WITH A TIMID gentleness, Reagan laid Gracie carefully into the silk lining of her bassinet. A quiet, tinkling music was playing — the sound of her crib mobile churning out a lullaby. It had taken Reagan a good twenty minutes to nurse Gracie and rock her into a solid sleep, but her baby was finally out, Gracie's pale pink eyelids closed to the world.

Reagan took a deep breath and stepped away from the bassinet. Strangely, she didn't crave those moments of solitude in which Gracie was asleep and her arms were empty of her. Soon enough she would be going back to work and leaving Gracie in the care of a stranger, something that had been a highly debated topic between her and Dave.

She didn't want a nanny. The very word made Reagan cringe and she'd shaken her head back and forth, whipping her red hair across her face when Dave had suggested it.

"What else are we going to do?" Dave had demanded impatiently. "Leave her by herself and hope she learns to feed herself early?"

Reluctantly, Reagan knew that Dave was right. They didn't know anyone who was free to watch Gracie while they were both away, Reagan at work and Dave on another tour. Kate was in school, bogged down more than ever with her increasingly difficult law studies, and none of the rest of their friends and family were available to abandon their jobs. Dave had hedged around the idea of asking Kimberly to do it with pay, but Reagan nixed that idea before it had even left his mouth.

Kimberly could barely care for the twins without help. She wasn't going to be left in charge of Gracie.

These were the times that Reagan wished Ginny lived closer, or that she and Dave lived in Virginia. Though Ginny was content being a teacher, Reagan had no doubt that as a first-time grandmother, Ginny would have dropped everything to tend to Gracie. Maybe even Lisa would have done it. It wasn't as if Reagan and Dave weren't compensating Gracie's caretaker.

Dave had won the battle, or rather Reagan conceded when she'd realized that there was no other option. With the proper connections, Dave had enlisted the help of their new nanny who would start as soon as Reagan went back to work.

It put a sour taste in Reagan's mouth to imagine a stranger cradling Gracie and feeding her bottles, but there was nothing Reagan could do. Of course Dave had hinted that she might quit her job, but Reagan was all about her steadfast beliefs, one of them being that she was capable of working and being a mom too. Sure, it wasn't like she had some spectacular career to nurse, but she wouldn't allow to Dave support her when she had two arms and two legs to keep her working.

She shuffled into the living room and spotted Dave on the couch where he was abruptly ending a phone call on the landline. His lips were soldered into a tight line as he mashed his thumb into the 'end' button, throwing the phone carelessly onto the coffee table. Reagan crossed her arms and leaned against the corner edge of the wall.

"What's wrong?" she asked upon clearing her throat.

Dave looked up and scrunched his eyebrows together. "Are those my socks?"

In response, Reagan glanced down at her feet and wiggled her toes inside the white cotton of Dave's five-sizes too big socks. They slouched at her ankles and hardly fit, but considering the rest of her outfit, it didn't matter. She was dressed down in her baggiest pair of sweatpants, another random band t-shirt and one of Dave's wash-worn flannels. Her hair was swept back into a loose ponytail and as far as she was concerned, she matched the kind of comfortability that she found within their new home.

"It's not the first time I've stolen from you," she shrugged.

Dave grumbled under his breath and leaned back into the couch, kicking up his feet and running the palms of his hands down his face. Reagan joined him in perching on the edge of the couch cushion. The television was playing, but it had been muted.

"Gracie asleep?" Dave asked.

"Yes. Who were you on the phone with?" Reagan retorted.

"Tour people," Dave muttered. "Getting things smoothed out for next week. There was an issue with one of the Ireland promoters."

"Oh?" Reagan said, cocking an eyebrow. "Something bad?"

"No. Nothing that hasn't already been handled."

She quieted and carefully slipped her hand into his, squeezing his fingers until his knuckles blanched white. It was strange, seeing him look so surly when he was on the brink of another tour. Dave liked touring, even if the dynamic of it all had changed. What had once been one a thrilling past time had evolved into something more akin to a tedious job with every passing day. Reagan was sure that it had plenty to do with the state of Nirvana, but a wriggling thought worming its way into the back of her brain suggested it was something more.

Dave wasn't just leaving her behind now. He was leaving Gracie too.

