MARCH, 1997, LOS ANGELES, CA

IT WAS AMAZING what rockstars could do, how much they could manage, in such a short span of time. Reagan considered that idea, not even in regards to the whopping touring and recording schedules of rockstars, but more so along the lines of the changes that Dave had helmed over the course of several months.

She walked slowly through their new living room, their new living room in their new house in Los Angeles of all places. She kept her arms soldered across her chest, almost afraid to touch anything. If she left her mark on any of the furniture, then the place would really become home. It would be real.

Reagan wasn't ready for it to be real. She would have never admitted that to Dave, but in the privacy of her mind, she was pacing herself. Since she'd first relented in their moving-to-California debate in December, Dave had sprung into action.

In the midst of recording a new album for the Foo Fighters, he'd somehow found them a house in the Valley, arranged for Reagan to start working at Geffen's headquarters in Santa Monica, and moved her and Gracie there with such speed that it'd been breathtaking. Their Seattle home was gone, left to the reserve of their memories, and Reagan's little office at DGC had been reduced to an empty shell.

There had not even been time for anyone in Reagan's life to protest. It was a blur, recalling how distraught Kate and Chris had been when she'd confessed that alongside Dave, she was moving. She barely even remembered telling Kimberly and Richard, having switched herself onto autopilot for the ordeal, but she could summon a vague recall of Kimberly's melodramatic hysteria over being separated from her granddaughter.

Richard had, of course, been as supportive as he usually was, though their last interaction before Reagan had packed up for L.A. was fuzzy. She was sure that her father had wished her luck, but in her eyes, there was nothing lucky about where she was going.

The sacrifice she'd made was becoming more and more poignant. Reagan had slowly realized that the small knot of people she'd relied on to carry her through Dave's absences on tour were miles away now, only able to be reached by phone call. She and Gracie would be alone in this big, new house, with its high ceilings and many windows that looked out to an unfamiliar landscape.

She felt like a goldfish in a bowl. No matter where she turned, she was bumping into glass, trapped to face her own demise while everyone else looked on.

The idea of a country house in Virginia with a sprawling front yard and swaying pine trees had never seemed as far away as it did now, racing in the opposite direction of the tunnel that was Reagan's life.

Whatever world she'd lived in in Washington was in the past, shelved deep within in it. The idea of who she'd been even seemed murky. The girl who'd once stared back at her in the mirror, wearing a Wilson's Auto Shop vest and refusing to trim her bangs, was a distant memory. That girl would have never willingly picked up her life and dumped it in the city of Los Angeles.

Reagan took a deep breath. Remember the reason why, she commanded herself.

Dave. She wanted to be with Dave and she certainly wanted Gracie to be with her father.

Some time in January of that year, Dave had timidly asked Reagan if he ought to have gotten his own place in Los Angeles. She could have stayed in Seattle, he said, with Gracie and everything else she'd ever known. His line of work was inevitably directing him towards the Golden State. If Reagan wanted to keep the house in Washington, seeing him only when he could manage to travel back up to her and Gracie, he'd understand.

The fact that he'd suggested it hadn't offended her, but the whole idea of it had. She couldn't imagine herself and Dave living separately. The notion reminded her of divorce, and that word alone made her nauseous. She knew that wasn't what he'd been getting at. He was desperate to make her comfortable, and she appreciated the effort, but any plan that didn't involve them remaining a unit was out of the question.

Gracie needed Dave. Not only did she adore him more than any adult figure in her life, but he was her father. He needed to be around as much as possible, not a state away, while she continued to grow. If Reagan had stayed in Seattle, relying on whatever sporadic visits that Dave would have managed, she would have surrendered to watching their child blossom alone.

As if on cue, Gracie tore through the living room in a full sprint, nearly knocking Reagan over in the process. Her arms with overflowing with stuffed animals.

"Gracie!" Reagan spluttered, catching herself on the back of the couch with one hand.

Gracie wheeled around, her long brown hair whipping in sync with her head. Her blue eyes, wide and bright, were full of excitement.

"Mommy," she said, "my animals have their own room!"

Reagan didn't fight the smile that twitched to light on her face.

"The play room?" she offered. Dave hadn't been kidding when he'd asserted that they needed 'more space.'

"Their room," Gracie corrected. She struggled to point towards one of the brown boxes in the hall that contained the rest of her plush toys. A teddy bear slipped from the crook of her elbow.

