[ A/N: I just want to disclose in advance that this chapter involves Taylor's overdose in 2001. It was incredibly difficult to write, but I will say that the plot line of this chapter had been planned since I first conceived the story in 2018. I usually know how my stories will end when I begin writing them, and considering that OOTR was published in 2018, I had intended on including this a long time ago. I went back and forth for awhile on whether or not it was acceptable to write, but being that it WAS indeed such a momentous time in Dave's life, I didn't want to skim over it. I tried to keep it as light as possible on the details concerning Taylor out of respect for him and his family. While I never wanted for anything in this chapter to come off as careless, it may seem that I don't focus as much on how horribly painful this time was for Dave. I even wrote Reagan as not quite emphasizing the severity of it, but again, this is because Taylor's death is still extremely fresh and I personally was unable to emotionally withstand going into specifics on this, nor could I have condoned it. Please know that it is completely understandable if you want to skip this chapter. Thanks 🤍 ]

AUGUST, 2001, LONDON, ENGLAND

DAVE BERATED HIMSELF for not knowing. As he sat in his London hotel room on the edge of his bed repeatedly swallowing just to get some moisture into his mouth, he mentally calculated a long list of regrets in which he'd majorly dropped the ball.

Taylor was awake. That was what mattered most. Nothing could possibly describe the relief that had ballooned up inside of Dave when his best friend had opened his eyes in that fucking hospital room. He'd never thought they'd open again.

He blamed himself for not seeing it. Each reminder that he'd been with Taylor the most out of anyone, and that he'd been the one to miss how detrimental the constant partying had become, was a rock solid punch to the gut.

The downfall had come at a time when he'd thought he was getting better. He was finally happy, more himself than he'd been since April. And then his best fucking friend had ended up in a coma, bed-ridden in a foreign city with no guarantee of ever waking up.

He was up now. Finally. Taylor waking up had freed Dave from the shackles he'd put himself in for the last two weeks. He'd been deep in the process of mourning the death of the closest thing to a brother that he'd ever had, but the flames of that hell had been put out.

Now all there was left to do was to breathe. Dave struggled with that the most as he sat in his quiet hotel room, staring at the carpet beneath his feet and feeling every breath come up strangled through his throat.

The rollercoaster that he'd been on for those last two weeks had been worse than just nauseating. It had rearranged his insides and he wasn't sure where anything vital was anymore. His lungs felt snagged somewhere in his lower stomach and his heart was missing entirely. That ride had just about killed him and although he knew there would be long days to follow, days spent coming to terms with nearly losing Taylor, he wanted it all to go away.

He wanted to reverse time and go back to before the overdose. Back to when things had at least held a shimmer of perfect reality to them.

Dave turned his cellphone over in his hand, gripping it tightly. He hadn't let go of it since he'd gotten back to the hotel. After Taylor had woken up, he'd fielded what  had felt like a hundred calls from people, wanting to know the circumstances in which his drummer had amazingly pulled through.

He wanted to tell them. He wanted to share in their rejoice. He assumed that he eventually would, but the shock of what had transpired had kept him relatively frozen for the time being.

He glanced down at his phone. Reagan didn't know yet. She would either find out from him or a news outlet that Taylor was okay, but he preferred that it come from him. She'd want it that way.

Dave hadn't felt bad when he'd gone to her after Taylor slipped under. Her voice had been the only one he'd wanted to hear and she'd allowed him to lean on her when he'd needed her most. Their phone bills had no doubt shot through the roof over those last two weeks, but she'd been there. Even as she'd been dealing with all of her own troubles, she'd been there.

A part of him had expected something to come out of it. He'd waited for a heavier sort of longing that would stem from talking to her so much again and being comforted by her, but it'd been rather even-keeled. He'd conditioned himself, almost too well, to believe that nothing would ever happen between them again. She was just a friend, one of his best friends, and she understood the circumstances.

After all, it'd been Reagan at his side when Kurt died. The experience with Taylor was admittedly ten times more distressing in ways he couldn't share with just anyone, but her empathy meant all the same to him.