Reagan thought that she was the one who was desperately attached to Gracie, but nothing compared to the sheer amount of love that Dave had for her. Rarely did he put her down when she was not otherwise in Reagan's arms. He was there for every moment, bobbing over Gracie and making silly faces that earned him soft coos in response. He loved his daughter perhaps more than anything else that he'd ever loved in his life. Reagan could understand the inner turmoil this must have caused him. Music had been his world before Gracie, but now that she was here . . . it was a difficult feeling to navigate, being yanked in two opposing directions.

"You don't want to leave," she said simply. Dave sighed and gave her hand a squeeze.

"You could say that."

"We'll be here when you get back," she assured him in a soft voice. He'd been the one to constantly remind her of all his future homecomings, but the roles had been seemingly reversed.

"I know you will," Dave replied through gritted teeth. "I'm not worried about that. I'm worried about getting through this tour."

"I'll send lots of pictures," Reagan promised. "I don't know how I'll get them to you every time, but I will. You won't miss a moment."

"It's not that, Reags. I mean, it is . . . but it isn't."

"What is it, then?"

Dave was a silent for a moment, his hand twitching in Reagan's, before he exploded. He leapt off the couch with a loud curse of 'fuck' and Reagan jumped back in surprise. She widened her eyes.

"What?" she cried. "What's wrong?"

"This band is what's wrong," Dave seethed. He'd remembered that Gracie was sleeping in the next room over and lowered his voice accordingly.

"What do you mean?" Reagan questioned. Dave shot her a look.

"You know exactly what I mean."

She sighed heavily and wrung her hands into her lap. She did know what Dave meant. It had not been all sunshine and rainbows since Gracie's birth, at least not in the sector of Dave's double life. Nirvana — Kurt — had been racking up enough problems to spur Dave's temper in a way that Reagan had never seen before. She knew he could get mad, but she'd never known the extent of which his irritation could reach.

"You won't let me help," Reagan reminded him, trying to keep her tone even. "I tried . . ."

"Going for Courtney's throat isn't going to change anything. It will just start a war."

"There isn't one already?"

"No," Dave said bitterly. "Not when I'm forced to shut my mouth and deal with it."

Reagan felt a spasm of anger and resisted the urge to scowl. Her rage was coming back slowly, percolating in the center of the chest and spreading like sludge throughout her body. Thank god for Gracie, otherwise she would have been stewing for the past three months. She would have raised hell a long time ago if it hadn't been for the singular source of new joy in her life.

It had started in April, one month after Gracie had been born. The Rolling Stone issue documenting Nirvana's newfound fame had been released to much public excitement. Everyone wanted to know more about Kurt, to delve deeper into the mystique that he kept barely an arm's length away. Rolling Stone existed to serve and they'd answered the unspoken, worldwide question with that issue — who is Kurt Cobain?

The article had been all about the leading frontman, narrowed down to a lens that was only big enough to suit him despite having featured Dave and Krist on the cover. Nirvana, as Rolling Stone had painted it out to be, was a one-man show accompanied by a little help here and there from Dave and Krist. Kurt was the star, born to be a star, and would be reveled as such by the magazine's writers and readers alike.

It hadn't bothered Reagan that much, but it had still certainly bothered her. When she'd eagerly peeled back the pages of her copy and read nothing except a slew of paragraphs highlighting Kurt, she'd blinked up at Dave with bewilderment.

"Wasn't this supposed to be a piece on the band?" she'd asked.

Dave had shrugged lightheartedly. Of course he had, as jovial and easygoing as he was. It didn't matter that Rolling Stone had skimmed right over his massive contribution to the band. He was just happy to have been included. It was the kind of thing that he'd remember when he died and went to heaven. He had been on the cover of Rolling Stone and that was enough to keep him grinning.

So Reagan had let it slide. She wasn't the band's mother hen and she definitely didn't care about publicity, similarly to Dave, so she'd casted the magazine aside and taken his good spirits to be a sign of total happiness. He had her, his new baby and the everlasting bragging rights of having been featured on the cover of a famous magazine. He counted his blessings and rarely asked for more than the portion of good luck that he'd already been given.

But then May had rolled around and with it had brought a torrential downpour of conflict. Once again, if it had not been for Gracie, Reagan was sure that she would have inserted herself into a fight that she did not necessarily belong in. She was Dave's wife, though. His wife, for god-sake. If he was getting snubbed by the person he'd called a friend and bandmate, then she had a right to stick up for him.