"Oh, okay," Reagan agreed. "I guess with as many as you have, they should have a room to themselves."

Gracie nodded eagerly. "That's what Daddy said!"

Picking up her teddy bear, she zoomed after the rest of her animals and left Reagan grinning. It was high time that she and Dave got Gracie a real pet of her own.

She quietly followed after Gracie and came upon her pushing at the box of toys, moving in the direction of the play room. Reagan swiftly bent down and collected the box into her arms.

"I'll carry them in," she said.

Gracie led the way, her tiny bare feet slapping against the tile. In the play room, she directed Reagan where to set the box, changing her mind several times before deciding she could do it on her own.

"You sure you don't want help?" Reagan asked. She held up a stuffed monkey that Gracie had had since birth, its stuffing threatening to break through its seams. "Bananas should be put somewhere special."

Gracie shook her head. "No, I can do it. I want to show Daddy when he gets home."

Reagan laughed under her breath. She sincerely hoped that Dave was aware of the pedestal of worship that Gracie had put him on.

As she wandered out of the play room, leaving Gracie to her own devices, she silently marveled at how well her daughter was adjusting to the change. Although Gracie was only five, having just celebrated her birthday, she'd welcomed the move to Los Angeles and viewed it strictly through her childlike eyes, assured that it was all one big adventure. The only cautious question she'd asked in the beginning was if whether or not Mommy and Daddy would be staying with her.

Of course we are, baby, Reagan had answered. That had been the only reassurance needed. Gracie had readily helped pack her childhood bedroom and waved goodbye to her grandparents without second thought.

If Reagan was right and they were living in a goldfish bowl, then Gracie's bowl was definitely of a bigger size.

She came upon the next room in the hall, the properly deemed 'music room,' where Dave had stored all of their instruments. It was still cluttered from the move, but in the center sat Reagan's drum set, proudly reassembled by Dave.

Reagan leaned against the doorway, surveying the room. It was strange enough to see their things in the new house, but their instruments being in this foreign place was stranger. She could see guitars that Dave had owned since she'd met him propped against the wall, looking completely out of place in comparison to their time of being cooped up in Kurt's old apartment. They even looked a little sad, displayed next to the shiny new Les Pauls Dave had acquired.

Reagan squeezed her arms tight around her midsection. She could get through this. She could get through anything. She'd scuffled through some of the worst things imaginable and come out alright, if not a little bruised.

Her upbringing under Kimberly's roof. Slaving away at a job she'd never wanted as a teenager. Being public enemy number one of Courtney Love. Kurt's death.

Watching her husband rise to stardom for a second time, though this second chance felt distinctly different from the first.

Somewhere in her gut, Reagan knew that Dave's feat with the Foo Fighters was going to be nothing like whatever had happened in nineteen-ninety-one with Nirvana.

It was a new year, bordering on a whole new millennium, and she felt in her soul that her husband was about to be more famous than he'd ever been before.

The landline started ringing from the living room. Flinching at the noise, Reagan hurried to pick it up, nearly flopping onto the couch as she grabbed the phone but changing her mind at the last minute. She wasn't calm enough to lounge quite yet.

"Hello?" she said into the receiver.

Kate's voice filled her ear. "How's the City of Angels so far?"

Reagan let out a weak laugh. "How's law school?"

"I asked my question first."

"Can't you already guess how I feel?"

"I thought you were going into this with optimism."

Sighing, Reagan started to walk in tight circles, keeping one arm locked around her torso.

"I am," she said. "It's just . . . a lot still. I'm trying to get used to it."

"Do you miss me?" Kate asked teasingly. Her voice was playful, but Reagan could tell there was a sadness behind it.

"So much. I hate that I can't see you unless it's by plane."

"The drive can't be all that bad."

"Try a little over a thousand miles."

"I'll fly there," Kate said reassuringly. "As soon as I get a break from school, I'm coming to visit. I promise."

"I hope 'as soon' means really soon. Dave's going to start touring again in April."

"How's he doing? Is he okay?"

Bless Kate, Reagan thought. Her sister had already gotten the fill in on all the drama that had transpired so far that year, namely that surrounding the Foo Fighters' new album and William.

