IT WAS HEAVEN for Reagan to wake up in Dave's arms, the faint beams of Manhattan's sunrise peering through their hotel window and just barely warming her face. She shifted against him as she made sense of her surroundings, her unconscious mind slowly piecing together that she wasn't waking up in their Seattle apartment that morning. She was across the country in a different city, but that sudden awareness was subdued in the way Dave held her, one arm draped across her chest protectively.

She sat up between the fluffy hotel bedding and looked down at Dave, who appeared to also be stirring awake. At home, they typically never bothered to sleep so entangled against each other, but the position they'd woken up in served as evidence for how much they no doubt missed one another.

With half his face pressed into a pillow, Dave opened one eye and squinted at Reagan tiredly. She smiled at him, content to momentarily forget the alarming feelings she had felt the night before. It was easy to put them aside when Dave was lying so close next to her, one wiry arm still in her lap and the other tucked under his head.

"You've got a big day," she told him, caressing her nails lovingly down his bare back as she proudly thought of the Saturday Night Live performance awaiting him.

"Coffee," he groaned in return, swiveling his face back into the pillow.

Reagan laughed. "How about breakfast and coffee?"

She managed to coerce him out of bed with the promise of a steaming cup of black brew and the repeated reminder that within several hours, he would be able to boast that he had performed on Saturday Night Live.

"No one except you and my mom actually care," Dave insisted with a snort as he dressed himself, humbly sidelining Reagan's enthusiasm.

"That's not true!" she argued. "Lisa cares. The rest of your family cares. Think about all the people you knew growing up who are going to turn on NBC tonight and see you behind that drum set."

"I'll consider thinking about it, but only if my seventh-grade girlfriend ends up watching and calls to admit that she dropped the ball big time."

Reagan countered this by throwing one of the big, downy pillows directly at his head.

Once they were both dressed to withstand the wintry wind tunneling its way through the city (Reagan had reluctantly tugged on a pair of jeans), Dave began to hatch plans for what the day would hold before he was needed at Nirvana's final sound check. He leaned against the bathroom sink and rambled as Reagan stood in front of the mirror, threading her hair into a French braid.

"We'll meet my mom downstairs and take her with us for breakfast," he decided. "We should go uptown to eat. And then, we can walk through Central Park together."

Reagan approved of his plans, smiling to herself in the mirror as he spoke like a tour guide. She felt wholeheartedly that his agenda would serve as a pleasant distraction from the aching truth that befallen her the night before. As she had fallen asleep to the sound of Dave's slow and steady breathing, she had decided that the only way she could approach the matter was with distance. After wiping her tears from her face, Dave had told her that it would do her no good to corner Kurt and confront him. It would only lead to trouble once his guard went up. The added backing of Courtney, who rarely went against him, didn't help either.

She loved Kurt like family, but knew in the deepest part of all her instincts that the rollercoaster he'd hopped on was one that could not be stopped by anyone but himself. She had been conscious of this since first knowing him, back when he ate acid like candy and huffed fumes from aerosol cans. Heroin existed in a whole other dimension outside of those adolescent experiments, but with a touch of his wisdom, Dave had asserted himself to be right. Reagan could do nothing for Kurt except be the same person he knew and loved — and that meant not challenging him.

They left their hotel room by eight and locked up, walking down the hall with their hands grasped together. Reagan was caught in the middle of thinking about how good it felt to hold Dave's hand when a door in the hallway was jerked open.

Out stepped Courtney, swaddled in a white terry-cloth robe with a burning cigarette nestled between her fingers. She held a tray in her free hand, or rather multiple trays, stacked high with half-eaten food, stubbed out cigarettes and candy wrappers. Her hair was even messier than the night before, sticking up randomly around her face. Even her makeup was smudged from sleep, her perfectly applied lipstick now blotted and her eyeliner blackening both her striking green eyes. She set the trays down on the ground and as she stood up saw Reagan and Dave nearing closer.

"Well, well, well, look who it is," she said, her voice scratched and raspy with sleep. She sucked on the end of her cigarette and cast the smoke sideways from the corner of her mouth. "Bonjour les amoureux."