Kurt, in a move that had surprised almost everyone a part of the Nirvana crew, had revisited the band's initial publishing contract and messed his hands into the royalties. With a flourish of what Reagan had only seen as betrayal, Kurt had decided that royalty payments would be split in favor of his bulk, with Dave and Krist receiving a mere twenty-five percent each of the inked deal. Their credit for what they'd contributed to the band had dwindled down to nearly nothing and in wake of the change, Nirvana had almost disbanded.

Reagan had hardly been surprised when Dave had started those mutterings, theorizing that he was under-appreciated and now to cap it off, under-paid. She'd hesitated only when she had imagined the cessation of Nirvana entirely. That had led to some of her most guilty thoughts. Without the band, Dave would have been all hers. He would never leave and he'd be a permanent fixture in their home, always there to relish in time spent with his wife and kid. No more music equaled more time with him.

She'd abandoned those thoughts as soon as she'd started thinking them. They made her feel selfish, like she was trying to mentally sabotage Dave from doing what he loved, and they wouldn't have worked out anyways. Even if Nirvana ended, Reagan was sure that Dave would move on to the next music venture. He was made from it, his very being crafted and molded around music-making, and there was no way that the fallout of Nirvana would end it for him. Reagan could have secretly hoped all she wanted that it would have led to him becoming a 'normal' person, but that was a mere lie that she told herself for comfort.

Dave was who he was. A musician. She'd married him knowing that — hell, she'd married him because she loved him for it. She wouldn't allow that toxic hoping to manifest itself into fruition thanks to a listening universe.

At risk of losing their livelihoods, Dave and Krist had eventually agreed to Kurt's demands. They were annoyed with him no doubt, but when Dave had suggested that Courtney had had something to do with the sudden change in distribution of money, Reagan had nearly gone through the roof.

She'd tried to like Courtney. She really had. At one point not long ago, Reagan had almost considered her to be a friend. Now, she was not so sure. There was something sinister dancing behind Courtney's saccharine sweetness towards her. Reagan had decided then that she would keep her distance from Kurt's wife. She didn't want to associate with someone who might have been behind the cause of Dave's hurt.

The more Reagan thought about, the more she determined that she didn't like Courtney and probably never would. Oh, she had been charmed by Courtney's boisterous personality and sugary compliments, but point blank, Reagan didn't trust her. They were different people no matter how hard Courtney tried to imply differently. For one thing, Reagan would have never tried to act as Dave's voice of reason. It was all about the equality of a healthy partnership. Who was she to pass judgement on someone else's relationship, but Kurt and Courtney's drug-laden romance was something that Reagan wanted to stay far away from, even if it meant sacrificing her friendship with Kurt.

Kurt.

The thought of him put a thick lump in Reagan's throat. She didn't want him to be someone else, someone different than the young man she had met in Olympia. She just wanted him to be the same friend that she'd bonded with over a shared love for music. The same man who had indirectly brought her to Dave.

"This isn't like him," she whispered, referencing Kurt. "I don't know who this person is, but it isn't him."

"It's not up for speculation," Dave grounded out through a clenched jaw. "He does what he does, Krist and I do what we do."

"And we're just going to stand by and let him?" Reagan snapped.

"I told you. I'm in this to play music. To do what I love. That's it."

"He's your friend —,"

"Is he?"

Dave's resolve cracked slightly as soon as he said it. His mouth trembled but he caught himself, cursing again and spinning away from Reagan. He paced for a moment before stopping.

"It's just how it's going to be," he finally said. "We're going to do this Europe thing, make up for the cancelled tours from last year, and that's it. We go on. We just do it."

"And you're just the drummer?" Reagan said gently. Dave stiffened.

"Yeah. I am."

She got up off the couch and wrapped her hands around Dave's neck, forcing him to look into her eyes.

"You're more than that," she whispered. "You deserve more than that."

"I have everything I need," Dave countered.

"You're not some sidekick. This isn't just your job, Dave, it's your life. Those are your friends up there with you every night. You deserve to be compensated, recognized, whatever it may be for that. This isn't supposed to be a job. It's meant to be fun."

Dave swallowed, the effort tightening the muscles in his throat. "Do you . . . do you know that Kurt was talking bad about Krist? He said some really shitty things."

"Don't listen to him," Reagan said. She curled her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. "That's not Kurt. Not the real Kurt."