He'd come to discover a newfound respect for Reagan after all those phone calls exchanged between London and L.A. Richard had been gradually getting worse as expected and Kate was five months pregnant without her big sister in Olympia to support her, but Reagan had set aside ample time to comfort him. She'd listened, distracting him well enough that he'd managed to scrape a few hours of sleep each night. Gracie would pop onto the phone and soothe him with her usual animated conversation, understanding in her own special way that her dad really needed the support.

Dave missed Reagan, but it was a kind of yearning best kept at a distance. She was doing her own thing now, proving that she fared well without him. He'd heard from a cluster of friends that she'd even drummed on an upcoming album for a band. That had surprised the hell out of him, but he'd also been proud of her. She'd always been capable of finding new ways to impress him and even across an ocean, she'd done it again.

He kept staring at his phone, debating. There was something that was breaking open inside of him, leaking through the cracks of the pathetically sturdy barricade he'd put up around his feelings for her.

Dave knew that if he called Reagan again, he would break. Everything inside of him would smash apart and any effort he'd put in to moving on would be forgotten.

He'd been having dreams. They always involved the idea of him settling down again and building upon the small family that he already had. After everything that had happened to Taylor, Dave had been instilled with a sudden and desperate urge to make his life concrete. He wanted someone to come home to. He wanted Gracie to have siblings.

It made sense that his thoughts would turn to Reagan in light of those nighttime dreams. She'd been the first person to give him all of that and even though it had ended, it felt right that she be the one he started again with.

He was always going to be in love with her. The true test was seeing if he could keep that love at bay, or if he'd ask her again to give him another chance. Perhaps he could make her see that through tragedies like the ones they'd both been going through, they were meant to be together. They needed each other.

Dave bit down hard on his tongue in hopes that the pain would shake him free of those thoughts. There was a caveat that came along with thinking them — the reminder that he wasn't the only one with certain feelings.

Reagan had been hurt, taking the brunt of the consequences from what he'd done. And not only that, but she'd made it explicitly clear that she couldn't manage being with him when he was never really there. His lifestyle would never comply with the one she wanted to live.

It felt redundant, callous even, to dredge up the subject again when she'd already lived through and survived the pain of turning him down twice. Dave thought that he might have been able to handle it if she said no, just because he could at least say he tried, but he wasn't sure. He was still sensitive to the point of being as fragile as glass after almost losing Taylor.

He kept up the one-sided staring contest with his phone. All it would take was a quick, painless keying in of her phone number. He would hear her voice and then he would ask her to make him happy, to be of something more to him than just a chapter of his life left on the worst possible cliff-hanger.

Desperation and trauma were a sinister mix. His palm was sweating as held his phone, willing himself to just do it. They were going through hell, but hell had to be the slightest bit better if they were facing it together.

I'm asking you not to kill her, too.

The sound of Kate's voice resonating in his memories made Dave grimace in pain. He hadn't forgotten what she'd asked of him that night in Olympia at the hospital. She knew just as well as anyone that Reagan's love for him meant nothing at all when it was poisoning her from the inside out.

And maybe it was poisoning him too. Dave considered that he'd still be able to look back fondly on his time with Reagan, maybe even quietly nourish the love he felt for her the rest of his life, but it was fruitless to drag them both through another round of purgatory.

He couldn't believe that something as sincere and pure as his love for her could also be so lethal. It was more than just a shitty conundrum. It was the real downfall of being a living, breathing human on planet Earth.

Dave got up from the bed and started to pace, tossing his phone onto the comforter in a refusal to look at it for a second longer. He needed to get his shit together and for him, getting his shit together meant trying to find happiness in something else besides Reagan. If it couldn't be her, it still had to be out there somewhere.

And then, a familiar pair of blue eyes seeped into his thoughts. A smile he'd never forget and a presence that had sucked him in like the most, and only, wonderful black hole in existence.

Jordyn. He hadn't forgotten her. The only thing he'd done since the night they'd met was presume she was too good for him and not likely interested in some scruffy-looking rockstar. But still . . . she'd given him her phone number. Maybe it wasn't as much of a pity gesture as he'd thought.