"You speak French?" Reagan asked, mildly impressed that Courtney understood a different language besides English and punk rock.

"Just the basics," she said demurely. "You know, things like 'good morning' and 'good night' and 'where the fuck is the bathroom.'"

"Nice door tag," Dave noted, nodding towards the sign dangling from the handle of Kurt and Courtney's room. It had been graffitied to proclaim that they didn't want to be disturbed; they were, in accordance to the sign, busy fucking.

"Thanks," Courtney said brightly. "Want me to make you guys one? Kurt brought Magic Markers."

"Later," Dave said. "Reags and I are going to have breakfast with my mom. You and Kurt can come, if you want. And Kurt's mom too."

"Charming offer, but no thanks," Courtney replied. Reagan watched in vague amazement as she tapped the ash from her cigarette onto the thick matting of the hotel carpet. "But Dave, have Reagan back early, will you? I'm borrowing her for the day."

"Borrowing me?" Reagan asked, feeling that she ought to be addressed directly for such a request.

"You're a girl. I'm a girl. Girls talk. There are no other girls on this tour to talk to. So we need to talk," Courtney explained bluntly.

"Shelli's here —," Reagan began to say. It seemed strange that Courtney would have forgotten that, especially since she and Shelli had met first, but Courtney cut her off quickly.

"Not her," she snapped, and then she rolled her sea-foam eyes and sighed. "If you can even count her as being female . . ."

"Play nice," Dave warned, though he chuckled at Courtney as if she were a casual source of amusement. His laugh made her grin and it was clear that she fed off of it readily. As Reagan watched the exchange, she could tell that there was no animosity between them and it plainly looked like they had developed a friendly relationship despite Courtney's brashness.

"Shouldn't you be asking me if I'm available?" Reagan inquired. "Not him?"

Courtney's stare glinted in Reagan's direction, but gave no hint of annoyance. It seemed that she rather appreciated Reagan's brave remark. In summary, it offered her all she needed to know about her newfound friend.

"Alright then. You're hanging out with me, right?"

Reagan hesitated, resisting the urge to steal a glance at Dave. It didn't feel right, using up a day they could spend together with someone else. Their time was so precious that Reagan couldn't imagine sparing part of it. But on the other hand, she longed to understand Courtney better. The woman was still a stranger to her, a stranger marrying one of her close friends. All she knew about Courtney was that she was in a band and engaged to Kurt. Reagan figured that she might as well make an effort with her if she intended on being in Kurt's life permanently.

"Okay," she agreed. "We'll hang out."

"Perfect," Courtney said. "When you get back, come find me."

She returned to her room and shut the door loudly, flipping the lock closed from the inside. Dave shook his head at Reagan and laughed, taking her hand. As he led her to the elevators, she noticed that he was still smirking.

"What?" Reagan demanded. "Why are you laughing?"

"You're going to hang out with Courtney," he snickered. "Courtney."

"Are you upset? I know we planned to stay together today."

"No, I'm not mad. You should go have fun. But whether you will or not is the real question."

"Am I missing something?" Reagan griped, yanking her hand out of Dave's in order to fold her arms across her chest.

"I already told you. Courtney's a piece of work," Dave explained. "She's different. I don't want her to freak you out or upset you."

Reagan scoffed. "Her? I'm the last person in the world she'll be able to upset. She can try, but you know it won't work. Come on, I can handle anything. That includes Courtney Love."

"When you say it like that," Dave grinned, sliding his arm around Reagan's midsection and tugging her closer, "I definitely believe it."

_______

Breakfast with Ginny started off Reagan's morning idyllically and she was almost disappointed when Dave's mom bid them goodbye to do some exploring of her own. They ate at a cafe on Broadway and One Hundred and First Street, staying for extra cups of coffee and talk about Nirvana's upcoming performance. Reagan had opted for orange juice, happy as can be as she drained each glass and listened to Ginny and Dave's spritely conversation.

