[ hi! this is an insert chapter that is making up for what i've missed according to the storyline. if you remember my announcement from a few days ago, this is what i was talking about! so technically this isn't a new update, but i hope y'all enjoy it regardless! ]

REAGAN HAD NEVER felt so relieved to step foot inside of her house, closing the door and shielding herself from the gusts of winter air rattling her bones. She'd layered herself in a thick coat above her work uniform, but even then, her teeth chattered as she slipped inside and locked the front door.

By the sound of it, her family was already having dinner in the kitchen. She could hear their cacophony of babble and the scraping of silverware against plates, leading her to wonder (as well as hope) that Kimberly had perhaps set aside a dish for her.

"Who's there?" someone called, halting the evening conversation.

"Just me," Reagan replied, hanging her coat by the front door and prying pieces of wind blown hair out of her face.

She strode into the kitchen while still pulling auburn tendrils out of her eyes and stumbled upon her somewhat picturesque family, gathered around the table and helping themselves to a meal of pork chops and salad. Her stomach rumbled in response to the appetizing visual.

"Did you make any for me?" Reagan asked, walking towards the countertop that showcased a spread of pans and bowls.

"I thought you were working late tonight," Kimberly said, sipping her water and knitting her eyebrows in the mock sort of way that made Reagan angry enough to spit.

"You know my work hours. I was on the closing shift tonight," Reagan said tersely. If she had known that her mother was going to forget about her, she would have simply gone through a drive-thru for fast food.

"Reagan, do you know how many things I have to remember daily? You can't expect me to remember the hours you work all the time," Kimberly sighed.

Robbie, who had hardly touched his food, sat up straighter in his chair with perked ears. "Let's go to McDonalds" he suggested enthusiastically, looking towards Reagan.

"Sit down," Kimberly commanded her son. "There's leftover baked potato soup in the fridge that your sister can heat up."

Robbie frowned and slumped back dejectedly into his seat. "McDonald's would have been better than this."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing, Mom!"

Reagan swallowed back the volley of what Kimberly would have called 'smart-aleck' comments lodging themselves between her lips. If she could help it, she refused to be at odds with her mother, at least outwardly. It was better for her to fume in silence. At least that way, Kimberly never had anything else to complain about when it came to Reagan.

She wrapped her hand around the handle of the refrigerator knowing that she didn't want baked potato soup for dinner. She wanted the hot meal that everyone else was eating, but it had been made clear that she wasn't meant to be included that night. It was an odd enough thing to make Reagan want to question just exactly what her mother expected out of her. To be an honorary member of the family, or to sit on the sidelines and watch them all play house together?

"Reagan, will you take the twins for a bath before you eat?" Kimberly asked, craning her neck over her shoulder to glimpse at Reagan, who still stood in front of the fridge.

Reagan hesitated, clutching her fingers tighter around the plastic handle. She felt her stomach growl with hunger again.

"Can I eat first?"

"Honey, they've got to be laid down for bed soon. I'll be busy down here cleaning dishes and you know how long that takes me after a big dinner --,"

"Fine," Reagan said, cutting Kimberly off and dropping her hand back down to her side. She considered leaving the bowl of baked potato soup full, nestled on the top shelf of the fridge, so that Kimberly would see it the next day. Maybe then would she feel the repressed guilt that must have at least lingered somewhere above her head space.

Reagan rounded up RaeLynn and Kody, helping them down from their booster seats placed at the end of the table. Their smiles at her, radiant and filled with innocent love, made the prospect of not eating easier for Reagan to cope with. If it had been any other kids that she was tasked to babysit, she didn't think she would have reacted so positively.

With both twins sitting on either of her hips, Reagan started out the kitchen. As she passed by Kate, she noticed her sister's coy smile and the way she glanced at her neck. She didn't have to wonder what was causing Kate to smirk at her so knowingly. Around the base of her throat, moving in and out of sight beneath the collar of her shirt, was the locket that Dave had gifted her.

Of course Kate had been given the full story of how the locket had ended up in Reagan's possession. Reagan would have been daft to assume that her all too observant sister and roommate would skim over her new piece of jewelry like it was nothing. Kate had seen the locket the day after Dave had given it to Reagan. She had almost collapsed with happiness.

