OCTOBER 2nd, 1997, LOS ANGELES, CA

"SO, ARE YOU with child?" came Dave's anxious, crackling voice from over the phone. He sounded jumpy and Reagan sensed that it had little to do with his show in D.C. that night.

She sat on the edge of her desk, looking out the windows of her office at the busy streets of Santa Monica below. She sighed, crossing her ankles and picking up a pen to twirl between her fingers.

"I don't think it's as simple as that," she said.

Dave's hopefulness deflated. "No baby?"

"No baby," Reagan confirmed. She'd gotten her period the day prior much to her disappointment.

"Damn," he swore, sounding like he'd lost a bet rather than dropped the ball on conceiving with her. "I thought my aim was pretty good."

"I hate to break it to you, but I don't think performance factor has anything to do with it."

"Neither do I, but think about it. We fucked for like, ten days straight."

"That's putting it bluntly," she said as heat blossomed in the apples of her cheeks.

"Are you kidding? That's putting it lightly. My dick was hanging on by a thread."

It was unavoidable for Reagan to laugh. "Thanks for putting that image in my head."

"That one was for free," Dave said. She could hear him grinning through the receiver. "The next one will cost you."

"It's going to take some time," she said slowly, attempting to be rational. Not everyone got pregnant overnight.

"Not with my champion sperm. Hey, did you tell Kate yet?"

Ignoring his first remark, Reagan guilty pushed herself off her desk and grabbed the cradle to her office phone, walking it with her to the window.

"No," she admitted. "I don't want anyone to know until it happens."

"Yeah, that's probably for the best. Your mom is going to be a real joy to tell," Dave agreed.

Kimberly aside, thinking about her family made Reagan's stomach ache. It had only been a few days since she'd last phoned Kate, but she'd let the weeks irresponsibly stretch on since she'd last talked to Robbie or the twins. Despite being so young, they'd proven to have a keen understanding of just how tangled her adult life could be, but still. She really did miss them.

She missed Chris, too. They'd been talking about Chris venturing down to L.A. for months, but nothing had so far come of it. Chris was apparently busy bartending in Olympia.

"Maybe we'll fly out to see them," Reagan said tentatively. "If it happens."

"Of course we will. We'll visit my mom, too. She's gonna' freak."

"I miss you."

Reagan spoke the words without having planned to say them. They rolled off her tongue, coaxed out of her by the sound of his voice.

"I miss you too, baby," Dave said tenderly. He paused, allowing Reagan to listen to the faint sound of his breathing, before he spoke again.

"Hey," he said, "do you think you could come see us play? We're going to be in Fargo and Omaha the weekend of the twenty-fourth. That's enough time for you to make some arrangements."

The offer was incredibly enticing. "What about Gracie?" Reagan asked. "Who would watch her?"

"Bring her with you."

"Dave, she's got school."

"No, it could totally work. Fly out that Friday to North Dakota after you grab her from school. You can ride down to Omaha with me the next day, and then you can both fly back that night. You won't miss work, and she won't miss school."

"Brilliant," she said with a note of sarcasm. "We'll just hitch up and join you on the road. And I don't know if they'll let me away from the office. Someone is always calling, even on the weekends."

The pool of artists that Reagan was working with had grown exponentially since she'd been promoted to Geffen's headquarters. Either the company really liked Dave, or they had placed too much faith in her. No longer was she solely surrounded by the likes of aspiring garage bands. Nowadays, she helped sign artists from every genre, increasing her workload by what felt like a ton. Most came to her from different labels, either from Geffen's swallowing of their lesser counterparts or because the band was undergoing a change of heart.

"They can wait," Dave said. "I need you more than Lisa Loeb does."

Reagan smiled as she stared out the window, hooking her finger around the accordion blinds. She didn't mind the thought of joining Dave, even if it did mean crossing the country to visit him. Gracie being able to tag along made it even better.

It would be a weekend trip, something for them to look forward to in the coming days. A much-needed reprieve from the weeks of missing him that she'd already endured.

"Okay," she agreed. "It could work. But you're buying the plane tickets."

"Baby," Dave started, giving away that familiar grin through the sound of his voice, "I already bought them two days ago."