There was still a lot left to learn about her. They'd only shared that one night together and Dave had been wasted for the better part of it, but he could recall the way she'd made him feel. She'd felt like home. Reagan had felt like home too, but Jordyn presented him with a different kind of homey feeling. She was new. She represented something positive, like the chance of a brighter future that wasn't flecked with black spots of the past.

Dave clenched his teeth together and regretfully turned his eyes back to his cellphone. He really did need someone to talk to. Taylor was alive but he was still swirling around in the swash of the tidal wave, struggling to breathe.

Tentatively, he picked up his phone. Whatever choice he made, it sounded crazy to him either way. Pleading for Reagan again without the assurance that they wouldn't fail, or banking his future on Jordyn, a woman he hardly knew but wanted to know so damn badly.

He waited, holding in a long breath for a stretch until his thumb started dialing on the keypad.

He'd made his decision.

________________

It wasn't a date. That's what Reagan told herself as she sat at the high top table of a dive bar across from Jesse, gingerly sipping her beer and listening to him tell a spirited story about the latest musician he'd had in the studio.

Since June, she had accepted that Jesse made for a good friend. It was impossible to shake the obvious fact that he wanted more, but his patience with her was endearing and there wasn't any pressure when she was around him. Her lack of friends in Los Angeles had pushed her to him and his feelings for her had left him waiting with open arms. It was an agreement she was temporarily okay with.

The night was going well, even if it was late and she needed to relieve Gracie's babysitter for the evening. The clock behind the bar with a jagged crack running down the middle indicated that it was nearing eleven-thirty.

Shifting in her seat, Reagan couldn't help but to think about Dave. It was inevitable after the total upheaval he'd been going through in London, with Taylor having overdosed two weeks prior. When he'd called her crying, she hadn't hesitated to comfort him. The residual wounds of their latest breakup hadn't hindered her from religiously calling with every passing day to check up on him and Taylor's condition.

It was a deeply intact instinct that she had to care for him. Loving him through all the tumult that they'd shared required that of her and she had no complaints. She was still fiercely protective of Dave's feelings and she knew how much Taylor meant to him.

That was precisely why she couldn't stop fidgeting, intensely aware of her cellphone in the pocket of her jeans. She felt bad to be so distracted when Jesse was trying his best to entertain her, but she was bothered. Dave hadn't called that day — since Taylor had gone into his coma, they hadn't missed a day of talking on the phone. She wondered if he was mad at her for some reason. Nothing worse could have possibly happened to Taylor; she would have definitely heard about it already.

" . . . and then the guy threw the cymbal at the fucking wall," Jesse laughed, oblivious to Reagan's lack of attention.

She smiled at him and tried to avoid the urge to check her phone.

"At least he didn't throw it at your head," she offered, glad to have picked up on at least one detail of the story.

"I think that would have been funnier, actually."

Suddenly, she felt her phone begin to buzz. She jumped in her seat, the shock and relief visible across her face as she scrambled to retrieve it from her pocket.

Dave, you fucker, I was worried, she rehearsed in her head, fully prepared to lecture him for leaving her riddled with anxiety. Without checking the screen of her phone, she answered it and pressed it to her ear. Jesse looked on politely, taking a swig of his beer without protest.

"Hello?" Reagan asked breathlessly. Her heart swelled with the anticipation of hearing his voice.

"Mommy?"

She jolted. "Gracie?"

"Mommy, come home," Gracie whined on the other line. "I can't fall asleep."

Reagan licked her lips, disappointed that it hadn't been Dave and curious as to why her daughter wasn't asleep yet.

"Gracie, baby, listen to Casey and go to bed. I'll be home soon."

"I don't want Casey," Gracie moaned, dismissing the mention of her babysitter. "I want you, Mommy."

Reagan sighed and traded her phone to the other ear. "I believe it if you're actually calling me 'Mommy' again."

"When will you be home?"

"I'm leaving now."

"Thank youuuu!" Gracie sang into the receiver before hanging up, leaving Reagan staring at her phone in her disbelief.

"Gracie needs you?" Jesse guessed, putting on an understanding smile.

