That Blue Gibson: Another Round

forty-four

Liz had grown accustomed to traveling.

In the early morning, before she would even open her eyes, her brain would grind through the trip's itinerary to acclimate her to the current locale, adjusting to the timezone and climate as best she could. It was a necessary process to keep up with her husband, who seemed to just automatically and effortlessly adapt to where ever he was as a side effect of his occupation. Except that morning, even with her careful routine, she awoke disoriented.

When they'd made it back to the villa the night before, Dave remained within a few feet of her as she got ready for bed, helping her untie her dress and pulling a clean shirt of his over her head for her to sleep in, then sliding into the big bed beside her where they talked about nothing at all until Liz eventually fell asleep.

Though he hadn't slept just as she knew he wouldn't and even before she was fully awake she knew she was alone in bed. Rolling onto her back, she finally pried her eyes open and blinked against the light coming through the heavy curtains. Letting her stare adjust, she ran her hand over the sheets on his side of the bed and found them cold, confirming what she already knew. He was just as much nocturnal as diurnal, never able to grasp meaningful sleep when he needed it most.

Twisting her head to the side to look at the window, she froze. At some point, he'd pulled a chair beside the bed and was resting his elbows on his knees while staring at her with wide, blank eyes, and had it been anyone else on earth she would have been scared to death.

But this was Dave.

"You're such a goddamn weirdo," she whined, flinging her pillow at his face when he burst out laughing at his own joke.

She attempted to roll away, but he dove into the bed before she could untangle herself from the sheets and pressed all his weight into her. Her heart fluttered at his playfulness, the dread of facing a somber day replaced by relief that he wasn't about to let her mope about

"You sleep too much," he accused, pushing her chin up with his nose so he could kiss her throat.

"You don't sleep enough," she shot back and smiled when he snorted in agreement.

"We have to be at the arena in an hour," he muttered passively, trailing his kisses from her neck up to her jaw and was about to reach her lips when she pulled away.

"David!" she squealed and shoved him off of her with one massive swipe of her arms then launched out of the bed, "An hour?"

Grinning at her from the sheets, he wrapped his arms around his knees to watch her scramble around the room for her clothes. "I told you, Elizabeth. You sleep too much."

*

"Okay, now two more!" Rami announced, grabbing another bottle of homemade Limoncello that someone had gifted the band.

Nate's hands went up in defeat as he backed away from the tall table, "Tap out. No one likes a wasted bassist."

"It's not meant to be shot," Pat scoffed from his corner of the table while holding a martini glass, "It's meant to be sipped."

"We're sipping it!" Liz insisted, taking a tentative slurp off her overflowing shot glass when Dave thrust it into her hand. "'Cept it's just one sip and we do it really fast."

"Saluti!" Rami yelled and the small crowd around the table tossed back their drink, swallowing quickly to avoid choking on laughter when Pat shotgunned his entire martini along with them.

They were all still coughing and spluttering when Gus barked through the doorway for the second time in five minutes, "Grohl! Get your ass out here!"