A/N: long chapter warning ahead, i am so sorry

JANUARY 9th, 1992, SEATTLE, WA

AS REAGAN SAT at work behind her secretary's desk, she couldn't help but to fidget, absentmindedly tucking her fist beneath her chin and letting out long, winded sighs as she stared through the tall glass windows in front of her. It was the same repetitive thing she had done at Wilson's, except DGC's small imprint building in Seattle provided for a much nicer view. The misty city backdrop was nice for her to examine as she allowed her mind to wander.

Reagan loved her job, that much was true. She considered herself forever indebted to Dave for having landed the position for her. Yet within the last several days, she had been wishing to be anywhere but behind that familiar secretary's desk, answering phone calls and chatting with the occasional scrambled band manager who strode through the DGC's doors.

Although they had spent a wonderful Christmas together, Dave and Reagan had been separated upon ringing in the new year. While Nirvana had spent the evening putting on a celebratory show in San Francisco at the Cow Palace, Reagan had shipped herself back off to Seattle in solitude. In return for having not worked for weeks, she had offered herself up for a rare New Years Day spent at the office. The only people at DGC that day had been Reagan and a few big wigs from Geffen, managing files and ensuring various clients got from point A to point B that day. Of course, she had passed the time thinking about Dave.

Nirvana had been rewarded for their hard work post-New Years with a few spare days off in Seattle, but even then Reagan had not spent much time at Dave's side. She'd been picking up her slack at work, clocking in by nine a.m. and walking through their apartment's front door at six later in the night. She had sensed Dave's disappointment over her absence, no matter how hard he aptly tried to hide it. He had promised her that he was occupying himself by hanging out with Kurt.

Reagan had in fact known that he was lying. Kurt had towed Courtney back to the west coast during their break, and from what Reagan had gathered, they pair had spent every waking moment together since Nirvana's return. Dave would have certainly had no place as a third wheel.

"We can hang out with them," Reagan had suggested one night as she'd shrugged out of an oversized jacket, having just gotten home from work. "I'd still like to meet Courtney."

"Er," Dave had mumbled, noticeably trying to hide the awkward expression that twisted upon his face. "Let's hold off on that, okay?"

"Why?" Reagan retorted, confused. "I thought you told me Kurt wanted us to meet."

"I know he did," Dave said lightly. "Now just isn't a good time, that's all. You should probably mentally prepare yourself before meeting Courtney, anyways. She's a handful."

Dave had tried to be sincere, but Reagan had known he was hiding something in the way that he'd stared, puppy dog-like, into her eyes, as if to plead that she drop the subject. She'd nauseously debated over whether or not Dave was keeping her from Kurt in order to disguise his drug use — if such a thing were truly taking place. She'd halted that awful speculation in her head before even completing it. The thought of Kurt, sallow-skinned and needle sick, had made her physically ill.

While Reagan sat in her sturdy office chair contemplating this, she imagined Dave in New York City, where Nirvana was presently preparing to perform on Saturday Night Live. She was thrilled by their accomplishment and had promised Dave that she would watch the broadcast, though he'd whimpered in return that he'd rather her be there with him instead. It was not as if she could blame him for this longing; Kurt's family was making the trip to New York for the show and even Ginny had assured Dave that she would be there. Reagan was going to be the odd man out, absent as everyone else rallied around her husband on such a big day.

It had been possible to plan. She was by no means vital to DGC's little sliver of money-generating property in Seattle, but she wanted the employees there to like and appreciate her. Reagan had always detested any kind of authority, but she was mindful to tread carefully when she was at work. Regardless of how she felt, she respected the people she worked for. They were running the show of the scene she knew and loved and inevitably, she admired them profoundly for it.

That day, Reagan wore one of her old dresses again, still shying away from the constraint of jeans. Even though she had on her darkest opaque tights beneath it, the hem of the dress still skimmed short against her thighs. As she sat in her chair, she griped while tugging the dress down, hoping not to flash anyone the next time she stood. It was a good thing that DGC was so lax with how their employees dressed — otherwise, she would have been in a pantsuit, a thought that made her involuntarily shudder.