Once they'd left, Ginny had split up to find the nearest museum, leaving Dave and Reagan to fend for themselves on the clustered sidewalks of Manhattan. In accordance to Dave's plans, they walked through Central Park aimlessly until checking the time and realizing that they'd ought to get back to the hotel.

"Have fun with Courtney," Dave had cackled, pausing to leave Reagan in front of Kurt and Courtney's door. She raised her fist in the air to artfully flip him off, but he wrapped his fingers around her hand and brought it to his lips to plant a kiss on her knuckles. She woefully watched him disappear out of sight before she knocked on the door.

There was a shout from inside the room and the sound of tumbling footsteps before the door swung open to reveal Courtney tall figure wearing a cream dress straight from the sixties, layered fashionably over a turtleneck.

"That wasn't long," she remarked. She pushed a pair of black sunglasses up onto her head and smiled.

"I didn't want to keep you waiting," Reagan replied, half sarcastic though mostly sincere.

"I'll see you at the studio Kurt!" Courtney shouted over her shoulder. She grabbed Reagan's hand and pulled her forward. "C'mon. Let's go for a walk."

Reagan presumed that Courtney had a lot on her mind, or at least that's the feeling she gave as she prattled on about her band, Kurt and New York as they took the elevator to the hotel lobby. While they walked down Fifty-Second Street towards Fifth Avenue, Reagan nodded her head as Courtney spoke, making sure to utter 'mhms' in all the right places. Courtney was a full-fledged talker and didn't hold back as she cursed and waved her hand in the air.

They ended up in front of St. Patrick's Cathedral, staring up at the building's neo-gothic designs that jutted from its marble foundation. Courtney lit a cigarette and looked skywards, lowering her sunglasses over her eyes.

"Catholics," she said. "They're so overzealous."

Kind of like you? Reagan wanted to say, though she didn't. Courtney had still not done anything to make Reagan not like her. If anything, Reagan was intrigued by her attitude. It was soft but also cut with stone, flowery while remaining black as night.

"Want one?" Courtney offered, tipping a box of Marlboros in Reagan's direction. As Reagan held her hand up to touch her belly, reminding Courtney of the baby, Courtney withdrew the box.

"Oh, right," she said. She let out one last exhale of smoke before stamping out the cigarette. "You're pregnant."

"Can't say I don't miss that, though," Reagan said, nodding at the crushed cigarette at Courtney's toe.

"I bet you do. Come sit with me," Courtney instructed, gesturing to the low steps that led to St. Patricks's entrance. Reagan followed her as she sat down on the uppermost step, stretching out her long legs and crossing her ankles. She smiled, her lips coated in the same violent shade of red as they'd been the day before.

"You know, I tried to hit on Dave when I first met him," Courtney suddenly confessed cheerfully. "I was really after Kurt, but I couldn't deny that Dave was cute."

"How did that work out for you?" Reagan retorted lightheartedly, unable to not smile at Courtney's odd sense of candor. She couldn't tell if she was intentionally trying to piss her off or merely test the heat behind her reaction.

"He hardly looked at me," Courtney said. "I was confused at first. I mean, I wasn't going to follow through but at the same I wasn't expecting him to turn me down, you know? And then he told me about you."

"Loyal boy," Reagan chuckled, smiling down at the marble steps and drawing in what she could of her knees against her rounded stomach.

"That, and I'm totally not his type," Courtney laughed. "One might say out of his league, even."

Reagan cocked an eyebrow skeptically, but Courtney patted her leg and smiled a warm smile that bid her no insult.

"I mean to say that I'm in a band that's nearly as good as his own. He couldn't handle the competition even if he tried," she insisted.

"I can't say whether or not that's true," Reagan replied. "I'm not in a band."

"But you are competition," Courtney smiled slyly. "He told me all about you being a drummer. I heard that you almost took his place in Nirvana."

"Not true," Reagan groaned, rolling her eyes at the old, run-down joke she was tired of hearing.

"It's not? Fuck. I wish it was. They could use some strong, female energy. I mean, Kurt makes up for that though. All he needs is a pair of tits and he's basically a girl."