______________

Reagan held tight to Gracie's hand, navigating the backstage area of Fargo, North Dakota's Civic Center. The usual lineup of roadies that she was used to seeing bustled around her, carrying amps and endless circles of cords. It was still an hour until show time, but preparation was underway with Reagan and Gracie smack dab in the middle of it.

Reagan glanced down at her daughter, who was practically vibrating with excitement. It wasn't often that she got to go to Dave's shows but she was well aware of what they entailed. She was getting to see her daddy 'work.'

It was mildly impressive that Gracie hadn't keeled over with exhaustion yet. She'd gone to school that morning and shortly after she'd been released, Reagan had been hauling her onto a plane. But Gracie was relentless in her determination to stay awake, drinking in the mystifying first-time experience of being backstage with wide eyes.

She would sleep well that night.

"C'mere," Reagan said, squatting down to scoop Gracie into her arms. "You're gonna' get run over back here." On cue, another roadie barreled past, gripping the neck of a guitar in his hand.

"Mommy, we match," Gracie exclaimed. She picked up the backstage pass hanging from around Reagan's neck, holding it up to her own.

"Hey," Dave said, appearing out of thin air from behind. He was out of breath, suggesting that he'd been running around in hot pursuit of them. "You guys okay?"

He tucked an arm around them both and Reagan melded into his side. He hadn't been able to pick them up from the airport that afternoon and their ultimate reunion, having only occurred an hour prior, was still fresh on her mind.

"We're great," she said. "Gracie's having the time of her life. I think her new dream job is being a roadie."

"It's crazy back here right now," Dave said, surveying the premise with weary eyes. "We should go on the bus."

Taylor walked up to the trio, donning a pair of sunglasses that shielded his eyes. A cigarette dangled from his mouth and he spoke around it, flicking his flyaway blonde hairs away from his forehead.

"Got a light?" he asked Dave.

"Uncle T!" Gracie squealed. She wriggled on Reagan's waist, shimmying her way back down to the ground as she flung her arms around Taylor. He jumped, looking down in surprise.

In a twist of fate, Taylor had become Gracie's favorite of all Dave's band mates. It made sense to Reagan, considering that Taylor had the most organic relationship with her, content to delve into her five-year-old brain and listen to her talk in earnest. During the short time that Gracie had known him, she'd made it her prerogative to attach herself to his side whenever he was around.

"Hey Peanut," Taylor greeted, using the nickname for Gracie that he'd picked up on from Dave. "Funny seeing you here."

"Uncle T, Uncle T, Uncle T," Gracie sang, wringing the hem of Taylor's t-shirt into her fists. "Take me to the drums. Pleeeeeeease!"

Dave flashed Taylor a dirty look. "She's got a drummer for a father standing right here and she's asking you that?"

Taylor shrugged in his typical laidback demeanor, musing Gracie's hair and pushing his sunglasses up. "I dunno', man. She just likes my drumming better."

Holding a smile back with her teeth snagged on her bottom lip, Reagan gently touched Gracie's shoulder.

"Gracie, Uncle T is a little busy."

Taylor's mouth fell open to speak, but he hesitated. First, he looked at Reagan, but his eyes quickly flickered over to Dave and a look passed between them. It was a look that friends, namely male best friends, had seemed to perfect the best.

"Uh, that's okay," Taylor said. He wound Gracie's hands into his. "I can take her for a bit. If that's okay with you, Reagan."

Gracie jumped up and down in triumph, but Reagan proceeded cautiously.

"Are you sure? I don't mind, but I know it's an hour until things get started . . ."

"Nah, I'm fine with it. I can entertain her for a few. You guys should uh . . . be alone."

When he said it, he snickered, putting his cigarette back between his teeth and looking to Dave as he laughed. He twirled Gracie around in a full circle, leading her with his hand, and guided her off.

"What did you tell him?" Reagan demanded, spinning on her heels.

Dave held his hands up. "I didn't tell him anything. He's ready to gain some fatherly skills."

She narrowed her eyes. "While I think it's safe to say that he'll make a great dad someday, you and I both know he's not itching for a kid any time soon."

"Well," Dave drawled, "I might have talked to him. You know, casual stuff. About how I spent our break last month back in California."

"You didn't," Reagan groaned, mortified.

"Babe, he already knew. He basically made the decision with us. Remember?"