A few employees breezed by Reagan's desk, throwing her smiles and hellos as they passed. She always returned their greetings, though sometimes shyly, depending on who it was. While most of the employees at DGC had welcomed her in warmly, both excited and curious that the drummer of Nirvana's pregnant wife was now working with them, some others had been rather cool towards Reagan. She understood their inhospitality, mostly because she knew how the arrangement looked to some. It was obvious that Dave had pulled the 'rockstar' ropes to get her there.

But, for the most part, Reagan had easily melted into the daily ongoing blur at DGC. She poured fresh coffee for producers and executives, supplied paper and pens during meetings, and consistently answered the front desk phone, so much that she might as well have glued the device to her ear. Sometimes, Reagan would get to stay in the meetings, standing separately in a corner while the important people talked. Back in November, she had gotten wind of a debate over White Zombie signing to Geffen. One of the record executives had voiced uncertainty over the idea and Reagan had stood aside, nearly bursting with the need to speak.

White Zombie is GREAT, she had desperately wanted to gush. You'd be lucky to have them.

Of course, she hadn't said that out loud. She never gave her opinion unless she was asked for it, which rarely happened. Despite this, she always vied for the day in which someone would plead for her impression on a certain band. Secretly, she felt as if she had better music taste than all the DGC execs combined, though that could have merely been her ego talking.

She sat bored in her chair, twirling a pencil round and round over her knuckles similarly to the way she would a drumstick. So far that morning, she had only taken four phone calls and assisted in scheduling one meeting. She was getting tired, feeling her eyes start to droop with the weight of exhaustion. Her sleep schedule had been off lately, something she accredited to the baby, though it definitely might have had something to do with Dave's ever-empty space in their bed.

Just as she was about to begin a one-on-one game with herself of tic-tac-toe, the phone on her desk rang. Quickly, Reagan set her pencil down and answered the call, tucking her hair behind her ear to raise the receiver up to it.

"DGC Records, this is Reagan speaking," she said, layering the professionalism on thick. The little spiel flowed naturally for her now, even as she recalled Dave imitating it for her in his highest-pitched girl voice. The memory made her smile around her words.

"Reagan, oh good, it's you," came a familiar male voice at the end of the line.

Reagan felt her eyebrows crease together. She had never picked up the phone at work only to be addressed by name.

"Who's this?" she questioned, suddenly wracked with curiosity as she wrapped the phone cord twice around her pointer finger.

"John Silva," the man replied. "Nirvana's manager."

"Oh!" Reagan jerked upright in her chair, instinctively sitting straighter though the added weight of her growing pregnant belly made it hard. "I'm so sorry, I didn't even recognize your voice!"

"That's alright," John said with natural ease. "I know that you've met Danny on many more occasions than me. I didn't expect you to remember."

"You'd think that I would remember," Reagan countered apologetically, feeling lousy for not having recalled John's voice. They had met several times in the past and John had been the one to fulfill Dave's job request for her.

"No hard feelings Reagan, I promise. I am calling to ask a favor though, if you don't mind."

"A favor?"

"Well," he began, fighting a heavy sight. "It's not my favor as much as it is Dave's."

"Oh no," Reagan said, feeling her face flare with heat. She wondered vaguely if Dave was preparing to pull some kind of prank on her. "Do I even want to know?"

"You might. He asked that I call and bail you out of work for the next few days so that you could come join us for the NBC performance this weekend."

The heat in her face boiled at her cheekbones, turning her skin rosy pink. Never would Reagan have imagined Dave, being as bold as he usually was, relying on someone else to ask her to visit him.

"So he sent you to ask this instead of calling me himself?" she wondered, trying to sound lighthearted in an effort to not offend John, who had clearly been thrown unwillingly into the mix.

"He said you would say that," John told her. He sounded as if he was fighting a smile. "He also said that he already asked you to come and that you said no, because you had to work. So he asked me to tell them that under no circumstances are you permitted to work between —," he paused, and Reagan imagined him checking his watch, "now, at eleven-twenty-one, and Tuesday the fourteenth."

"I can't believe he got you to do this," Reagan said fiercely as she gripped the phone to her ear, feeling a mix of thorough humiliation and shock. The thought of any more special treatment, including being discharged out of work responsibilities, horrified her. She wanted to be taken seriously at her job — not discredited as some band member's lazy wife.

"I'm sensing that you're not happy with this arrangement," John observed.

"I — it's not that I'm not grateful, Mr. Silva . . ."