Although Kate's support was bewildering and almost hard to stomach, Reagan knew that she secretly enjoyed Kate's steadfast approval of her relationship with Dave. She had expected nothing less out of their self-proclaimed 'biggest fan,' but there was still an undeniably wonderful feeling about knowing how Kate backed her up. And the way she had looked at the locket, so adoringly as if it foretold of a future that Reagan herself was not yet aware of . . . it was strangely invigorating.

Inside the bathroom, Reagan bathed the twins and allowed them spare time to play and splash in the water, entertaining her with their squeals as they skimmed bath toys amongst the bubbles. She sat on the closed toilet lid, avoiding getting drenched while trying to envision herself as a mother one day, doing that exact same thing except with her own child.

The image never came to her -- mostly because she had an awareness that she was the farthest thing from motherly. Maybe she was doting to the twins and her other younger siblings, but Reagan could only grit her teeth when she imagined herself as a mom. A voice in her head suggested that she was too selfish for such a task.

Once the twins were dried and dressed in their pajamas, Reagan took the liberty of laying them down for bed and reading them both a story from their collection of children's books. Kimberly had yet to show herself, so Reagan assumed that it would be up to her to ensure that RaeLynn and Kody got to bed.

After she was positive that they were both asleep, she left their room and made her way back into the kitchen. She could hear the sink water running, a tell-tale sign that Kimberly was still busy working over the dishes.

Reagan leaned against the doorframe that opened into view of her mother, folding her arms and absently glancing towards the floor. They were alone, something that did not sit right within Reagan's realm of comfortability. Lately, she had not one single clue of how to speak to her own mother.

"Are they asleep?" Kimberly asked, not taking her eyes off the last pot being rinsed clean in her hands.

"Yep." Reagan continued examining the tiles beneath her feet.

Kimberly sighed, turning the sink off and placing the pot on the dish rack to dry. She turned and raised her eyebrows reproachfully at Reagan.

"Yes," she corrected her daughter, enunciating the word with disdain for Reagan's brief answer of 'yep.'

Reagan felt her jaw lock and her arms tighten against her chest, all warning signs of the inevitable climb her temper was taking. She backed up as Kimberly began to walk out of the kitchen, drying her hands against her pants before the phone suddenly rang.

Together they froze, meeting each other's eyes as the trill of an incoming call reverberated off the kitchen walls. Without questioning it, Reagan instinctively seemed to know the identity of the caller. Her stomach did a flip and she stood up straighter.

"Who's calling the house this late?" Kimberly wondered aloud, her tone pinched with annoyance. She started towards the phone, but Reagan staggered forward and blocked her mother's outreach with her arm.

"I've got it," she insisted firmly. "You go to bed."

Kimberly paused, inspecting her daughter with a narrowed look reserved solely for suspicious mothers. She lowered her hand slowly to her side.

"You're expecting a call?"

"No. Just trying to do you a favor."

The phone was still ringing, the call coming closer and closer to being missed. Reagan's fingers itched with the burst of need to grab it off its hook.

"Alright," Kimberly said, though she did not sound completely satisfied with Reagan's supposed helpfulness. She threw her one last apprehensive glance before leaving the room, appearing to mentally calculate just exactly why her daughter would so badly want to answer the phone.

Reagan exhaled with relief and took the call, mashing the receiver to her ear and thanking her lucky stars that Kimberly had opted not to pry that night. If she was right about who was calling, then she had just successfully avoided falling down a very slippery slope.

"Hello?" she said, running her fingers back through her hair while trying to dial down her voice to a whisper.

"Reagan? Is that you?" Dave asked, sounding giddy on the other line.

"Yeah, it's me. Listen, we've got to start coordinating times on when you plan to call my house. My mom almost picked up the phone."

"What's wrong with that? Are you on house arrest?"

"No, but I --,"

"Is it my voice? You can tell me if the sound of it is offensive," Dave teased.

"Forget it," Reagan said. Her discord with her family was too big of an explanation for a phone call, and besides, she feared that Kimberly could possibly be listening in from the staircase. "What's up? How was your night?"

"Amazing. Would you like to know why?"

"Well yes, other wise I'd just hang up."

"Guess what the guys and I decided on tonight?" Dave prompted eagerly.

"I don't know. Have you all gotten together for a sleepover and picked out nail colors for manicures?" Reagan guessed sarcastically, knowing that by 'guys,' Dave was addressing Kurt and Krist.