"That night was a favor. I've been drumming since I was a kid and I jammed with Kurt and Krist a few times, so they knew I'd help out. I'd never join a band."

"Not even mine?"

Reagan paused, unsure of how to reply to Courtney's wide-eyed inquiry. She wasn't stupid -- she knew enough about Courtney and her band Hole to know that they already had a drummer employed. She felt both shocked and oddly flattered that Courtney would ask her such a thing until Courtney started laughing.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," she drawled, elongating her words. "Kurt practically hand-picked Patty for me. I could never replace her. But . . . he also suggested you at one point."

"He knows better than to do that."

"He doesn't though. He said you're kick-ass at what you do. Don't you get it? This side of the world needs more girls like us. We are the prototypes of screaming until your fucking voice gives out. Rock was made for women."

"I agree with you, but I like the job that I have now. You're doing really great, though. I believe in everything you're saying."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. I listened to your record. 'Garbage Man' is pretty heavy."

Courtney removed her sunglasses to reveal her eyes, lit up with obvious appreciation for Reagan's compliments. Reagan was reassured that through some random act of kismet, she already knew Hole's first record from the previous year. It also helped that Courtney was so notorious in her scene.

"Wow," Courtney said. "She knows good music, she drums, and she's actually nice."

"You expected me not to be nice?" Reagan asked. She imagined that the look of her resting face had given off the wrong impression in the past. She'd been told by several people before that she could appear intimidating and unapproachable.

"Of course I did. Girls are special in that way. We can be sweet as pie, but also wickedly bitchy, especially when we're surrounded by guys. Hence Krist's wife's bad fucking attitude."

"Shelli?" Reagan exclaimed. "What do you mean? Shelli's great."

"Yeah right," Courtney scoffed. She leaned back onto the steps, propping her upper body up on her elbows. "She's hated me from day one. I swear, she's got something long and pointy stuck up her ass, otherwise she wouldn't have that awful look on her face all the time. All she had to do was meet me once in order to despise me."

"She just has to warm up to you," Reagan maintained. "Once you get to know her, she's the sweetest."

"You know what? They say the exact same shit about me," Courtney said. "And it's totally not true. I either like you or I don't. There's no in between, sort of 'warm up period,' or whatever. I know the difference between good and bad people."

"Well," Reagan began hesitantly. "Shelli does care about Kurt a lot. She and Krist have looked out for him in the past. She's probably just worried."

"Oh god," Courtney moaned, clapping one hand dramatically over her eyes. "Please, please don't tell me that you're one of those."

"One of what?"

"One of those. Those people who are giving me shit because they think I'm somehow this majorly bad influence on Kurt. Kurt! I mean, Kurt of all fucking people!"

"People are saying that?"

Although Reagan had silently questioned Courtney while she'd meticulously tried to discern why Kurt had changed, she found herself playing dumb. It piqued her interest to hear that she wasn't alone in her worries, though she still vehemently wished that they weren't true.

"You haven't been around," Courtney said sympathetically. She sat back up and touched Reagan's shoulder with understanding. "You haven't seen the way people act towards us."

Reagan stared hard into Courtney's face. Though Courtney was taller, brassier and probably had a better right hook than she did, Reagan wasn't scared of the woman sitting at her side. She thought of Kurt again, looking sick and gray in the hotel hallway. That was enough to give her the ammunition to say the words on her mind without fear of Courtney's reaction to them.

"I know Kurt is doing drugs," Reagan said firmly. "I'm not surprised that everyone else knows that too. He looks like hell."

"Sure. But that doesn't mean that it's my fucking fault," Courtney quipped back.

"Who's saying that it is?"

Courtney shrugged. "People. The people around us, mostly. Take a look around tonight and I'll call them out for you. But the main point here is that I'm not responsible for what's going on."

"Then who is?" Reagan asked.

Courtney shrieked out a laugh, leaning her body backwards into it and closing her eyes shut with hysteria. When she steadied herself, she playfully wiped at her eyes before looking back at Reagan seriously.

"Really?" she questioned, her voice dripping sarcasm. "You know damn well who is responsible. Kurt is."