"John," he corrected firmly. "Call me John."

"John," Reagan said, knowing how uncertain and silly she sounded even to herself. "I take my job very seriously."

"Dave told me that too. He said you're a hard worker."

"He should probably just let me work then," Reagan said. "I mean, I would have to get on a plane right now if I was going to make it to New York . . ."

Before Reagan could muster the rest of her excuse, one of her bosses turned the corner nearest to her desk and rapped his hand against the wall. The knock caught her attention and she looked up to where he stood, dressed nicely in a sport coat and button-up.

"Reagan," he said. "I just got off the phone with John Silva. He told me that you're to leave work as soon as possible."

She felt her face fall into a motionless mask as she stared at her boss, wondering what emotion was the most predominant one emanating from her. Somewhere in the embarrassment-induced haze that she was in, she could picture Dave smiling smugly as he secretly cast aside her plans to work. As humble and sweet as he could be, she gritted her teeth and insisted to herself that Dave's newfound rock stardom had gone to his head. Things like this just didn't happen in the real world.

"Reagan?" John asked tentatively, sounding nervous. "Are you there?"

"Yes," Reagan said, clearing her throat with annoyed abruptness. "I'm here. I just got the message. I'm supposed to leave work, now."

"We've got your airfare covered, if you were wondering."

"I figured. John, do you think you could pass along a message to Dave from me?"

John hesitated at the end of line, most likely questioning whether or not he was about to be subjected to an earful from Reagan that was meant to be translated back to his client.

"Uh, sure Reagan. Go ahead."

It was hardly part of Reagan's plan to rope John into her scolding — no, she intended to save the real heft of the lecture for when she was standing right in front of Dave, close enough to him so that he'd clearly hear every word of what she had to say. For John, she kept it short and sweet, delivering her directions swiftly.

"Tell him he is in huge trouble."

_______

On the drive from New York's JFK airport into Manhattan, Reagan began to guess that as long as she was married to Dave, she would have to get used to being a frequent traveler and dweller of airports all over the world. As the skyscrapers of the city loomed closer into view, she could barely make sense that only a month prior, she'd jetted off to France and then Virginia, all in the span of thirty days.

As usual, the team of helpful Nirvana crew members assigned for what Reagan now liked to call 'Reagan-duty' were overtly kind to her. Throughout those past few months of touring, they had all come to adore Dave and in turn adored his wife too, who was seemingly even more like-able with her slight swell of a baby bump straining against her shirt.

Reagan supposed that she should have been in awe of the bustling city around her as the car weaved through traffic and cramped streets. She had never been to New York City, but had always wanted to visit thanks to the superb music culture that lurked in the underground clubs jammed amongst the high-rises.

It was a sight to see, but nothing she could fixate on, at least in that present moment. She was too caught up thinking about Dave, torn between still being mad at him and being overjoyed that she would get to spend such a momentous weekend at his side. And not only that, but the pounding reminder that he was about to be on Saturday Night Live seemed too huge to occupy a reasonable space in her mind. It had happened all so fast. The months didn't seem to add up right. Only a year prior, Nirvana had been a band skirting the edges of the mainstream music world. Now, it felt like they were the only thing that that world wanted to talk about.

The oncoming darkness of night had blanketed New York, though shots of orange and pink sunset still streaked the sky in the distance. The lights of Manhattan glowed down so brightly that Reagan felt herself squinting as she looked up through the backseat window, trying in a very tourist-like fashion to detect any major landmarks she would have been able to identify from movie-watching over the years.

As the car veered to the curb parallel to the Omni hotel where the band was staying, Reagan saw a friendly face appear behind the revolving glass doors. It was a face capable of soothing any bout of annoyance and evoking warm, homespun feelings that Reagan herself had never really experienced.

She beamed as Ginny approached the car, bundled warmly in a black coat and waving one gloved hand.

"Tell me he didn't send you out into the cold!" Reagan cried as she threw open the car door and tumbled out onto the pavement right into Ginny's waiting hug.

"He did, but only because he is terrified to see you," Ginny laughed. "He knows he's in trouble and has been pacing around like a guilty teenager. I offered to come down and soften you up before you see him."

