, I didn't," Dave said, flipping the suite's key card over to scan it against the door. "But I did. And you better get used to me doing it."

Reagan shot him a glowering look and he grinned in spite of her surliness. Once the door to the room was fully opened, he stepped aside, indicating that she go in first.

Again, Reagan didn't move. Dave was less patient this time around, scowling at her and giving her a sharp nudge forward.

"Go," he instructed. She mumbled an obscenity at him beneath her breath and walked inside the room, head down. When she looked up, another rush of undiluted shock washed over her.

The room was . . . enormous. There was a wood-paneled bar, stocked with glass rows of alcohol, and glittering granite countertops that bordered a small kitchen. Startlingly white damask furniture took up a portion of what Reagan guessed was a living room, complete with a television and glass table prepared with chilled champagne. Every element of the suite had been crafted with precise intention, placed there to offer guests a heightened feeling of royalty. Even the fluffy carpet beneath her feet left her wondering if it was even worth it to sleep in a bed, when clearly, the floor would provide just nearly as much comfort.

The crowning jewel of the suite had to be the windows, though. They stretched from the floor all the way up to the ceiling, looking out right into the vast turquoise waters of Waikiki Beach. Upon further inspection, Reagan saw that behind the windows was a balcony bigger than any standard patio, spotted with lush plants, an L-shaped outdoor chaise and . . .

Oh god.

There was a fucking pool. A pool.

"How much?"

She whirled around to face Dave, the spinning motion making her lightheaded. He smirked at her.

"How much did you spend?" she demanded again.

"None of your business."

"It is my business, I'm your —,"

Before she could utter another grievance, Dave scooped her into his arms bridal style. She shrieked and swatted at him.

"No! Answer the question!" she cried, wriggling in the cage-like hold that he folded her into.

He kicked open the ajar door that led into their bedroom with the toe of his sneaker, carrying Reagan right through the it before depositing her onto the bed in a heap. She scrambled into a sitting position, glaring at him furiously.

"I'm not telling you anything," he announced, grabbing the neck of his shirt and pulling it over his head.

"If you want to live another day, you are."

"We can talk about it tomorrow."

He collapsed onto the bed next to her, exhaling happily as he nuzzled his face into the ample swath of soft comforter. His eyes were closed before Reagan could shoot another penetrating glare into them.

"Dave," she said loudly, shaking his shoulder.

"Lay with me," he mumbled.

She folded her arms. "No."

"Just admit that you love me and we'll have a great vacation."

Reagan refused to give into him. She looked deliberately away, staring out into another pane of tall windows overlooking the beach. She couldn't tell what emotion was overpowering her more — awe over the sheer grandeur of the suite, or the irksome feeling that Dave thought that he had to go this far to prove that he loved her.

She was grateful. She would never be anything but when it came to the things that he did for her. But she also didn't want him thinking that this was what it took to make her happy. If they were going to spend the rest of their lives together, and she was certain that they would with all things considered, then he wouldn't be allowed to run his pockets dry for the sake of her happiness.

But on the other hand . . . it was pretty great. The last time they'd been in Hawaii, it hadn't been for the purpose of pleasure, and at the heart of Dave's actions was a generous heart.

And the bed looked so inviting, with its wave of sheets and snuggly warmth that called to her like a song. Reagan felt the sudden onslaught of tiredness from the plane ride all over again and she laid down, wriggling out of her pants and throwing them to the floor. Dave was already snoring by the time she flipped the covers over her body.

It was still light out, but that wasn't enough to keep her eyes from slipping closed as she curled closer to him, deciding that the best way to start the beginning of their vacation was to sleep next to him while dreaming of him, a two-in-one bonus that she couldn't pass up. It was better than wigging herself out over what it had cost him when truthfully, money was the least of their problems. He'd brought her there so she could enjoy herself, and him as well.

It took less than a minute for her to quickly doze off, her cheek pressed onto his chest.