"I —,"

"No, listen. You seem like a smart girl. You also seem like you've known Kurt for a long time. So you can't tell me that you don't know how he is and how he operates. Whatever he does is his own doing. He sets his mind to every decision that he makes and the most recent one just happens to involve needles and smack."

"Doesn't . . . doesn't that bother you?" Reagan said, softening her tone. Courtney's shoulders slumped slightly.

"Yes. No. I don't know. I'd be a hypocrite if I said that it did. It's not like I'm not sitting there with him, letting him do the damn thing for me. I've been down this road before."

Reagan clutched her arms tighter around her knees, locking her fingers so tightly together that they turned white against both the pressure and the cold. It didn't feel natural, sitting there discussing Kurt's drug habits with Courtney, especially in front of a decorated Catholic church. But she supposed that she'd gotten what she had wished for — a convoluted glimpse into Kurt's head.

"Don't sit there in silence like that," Courtney muttered. She combed her fingers through her hair, making it messier than before. "Don't go getting all quiet and acting like I'm some sort of idiot junkie who lets my junkie fiancée bully me into shooting up. I don't ever like to see him like that."

"So stop it," Reagan suggested in a tight whisper. "You're going to marry him. Tell him to be done with it."

"I wish it were that easy. I wish he didn't cry and pout and look at me like I've taken the world away from him when I say no, no more. Don't you think for a single second that I don't love that boy. He is everything that I'm not and I adore him. He's better than me in every single fucking way and I love him for it. He's the purest thing in my life and I'd drag myself through hell for him."

Courtney glanced towards Reagan's stomach, partially disguised by her knees. There was a flash of envious greed in her eyes before they relented back into hollow sadness. When she looked at Reagan, Reagan could nearly feel the emotion pulsating out of her in invisible, rippling waves.

"We'd love to have a baby," Courtney said, her raspy voice sounding jagged in its whisper. "It would be like having a tangible goal or something, something to make us want to be better than what our parents were." She shook her head. "I would do anything for him."

They entered into a pocket of silence as they both sat on the cathedral steps, the wind swirling around them along with the sound of taxi horns and footsteps. Reagan allowed her thoughts to flow freely as she stared out across Fifth Avenue. She had no doubts that surprisingly, she had come very quickly to like Courtney. She could see why others did not, what with her domineering character and flippant personality, but there was something behind her doll-like eyes that made Reagan empathize with her. And she liked the way that Courtney spoke of Kurt. There was a reverence in her voice when she addressed him and proof that despite what was going on, she loved him deeply.

In a way, it made Reagan think of her own relationship. Everything that Courtney had said about Kurt had struck her as being true when it came to how she felt about Dave. It made her question what she herself would do if she was in Courtney's position — to be an addictive personality paired with another, intertwined by love. If Dave begged hard enough, if he looked at her with enough agony in his eyes, wouldn't she condone what he wanted? Just to make him happy, even if for a moment?

And of course, it was Kurt they discussing. Kurt, who was so stubbornly set in his ways and rebellious against anyone who told him to do the opposite of what he desired. No one could force him to do anything and abruptly, Reagan understood that he was the cause of his own ragged appearance alone. His decisions were his own and they always would be.

But still, that kind of sacrifice couldn't possibly be right. Courtney may have suggested that she was only giving in to Kurt's wants because she loved him, but she had to know that she was sacrificing his life in doing so. It was a double-edged sword, one that made Reagan shudder. She decided ultimately that no, she wouldn't have made Courtney's choices, but she still nonetheless enjoyed her for who she was. Her only hope was that Courtney's love for Kurt, as true as it seemed to be, would encourage her to do the right thing.

"I'm not," Reagan finally said. She looked at Courtney and brushed her auburn hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear.

"Not what?" Courtney asked.

"I'm not one of those people," Reagan replied, alluding to the statement Courtney had made earlier. She smiled slightly and was glad when Courtney returned the smile, scooting closer to her and linking her arm through hers.

"Good," Courtney declared. "Because those people can eat shit."