"What am I doing?" Dave said with a long exhale. He touched his forehead to Reagan's.

"What you love," Reagan murmured back.

"At what cost?"

"No one said it would be easy."

"What's it going to feel like, saying goodbye to her for the first time?"

Reagan didn't have to ask to know that Dave meant Gracie. She paused, ignoring a strong stab of pain in her gut.

"It'll be hard. But you'll be back before you know it. And we'll be a family," she assured him.

"A family," Dave repeated. He roped his arms around her waist and held her to him. Reagan pressed her nose into his shoulder, sucking up as much of his scent as she could. The memory of it would get her through the next lonely nights without him in their bed.

"I know what we need to do," she said, her words muffled as they came out against his t-shirt.

"What?"

Reagan drew back so that she could look up at his face. There was a sadness in his eyes, one that she hated to see. It was such a stark contrast from his usual cheer. It worried her.

"We need to keep some of it out," she reasoned, touching her hand to his cheek. "I know that . . . we can't keep all of it. It's a part of who you are and I love that, I do. But this drama and craziness isn't you. It's not us."

"I didn't mean to suck you into —,"

"You didn't," Reagan said quickly. She tapped her pointer finger against his lips. "You didn't suck me into it. I'm with you for the long haul, aren't I? Your problems are mine too."

"I know you want something different," Dave said softly. He lowered his eyes. "You want someone to be here with you, someone who can be a dad to Gracie. I know you don't want to be in this house by yourself."

"Are you sure about that? Last time I checked, I agreed to all that when I married you. I wouldn't change this."

"How can you say that when —,"

Reagan cut him off again by pressing her finger more firmly to his mouth. "Do you hear yourself? If I changed this, I wouldn't have you. I wouldn't have Dave. I would be stuck in Olympia catering to my mom, working at Wilson's. I'd probably marry myself off to Tommy out of pity."

Dave growled and tightened his grip on Reagan's waist. "Not him."

"Okay, so some other ordinary guy with a nine to five job."

"No. No one else."

"Except you," Reagan finished with a small smile.

"I want to give you everything. I don't want you to look back and regret me being gone all the time when I should have been here with you and Gracie. I want to have more kids, Reags. I want to be here for you."

"We will. We'll do it. But right now, you've got to fulfill your destiny."

Dave cracked a smile and suddenly laughed. "Fulfill my destiny?" he parroted, adding a mocking tone to Reagan's words.

"What else was I supposed to say?" she asked impatiently. "'Live your dreams of a life of rock n' roll and debauchery? Do what you were always meant to do?'"

"There's no debauchery," Dave grinned. "Just some rowdy shows, and then I return alone to my cozy little hotel room for the night."

"Keep it that way, will you?"

"Reagan," he said seriously, jerking her closer to his chest once more. "That will never happen. Ever."

"Even if Krist arranged for five hookers to be in your bed at the end of the night?" she said lightly.

Dave frowned. "Do you know something that I don't?"

Reagan laughed and the feeling felt good, like coming down from a suffocatingly high elevation. "I'm kidding. Let's just focus on me, you and Gracie, okay?"

"No music?"

"Absolutely not. Music is important in this house. It's not like I expect you to wipe your brain of it when you walk through the front door. I know what you've been doing, you know. I've heard the stuff you've been writing."

"It's nothing," Dave muttered.

"It's not nothing. It's amazing. More proof that you don't need anyone to carry you to success. You could do this on your own."

"You're getting ahead of yourself."

"It's just the truth."

Reagan let Dave hold her in the middle of the living room, swaying her in his arms. She looked around at their home, finally in its ultimate stage of completion, and realized with certainty that she wouldn't have changed anything about her life. She couldn't have asked for anything more ideal.

"Promise me," she began, "that no matter what happens, it won't affect this."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that there will always be a balance. Nothing will hurt the balance. It will never get in the way of you, me and Gracie."

"Of course I promise that."

"Do what you love. Please do. But always come back to this. Don't let all the background noise get in the way of . . ."

"What's really important?" he supplemented.

"Yes," Reagan agreed. She didn't like trying to measure her and Gracie's worth up against Dave's talent, but in retrospect, what could have been more important than the life they'd created together? Music was already intertwined in that.

"I promise you," Dave said, pushing back Reagan's bangs. "I promise that it won't. Nothing I do or anything that happens with the band will ever change anything here. It won't change us."