"You know how to get to me," Reagan smiled, feeling Ginny's charm melt her inhibitions away. She grabbed her singular suitcase that had been retrieved from the trunk and walked towards the entrance of the hotel, Ginny's arm wrapped tightly around her waist.

"So he's scared of me?" Reagan asked, wanting to roll her eyes up to the ceiling.

"A bit. I'm not sure he realized how set you were in your plans to stay home and work."

Reagan sighed, feeling the same guilt that must have been plaguing Dave. It was difficult to remain frustrated when in reality, he'd orchestrated the whole mess as a heartfelt surprise.

Fuck, she mentally cursed to herself. Why on earth does he have to make it hard to stay pissed at him?

"I get why he wants me here," Reagan admitted as she and Ginny breezed by the front desk and into an open elevator. "Everyone was coming to the city for the show except me. I should have been here from the start, supporting him."

Ginny patted the hand that Reagan had laid on her suitcase handle. "You make your own decisions, sweetheart. You're a big girl. There will always be another show, and if you want to work, that's that."

"That's not what my sister said when I called to tell her I was leaving. She was jealous that she couldn't come too," Reagan said with a grin.

"You ought to bring her next time," Ginny suggested.

"I might. I'm sure Dave will have me flying somewhere again soon, at least before I have to stop traveling because of the baby."

"It kills him to be away from you," Ginny replied, smiling sadly as she glanced down at Reagan's stomach. "And even more so knowing that you both have a child on the way."

The elevator stopped on Dave's floor with an audible ding, its doors parting and allowing Reagan and Ginny to step out. They walked leisurely down the carpeted hallways, chatting about the baby and Reagan's relief that Dave would be home in time for her due date. As they rounded a corner, Reagan looked up and saw two people approaching fast from the opposite end of the hall.

She first took notice of the tall blonde donning a babydoll outfit and tights, an ensemble similar to the one Reagan had worn into work that morning. The only difference was that the blonde wore a cardigan three sizes too big and was by far the mirror opposite of Reagan with her sticky red lips, messy hair pinned with clips and statuesque height. Even the outfit she wore seemed to signal a different message than the one Reagan had imagined her own giving off.

At the blonde's side was a man shorter than she was, wearing a similar cardigan and a ratty pair of jeans with one-too-many holes in them to be deemed suitable for the chilly weather. His hair was dyed bright red and partially obscured his face. It took Reagan several moments to realize that it was Kurt she was looking at.

"Kurt!" she blurted in surprise, blinking rapidly as she tried to deduce how the tiny, frail person in front of her was the same friend she'd seen just a month earlier.

Kurt looked up nervously at her through the curtain of his hair, pushing it aside to reveal his icy eyes — they were the only thing that seemingly hadn't changed about him. He didn't seem at all delighted to see her.

"Hey Reagan," he said blandly as if they were merely passing by each other on an afternoon walk.

"Who's this?" the blonde asked articulately as her narrowed eyes flew back and forth between Kurt and Reagan. Kurt turned to answer her question, but was unable to get a word out before the blonde's face brightened and broke into a huge, winning smile.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I know you! You're Dave's little Olympia paramour!" She stuck her hand out proudly and with an incredibly powerful presence that mimicked royalty, introduced herself. "I'm Courtney, Kurt's fiancée."

It was dreamlike hearing the word 'fiancée' leave Courtney's lipstick-smeared mouth. Reagan was still attempting to process Kurt's feeble appearance as Courtney's declared that the two were, according to that very word fiancée, engaged to be wed.

"Fiancée?" Reagan repeated, taking Courtney's hand weakly as Courtney shook hers with vigor and a grip that overwhelmed Reagan's.

"Yes!" Courtney gushed. Her enthusiasm, while obviously genuine, held the slightest touch of egoism to it as she smirked in what Reagan assumed was her version of a smile. "We just did an interview with Sassy magazine today announcing it. Can't wait to see how that turns out."

Reagan momentarily forgot that Ginny was standing beside her as she gathered her wits, allowing herself to relax and summon a smile as she stared at the newly-engaged couple. With each second that she stared, she saw that the Kurt standing before her was not the same Kurt she had bid goodbye to in France before Christmas.

"That's . . . that's amazing," she finally said, making sure to end her sentiment with a ring of excitement. She looked determinedly into Courtney's eyes, hoping that she came across as being thoroughly enthused. It must have worked, for Courtney smiled back at her more authentically than she had before. It looked like Reagan had passed her test.