She did remember, having almost choked on the laughter she'd fought back when Taylor had showed up to their house directly after they'd decided to test their luck getting pregnant. That had been funny, but it was harder to find the humor in Dave discussing the details of their sexual exploits.

It was predictable of him though, especially where Taylor was involved.

"Come on," Dave said, taking Reagan's hand. "I'll show you around the tour bus."

"You already showed me the tour bus," she said coarsely.

"Well, I'll show you again. You haven't seen the water pressure in the sink, yet. It's incredible. My hands are so fucking soft."

"Yeah? Are we also going to weigh in on the craftsmanship of the cabinets?"

"Absolutely," he encouraged, trailing on as he walked with Reagan to the bus. "I'll show you the kitchen glassware, too. Pretty sure it was made in Germany."

"Wow," she enthused mockingly. "Tell me more."

Arriving at the Foo Fighters' tour bus, Dave popped the latched on the door and walked backwards up the stairs.

"The kitchen table is impeccable," he continued, flashing a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure that they were alone as he led Reagan inside. He leaned past her, nearing his face to hers, as he pulled the bus's door shut. "There's so much room for . . . sitting."

His breath was on her face, minty from another recently chewed piece of gum, and it was completely instinctive for Reagan when she slid her hands around his waist.

"What else?" she murmured. Her lips barely touched his as they brushed past.

"Well," Dave said, fixing his hands around her rib cage, "the couch is divine."

"Really? Not any of the beds?"

He was pushing her down the slender walkway of the bus, into the boxy little area that served as a living room. Reagan's knees backed into the couch and she sat down as Dave stood in front of her, sneaking his hands over the front of her long-sleeved top.

"Believe it or not, the couch is roomier," he replied. He raised his thumb to her mouth, pushing it past her lips gently and pressing the tip of it to her tongue. A needy warmth tingled up her legs.

"Where is everyone, then? If not here to enjoy the couch?" she asked against the pad of his thumb.

"Who knows? Who cares?"

He ducked down to kiss her, intensifying the pressure of his mouth on hers when she released a small noise of appreciation. He pushed her back into the couch, but Reagan grabbed him by the shoulders and deftly changed their positions. Falling into the spot where she'd just been, she straddled his lap.

His eyes gave away his startle, but he was grinning.

"See?" he said. "You're appreciating the couch the way it was meant to be appreciated."

She dipped her hand between them, pressing her palm to the front of his cargo shorts. His smile vanished, his face suddenly serious.

"Are you pulling all this shit because you're a nymphomaniac?" she whispered into his ear, "or because you still want to get me pregnant?"

"Can't it be both?"

Fisting her hair into his hands, Dave dragged Reagan's mouth back to his. She rose up in his lap, eliminating the spare space between them as she squeezed her thighs around him. His hand was disappearing up the skirt that she'd coincidentally elected to wear that night.

Reagan undid his shorts, pulling them down just enough to give her an appropriate range of access. Dave was pulling on her underwear, extracting them past her legs and helping her awkwardly out of them. She was laughing as he threw them to the floor.

"See how good I am at that?" he breathed.

"Shouldn't I be asking where you got the practice?"

"You're looking at it."

Placing her hand between them, Reagan lowered herself slowly onto him, breathing in sharply.

"Reagan . . . fuck," Dave said through his teeth, driving his fingers hard into her waist. She rocked in his lap, using her knees to guide her pace. He protested, taking control of her hips and moving her harder against him. Reagan clung to his shoulders, holding herself steady.

"This is embarrassing," Dave said, barely getting the words out through a deep inhale, "but I'm fucking close."

Reagan ignored him, fixing her grip on his chin and bringing his lips to hers.

"Reagan," he gasped as she moved faster, "baby, wait-,"

She wasn't inclined to listen to him when she felt as close to turning inside out as he did. Pressure rose in her stomach, flexing in time with each roll of her hips, and she hung her head back in a daze of pleasure.

Dave spasmed beneath her, locking her in place and lifting himself up off the couch with a final thrust. He was still gasping as she pressed her weight down again, harder, and stars exploded behind her eyes.

It was no use muffling the sounds she made but Reagan buried her face in his neck anyway, mimicking his gasps as her body shuddered. He held her there, raking his hands up and down her back while she settled.

"Jesus," she breathed.

"I told you it was a nice couch."