"Close enough. The band is signing with Gold Mountain, Reags. The record label. We're fucking signed to a fucking label!"

Reagan caught her breath. She had one of two options at hand, and it was to respond to Dave's announcement immediately, or else the following consequences would be dire. There was nothing worse, she had surmised, than not being supportive of your significant other. It would have been criminal of her to hesitate when Dave was so obviously excited.

And of course, it was rather big news.

"Signed?" she said, raising her voice and pumping it with enthusiasm. "Oh my god, Dave, that's amazing!"

"I know! What the fuck! Can you believe it?"

"No," she admitted, though she shielded her honest disbelief. In fact, she could believe that Nirvana had finally been picked up by a record label. They were a great band, a fresh addition to the dynamic world of rock music, and surely it was only fate that they'd finally taken a giant step towards stardom.

What Reagan could not believe though, was that Dave was taking that step. She had expected him to do so if the chance had ever been granted to him, but she supposed then that she'd been unprepared for it all. She had been niching Dave and Nirvana into one aspect of her perspective for too long; that aspect fitted them into a corner that was close to her, in Olympia, where potential worldwide fame seemed like a distant thing.

She had just gotten Dave into her grasp and suddenly, it felt like she was bound suddenly to lose him. The thought made her chest seize up.

"I didn't think Kurt would agree to it, honestly. But remember that John Silva guy I told you about? One of the label managers?"

"Yes," she said faintly. She'd forgotten all about any mention of a man named John Silva, but her memory was gradually restored as she recalled Dave, Kurt and Krist deciding on a dinner with the manager in hopes of possibly signing with his company.

It had already been happening right before her eyes, yet Reagan had unintentionally blocked out the imminence of Nirvana finding a record label to sign to. In the weeks leading up to that moment, she had focused on Dave and only Dave, determined not to think about the 'what-ifs' that would catch up to her if he was one day famous.

And god, did she want that for him. He was talented, a man with skills that went beyond any natural phenomena in the real world. Dave deserved it all. He deserved to be rich and famous and boasting platinum records and membership to an ultimately brilliant band.

In the time that she had known him, he'd told every story from his childhood about wanting to be in a famous band when he was older. He'd gotten a look in his eye, one that she was now greatly familiar with. It was a sparkle of hope that couldn't be crushed. Dave was determined to get what he wanted, and finally, it was happening.

But still. She had only just found him. After twenty-one years of pledging herself solitary, she had found the person that had made her believe she could be in a relationship. And stardom did not exactly go hand-in-hand with relationships.

Dave was still chattering into the phone as Reagan processed it all, raising her thumbnail to her teeth and nibbling on what was left of it. All she could think about was his face -- his smiling face, nuzzling against hers and driving her crazy as he tried to get a laugh out of her. She loved him very much. If her love was true, she knew that she'd find it in her heart to cherish his success.

"Reags, are you still there?"

"I'm here. I was just listening. Dave . . . I really am happy for you."

"Thanks babe. Hey, any chance you could come over tonight? You're the only person I want to celebrate with right now."

She could hear the suggestion in his voice and it nearly put a lump in her throat. Throughout it all, he had still managed to hold on to his want for her. If that was not reassuring enough, then Reagan did not know what else was.

"I can try," she offered, thinking about Kimberly and how she would have to explain to her why she was not at home the following morning.

"Don't try. Do it. I'll even go buy us some alcohol while I wait for you to come over. I'll get that strawberry wine that you like."

Reagan laughed, looking down at her scuffed boots that were still on her feet. The mere mention of strawberry wine reminded her of a night not too far back in which her and Dave had downed almost two bottles of the drink, getting irresponsibly intoxicated before putting together his drum kit and playing drunken drum beats together. Kurt, who had been woken up in the midst of it all, had been pretty grumpy the morning after.

"Okay," she whispered. She didn't try to fight the smile tugging on the corners of her mouth.

"I love you," Dave said sincerely. Each word rang with definition in her ear. It made her wonder how she'd even thought it possible to ever lose him.

"I love you too," Reagan replied. She hung up the phone and took a deep breath.

She had to pull herself together. The only surefire thing she could tell herself with a swell of certainty was that there was no reason to worry about losing Dave, not when he was so clearly right in front of her. He was there. He was within her available reach, reaching out to her too.

As long as he was right in front of her, she'd never have to worry.