Kate couldn't have possibly felt the depth of all the discord that had come from the recording, but she'd understood how detrimental it had been when William had walked out. She'd understood even more when Reagan had told her that Pat was wanting to leave too, leaving Dave basically destitute in terms of a band.

"He's fine," Reagan said. Suddenly, she heard the front door opening. "Speak of the devil. He just walked in."

"Call me back tonight," Kate insisted.

"I will."

Reagan hung up the phone as Dave walked in, turning the corner with a big grin on his face. Reagan was used to seeing that smile, but considering that Dave was returning home from dealing with Foo Fighters business, she was surprised he was wearing it then.

"He-," Reagan began, reaching for him, but Dave beat her to it. He grabbed her and yanked her to his chest, kissing her so hard that she stopped breathing. The new beard he was sporting was scratchy against her chin and since he'd lopped off his hair again, there was nothing for her to tangle her fingers into. When he released her, he was still grinning.

"Hello to you too," she stuttered, trailing a fingertip over her bottom lip.

"Come on. There's someone I want you to meet," Dave replied, taking her hand.

Reagan made a face. "Now? Gracie's going to town on her play room and I still need to organize the stuff in the kitchen . . ."

"Yes, now. It's important. Grab Gracie and we'll get her in the car."

"Um," Reagan said, tripping over her feet as Dave dragged her, "can I ask where we're going?"

"Lunch," Dave said, as if the answer was obvious.

"Daddy!"

Gracie's screech echoed from down the hallway as she charged Dave. He squatted down just in time to catch her in his arms, swinging her around once as she giggled.

Reagan looked on, her forehead wrinkling with confusion.

"Did I miss something?" she asked. "Did something happen? Did we win the lottery?"

Kissing Gracie's forehead, Dave flashed her another toothy smile.

"Yes," he said. "Yes we fucking did."

_____________

"So, I'm meeting the new drummer?"

Balancing Gracie on her hip, Reagan pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, looking at Dave. The sun was beating down brightly onto the outdoor patio of the restaurant they were at. In typical L.A. fashion, everyone was out and the restaurant was packed. If there was one glaring thing that she hadn't gotten used to yet in California, it was the constant sunshine. It was also the fact that Dave could go out in public without being repetitively approached by fans — celebrities were a dime a dozen there.

"That you are," Dave returned cheerfully. His upbeat mood hadn't waned since they'd left the house. He'd spent the whole drive gushing about his new addition to the band, insisting that Reagan knew who it was.

She didn't. Even if she did, her brain had been too overloaded with other concerns to recall the name or face that Dave had given. He'd gawked when she still couldn't confirm the new drummer's identity after he name dropped Alanis Morissette.

"You love Alanis," he'd said.

"I've been a little too busy to remember who her drummer was," had been Reagan's eye-rolled response.

"It's funny," she said, scanning the sea of heads seated at tables. "I thought you were the new drummer for the Foo Fighters."

"Hilarious," Dave shot back sarcastically. He laid one arm around Reagan's waist, cradling her and Gracie both to his side, before bouncing upwards on the balls of his feet.

"There," he exclaimed, pointing ahead. "He's right over there."

Reagan followed Dave's finger until her eyes came to rest on the epitome of what she perceived to be a blonde, surfer dude. In fact, she was still processing the shock of white-blonde hair on his head when Dave started pulling her in the direction of the table.

The new drummer sat alone, sunglasses over his eyes and a lit cigarette in his hand. He sat slightly slouched in his chair, wearing an outfit that consisted of a plain blue t-shirt and baggy pants that revealed skinny legs. Once she got over how stereotypically Californian he looked, Reagan sensed a musician bred from the same stock as Dave sitting in front of her.

He had the same laidback aura rippling around him, the same nondescript way of dressing that Dave had adopted long ago. There was no telltale signs of nerves or uncertainty rolling off of him; he looked entirely content.

As she and Dave walked up to the table, Reagan noticed patches of beard scruff on the drummer's face, similar to the look Dave had been working on.

"Hey man," Dave greeted enthusiastically, his voice high and excited, like he was reuniting with a friend he hadn't seen in years. Much to Reagan's surprise, the new drummer responded identically.

He got up out of his chair, a megawatt smile of teeth blinding them all in the sun as he clasped his hand with Dave's and pulled him into a hug.

"What's it been, a whole ass hour?" the new drummer joked.

The exchange occurred in less than thirty seconds, but Reagan understood promptly what she was witnessing.