They were interrupted by the tour bus door flying open. Nate bounded up the steps and stuck his head in, unfazed when he spied Reagan straddling Dave's lap.

"At least we know why the tour bus was rocking," he said. "I'll tell everyone it wasn't from any faulty wheel hubs."

Dave pinned Reagan down, hiding the fact that his pants were around his thighs and her skirt was partially hiked up.

"A moment?" he asked Nate rigidly.

"Thirty seconds," Nate shot back. "The promoter's asking for you." He winked at Reagan and she turned away, wanting to bury her face into the couch cushions.

After the bus's door slammed shut, she jumped away from Dave's lap and grabbed her underwear off the door, hastily stepping back into them.

"If you ever had any doubts about being close to all of them, you shouldn't now," she muttered.

Dave pulled his cargo shorts back into place and stood up, not in the least bit embarrassed.

"I can say with confidence that they've all seen worse," he assured her. Before she could back away to stew in her humiliation, he kissed her softly.

"I'll go talk to the promoter and then I'll be right back."

"Maybe you should find Gracie, too. Relieve Taylor of babysitting duty and all that."

"Done deal."

He walked blissfully away from her towards the door, but paused as he trotted down the steps.

"Reagan?" he called out.

She looked up at him from smoothing her skirt down. "Yeah?"

Dave grinned. "I love you."

_____________

NOVEMBER 4th, 1997, LOS ANGELES, CA

It had been a good weekend of visiting him. The Foo Fighters had played two well-received shows in Fargo and Omaha, living up to the expectations of both the crowd and Reagan. She'd had fun watching Dave from the wings of the stage, but no one had had as much fun as Gracie. With a pair of protective ear muffs on, she'd danced along to every song, cheering for her daddy and basking in his adoration every time that he jogged over to her, slinging his guitar to the side to give her a kiss.

It had only lasted two days, but it hadn't been as headache-inducing as Reagan had thought it would be. The travel on the road from Fargo to Omaha hadn't bothered her, and Gracie had spent the majority of it catching up on much-needed sleep. The only difficult part of the entire weekend had been that Saturday night, when they'd bid Dave goodbye and left for the airport with a designated driver.

There had been some tears out of Gracie as she'd given Dave one last hug, but Reagan had spent the flight back to L.A. assuring her that they would do it again. Before the time came in which Dave took his promised hiatus, she would bring their daughter back to another show to see him play.

Nearly two months had passed since then and compared to her most recent track record, they'd been relatively good months for Reagan. She'd felt deep down in her gut that things were going to improve for her and Dave both. She was certain of it.

But she was never more certain than when she woke up on the morning of the fourth of December.

Dave was, serendipitously, in Seattle performing at the Paramount that night. It seemed destined that Reagan would telephone him from her office that morning with her news while he was in the city that had played such a solid role in their relationship. Maybe it was superstition, but the timing felt destined to be that way.

Listening to the dial tone impatiently, Franz happened to pick up on the fourth ring, passing the phone to Dave once he heard Reagan on the line.

"Reags," he said, sounding relieved that it was her. "Hey, baby."

Reagan drummed her fingers on her desk. Her resolve to remain calm and collected was already beginning to falter. The sheer joy that she felt was too big to be contained.

"Hi," she said evenly.

"Are you at work?"

"Uh-huh."

"Bored?" he teased her. "Is that why you're calling?"

"No, actually. That's not why." She took a deep breath, smiling to herself. "I took a pregnancy test."

Dave's reply came several beats late. "You did?"

"Yes."

She'd taken it that morning. Her hopes hadn't been high, although her period was three days late. It'd seemed too early to tell, but Reagan had proceeded with the test anyway, telling herself that they couldn't have possibly been that lucky. Not so soon after they'd decided.

"And?" he pressed nervously.

"And we're having a baby," she said, her smile finally breaking out fully across her face.

Again, Dave's reply was stalled.

"Wait . . . we are?"

"Yeah. We are."

His following whoops over the phone were so loud that Reagan had to lower the receiver away from her ear.

a/n:
You know, I'm not sure Reagan could have possibly found out so soon that she was pregnant after her and Dave's little ~tryst~ in October (I know nothing about pregnancy and I don't intend to know anything any time soon) but damn it, I'm trying adhere to a timeline here. I will defy biology to have my way. Also, much thanks for everyone still continuing to read!