"But look at you! A baby! I can't believe it, Dave actually knocked someone up!" Courtney exclaimed, looking down at the bump set above Reagan's hips. "Aren't we just a happy group with all this good news?"

"That we are," Reagan agreed, albeit weakly with a faltering smile. Courtney didn't seem to catch it as she embraced Reagan in a hug that lasted for a brief two seconds. In that span of time, Reagan caught a whiff of her perfume, floral and strong and intermixed with the shampoo smell of her blonde tresses.

"Kurt and I are going to dinner, but we'll catch up tomorrow!" Courtney said. Reagan looked back at Kurt, wondering how he managed to remain silent. It was evident that Courtney, in her very robust way, was acting as his mouthpiece — his spokesperson.

"Okay," Reagan agreed. "We will. I'll see you guys then."

"It was great to meet you," Courtney added as the pair continued to walk down the hall. Kurt glimpsed back at Reagan and in return, she shot him a questioning look, though she knew she would receive no answer from him. Once she and Ginny arrived at Dave's hotel room door, Ginny finally spoke, sounding apprehensive.

"So you've met the famous Courtney then," she said, allowing herself a small laugh.

"Yes," Reagan said absently. She still felt swept away in a tide of confusion, trying hurriedly to piece together both Kurt's raggedness and his sudden engagement. She said no more as she walked into the room and and spotted Dave perched on a loveseat by the bed, mid-bite into a massive slice of cheesy pizza.

"Shit," he muttered when he saw the glazed look on Reagan's face. He dropped his pizza back onto his plate and winced out a smile.

Although she still felt discombobulated from her run-in with Kurt and Courtney, Reagan gave herself a moment to appreciate being with Dave. She parked her suitcase in the corner of the room and walked straight into his arms, hugging him close. After the whirlwind of unfamiliarity she'd just experienced in seeing Kurt, Dave was the most refreshing thing in the world.

"I'll leave you two to figure out dinner plans," Ginny announced. She glared pointedly at Dave's discarded pizza slice, as if to say, 'how could you have gotten dinner without thinking of your pregnant wife first?' It didn't matter to Reagan. Food was admittedly the last thing on her mind.

"So you're not mad at me for all of this," Dave said as soon as they were alone. He smiled and smoothed back Reagan's flyaway hairs from her face, kissing her deeply and hooking one hand around her waist.

"I was," Reagan began, craning her neck away from his kiss. "But now I've got another problem. I just saw Kurt and Courtney out in the hallway."

Dave put on an exaggerated grimace, looking ominous as he took Reagan's hand.

"Oh fuck. Was Courtney nice to you? I told you, she can be a lot. But I promise you, you'll warm up to her. She's good in small doses, you know?"

"It's not her. She was fine to me. But you didn't tell me that she and Kurt were engaged."

"Oh. That." Dave slipped away from Reagan with unease, lumbering back over to the loveseat. "C'mon, Reags. I wasn't going to tell you that. You and Kurt are friends and that was for him to tell you himself, not me."

"Don't you think that him getting engaged is happening a little too suddenly?" Reagan demanded, feeling her face flush with the onslaught of anger she'd been hiding all day.

"Don't you think that everything we've done as a couple has happened a little too suddenly also?" Dave responded, nodding at both the wedding ring on Reagan's finger and her pregnant belly.

"I wouldn't say too suddenly," she retorted hotly. "Don't think for a second that I'm not happy about this."

"That's not what I'm saying. I'm just pointing out that we'd be hypocrites to judge them when we've pulled the exact same shit. They're crazy in love and no one is going to stop them from getting married."

"Okay, fine," Reagan huffed. "You've explained that one. So explain this to me, then. Why in the hell does Kurt look like he is on drugs?"

Dave sighed, leaning back into the loveseat cushions and shaking his head as if he'd been through the same conversation before. He stared at Reagan with grave eyes.

"What do you think is going on, Reagan?"

Reagan opened and closed her mouth, feeling nothing but hot air escape her lips. Her loss for words did not connect to all the things she wanted to say as Dave made his. indiscreet confession. It was the confession she had hoped to never hear, the one that confirmed all of her sisterly fears for Kurt. He was doing drugs. He was doing drugs and dwindling away. And it had only been a month since she'd last seen him.