"Apparently. She thinks a Saturday night with me means unlimited candy and movies until three in the morning."

"Sounds to me like you've done it before, so why let her down?"

Reagan cracked a smile and reached for the jacket that she'd draped over the back of her chair, sliding her arms into it.

"Guilty," she said. "Sorry to rush out, though. I'll pay the tab real quick."

He flashed her an incredulous look. "Not gonna' happen. It's on me."

"You paid last time. And the time before that."

"So what?" Jesse shrugged and got up from his chair to approach the bar. As Reagan watched him, the feeling that they were on a date, contrary to whatever she'd told herself, crept up on her.

She liked Jesse and every now and then, she felt the nudging reminder of her feelings for him, but it was hard to imagine herself in another serious relationship. She'd been focused on Richard all summer and the focus hadn't ended with the fading of the season. He was still progressing in his illness. And her final axing of her and Dave's relationship was still so fresh, enough so that she still felt a budding sense of longing for him whenever he called.

"Ready?" Jesse asked, tucking his wallet away as he returned over to her. Reagan nodded and gathered her hair out of the back of her jacket with a small smile.

As they turned to exit the bar, one of the televisions hanging over the liquor shelves flashed to a news segment from MTV — the anchor on screen began the monologue with a mention of 'Taylor Hawkins,' followed by the announcement that he was out of his coma.

Reagan squinted, walking closer to the screen. She repeated the anchor's words over and over again in her head, trying to discern whether what she was hearing was make-believe.

Taylor. He was awake. He was okay.

The deep breath that she took quivered with gratitude. She covered her mouth with one hand, stunned into silence until she felt Jesse's touch gently against her shoulder. She spun around.

"Taylor's gonna' be alright," she exclaimed. She hurriedly dashed away the happy tears that had escaped her eyes, practically bouncing on her toes. "He's awake! He's gonna' be fine!"

Jesse's expression matched hers and she was thrilled when he hugged her, sharing in her moment of relief.

"Thank god, man," he said, swaying Reagan in his embrace. His voice was laden with a genuine relief that made her appreciate him a thousand times more. "He seems like such a great guy. I'm glad he's okay."

She jumped back, caught up in the frills of her excitement and dizzy from the rush of emotion. She grabbed her phone again, her fingers whizzing across the keypad so quickly that she entered the wrong number to Dave's cellphone.

"Listen, Jesse, I have to call Dave. I've gotta' go. I'll let you know what he says."

Jesse nodded and waved her off, unbothered by her blatant enthusiasm to call her ex. The good news undeniably called for it.

Reagan hurried out of the bar and down the sidewalk towards her car, waiting impatiently to be put through to Dave. She knew that it was early in London, just a little past seven in the morning, which left her wondering why he hadn't called sooner. It didn't sting too bad when she considered how he must have been feeling, probably overwhelmed beyond belief and unconcerned with making phone calls.

He didn't pick up once she was inside her car. Again, she rationalized that he was handling the news in his own way, purifying himself of all the fear that had plagued him for the last two weeks. She decided that she'd try again later.

Later came. After Reagan arrived home and gave in to Gracie's wishes for a late night movie marathon, she called Dave a second time just as movie number two ended. He didn't pick up.

She eyed the time that was displayed beneath the television and saw that it was almost three a.m., which meant it was nearing eleven in London. She struggled to be patient when she wanted more than anything to hear for herself the relief in his voice — only then could she be certain that Taylor was really okay.

Reagan carried Gracie to bed, struggling up the stairs. She tried to put herself to bed too, but it was five a.m. before she knew it and she was calling Dave again. Once more, he didn't pick up. She continued to try, now feeling mildly panicked, but gave up when her exhaustion took over and she ended up rolling to her side. It had become clear that she wasn't going to hear from him that night, a small letdown but one that was aided by the knowledge of Taylor's recovery.

When Dave finally reached her, she was asleep. The call went to voicemail and the message he left was short, distant and polite in a way that didn't match the person he knew nor the honest way he'd been speaking to her for the past two weeks.

Hey, everything's fine. Taylor's going to be alright. Thanks for checking. Hope you're okay. Tell Gracie I love her.