Oh, she thought, trying not raise her eyebrows. OH.

Either she knew Dave as well as she thought she did, or she was simply good at reading people. Regardless, she was immediately aware of what kind of relationship Dave was embarking on with this new member of the band.

He wasn't going to be just the drummer — he was obviously, painfully obviously, Dave's new best friend.

"Got someone important for you to meet," Dave grinned, stepping aside and gesturing to Reagan. "You're not in the band until, you know, she approves."

"Oh, man," the new drummer laughed. He seemed a little nervous now, but it was endearing the way he wore the feeling. The smile on his face made him so instantly likable that Reagan smiled widely back.

"Taylor, this is my wife, Reagan, and my daughter Gracie. Reags, this is Taylor Hawkins."

Taylor raised his sunglasses back into his mop of hair, holding one suntanned hand out. Reagan took it.

"It's nice to meet you," he said. "I've heard a lot about you."

Reagan had contrarily not heard a lot about him, but funnily enough, she felt that she hadn't needed to. Dave had obviously planned it this way. The charismatic, charming man in front of her was someone who deserved to be introduced in person. Words could obviously not do him justice and Reagan recognized that.

Dave had been saving this meeting, anticipating it with the excitement of a child. He had reserved Reagan's first wind of knowledge about Taylor to happen on the day she met him in person, and she knew it was because it mattered a lot to Dave.

Taylor clearly mattered a lot to Dave.

"It's so good to meet you," she smiled.

Taylor looked to Gracie and held out his hand again, his smile softening.

"And it's very nice to meet you," he said. Gracie, never one to be shy, beamed and clasped her small fingers around Taylor's. Reagan presumed that he didn't have any children of his own, but he appeared to be a natural with Gracie nonetheless.

"The most important person to meet," Taylor laughed, side-eyeing Dave as he nodded at Gracie.

"Dude, you thought I meant you needed Reagan's approval to join the band? I was talking about Gracie."

Taylor and Dave smirked through their laughter while Reagan mockingly rolled her eyes, though she continued to smile. It was hard not to.

She hadn't expected it to be this easy with a stranger. She'd imagined the meeting with Dave's new drummer to be how meetings with strangers always went. Formal, polite and controlled. Yet, she was startlingly comfortable already around Taylor and she couldn't ignore the happiness she felt at seeing Dave so overjoyed with his choice.

As they sat down and Taylor put out his cigarette, he turned to Reagan. His voice was pleasant and warm, warmer than the California sun beaming down on them.

"So you're a drummer, too?" he asked conversationally.

"I am," Reagan said, smoothing a napkin into Gracie's lap. "Only on the side, though."

"So that's the reason Dave hired me," Taylor snickered. "He couldn't get you."

"He needed a better drummer than me, trust me on that. Apparently you fit the bill, though."

"You haven't heard me play." Taylor's retort was smooth, almost coy, as he leaned back in his chair and folded his hands together on his chest.

"I don't need to. His standards are insane," Reagan replied.

Dave scoffed but Taylor laughed, and Reagan felt pleased to be a key contributor to their conversation, making them giggle in spite of themselves.

"You'll hear him play soon," Dave said. "That cute little red head of yours is going to be blown."

"Is that so?" Reagan asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Taylor was looking away, dismissing Dave's praise with an eye roll, but Dave looked dead serious as he picked up a perspiring glass of water and took a swig.

"I'm not kidding," he said, locking his eyes pointedly with Reagan's. "You know how I said we won the lottery? Well, there's the prize. Sitting right there next to you."

Reagan glanced at Taylor, who was still smiling with the ease of someone who didn't fully believe what was being said, but his blasé reaction to Dave's praise was one-sided.

She fully believed Dave when he said Taylor was the real deal. Why wouldn't she, when Dave's track record showed that he prized drummers most of all?

a/n:
I feel like I could have done this chapter a lot more justice. It was written on my phone in the span of an hour, but I guess the timing to introduce Taylor into this story just felt right. I'm a little nervous to post this, as writing Taylor has been my biggest block since he passed, but I also can't write this story without him. It was nice to look back on old interviews between him and Dave, knowing that I'd get to portray their friendship in my own words. I know we're all still missing Taylor horribly, I hope you guys enjoy this update and that it brings you even the smallest bit of peace 🤍