"No he's not," she stuttered, feeling her body stagger under the pressure of realization.

"If Kurt wants to be an idiot and shoot up in his spare time, that's his prerogative —,"

"Shoot up?" Reagan cried, her voice cracking. "He's using heroin?"

"Why are you acting so surprised?" Dave asked irritably.

"Are you kidding me? He's messed up on heroin and that's all you've got to say?"

"I don't know what it is that he's doing, Reags. We've all just assumed it's heroin. All you've got to do is take one look at him to know."

"And you're not going to say anything to him?" Reagan demanded.

Dave looked at her in utter disbelief. "Come on, Reagan. Kurt's a big boy. When he's ready to cut the shit, he will."

"You know Kurt!" Reagan said, raising the pitch of her voice to a shout. "You know him just as well as I do, Dave! You were his roommate! His friend! This isn't just a passing phase!"

"Stop screaming like that," Dave suddenly hissed, lurching up off of the couch and looking around anxiously. It was obvious that the rumor of Kurt's drug use was already a secret that wasn't actually secretive. It was a don't ask, don't tell piece of knowledge that everyone in the Nirvana crew chose to sweep under the rug.

"Don't tell me what to do. This is Kurt we're talking about. We can't just let him become . . . become . . . a junkie!"

Dave looked into Reagan's eyes with an expression that gave way to his thoughts. She knew he was questioning her, wondering why she was even surprised to see the addictive personality that Kurt had always had peeking through. She had spent her teenage years running with a group that knew drugs very well, even if she herself had never tried them. The accusation of her ignorance in Dave's stare was enough to make Reagan's skin crawl.

"I want to see Krist," she said, beginning to quiver. "I need to talk to him about this."

She spun around towards the door, but Dave grabbed her arm and gently tugged her backwards. He turned her to face him, his hands gripping her tightly so that she couldn't wriggle away.

"Stop," he commanded seriously, though his voice was gentle. "You can't be a mother to everyone. You can mother Kate and Robbie and the twins, but you can't mother Kurt, Reagan. This is out of your hands just like it's out of mine. If you think I don't care about him . . . you're wrong. I'm scared for him. I am. But what can I do? It's Kurt. He's stubborn as hell. You know I've already tried."

Reagan stood in the constraint of Dave's hands, feeling her eyes and mouth crumple and her tears blur her vision. Hearing Dave address the matter with sadness, as if things were already too far gone, felt terrible and foreign. She had been out of the loop longer than she'd imagined. Dave would never give up on anyone, least of all Kurt, but there was defeat in his eyes as he held her. She knew he wasn't lying — he had tried.

She couldn't help but to succumb to her tears. Whenever she saw Kurt's face, she simultaneously saw Robbie's. Though Kurt was older than her, she'd always viewed him as a little brother, someone she could take care of. Even during periods of silence in which they hadn't been in touch, she had thought of him fondly, always sensing the invisible ripple of maternal need that seemed to exude out of him. Kurt was, by Krist's long-ago stated definition, a little shit.

But he was still just a kid to Reagan. Just like Robbie. A little kid who needed nurturing.

"I don't want to believe this," Reagan whispered, folding her hand over her crying eyes and allowing Dave to cradle her comfortingly into his chest. She deliberately chose to express that she didn't want to believe what was happening to Kurt rather than claim that she couldn't believe it. Ultimately, Dave was right.

Reagan could believe it. She could believe it all.

A/N (2): whoa, long chapter! i've never written as long of chapters as i do now for OOTR. i used to write 1700 words for in the sun and be satisfied lmao. not sure why, but i find it awkward to write sincerely about kurt when this is a dave-focused story. inevitably, i feel like reagan's feelings are a reflection of the ones dave never got to manifest because during kurt's drug abuse, he was trying in a way to hold nirvana together and do his job. we all know dave loved kurt dearly and i want to make it clear that for me, reagan is a fictional vessel for the emotions i don't think dave ever got to express as he watched his close friend spiral into addiction. while it may seem yucky and corny for reagan to be so weepy over kurt, i really want to express why i chose to present it that way. if anything, she is externally expressing what i think dave internally went through with kurt. okay, sorry for this stupid lengthy explanation in which i try to justify my creative choices!