OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohl

fifty-seven.

THE SEA-TAC AIRPORT seemed oddly void of travelers as Reagan and Dave walked briskly though its vast corridors, the soles of their shoes squeaking against the gleaming floors. They had moved easily through the motions that morning, from security to bag check to now finding their gate.

Dave did only have one bag though, something that had amused Reagan greatly. She didn't comprehend how someone could embark on a months-long tour with only one large duffle bag, but Dave had assured her it would be fine. He carried light.

They were rapidly approaching Dave's gate and in the distance, Reagan could see the huddle of the Nirvana crew waiting patiently to board their flight. She spotted Kurt stretched out like a cat in one of the gate's seats, his legs splayed in front of him and his head titled back.

They hadn't originally been holding hands, but Dave grabbed Reagan's palm tightly in his. She was glad that he did it. She was too busy to make the gesture herself, busy calculating each passing second that would eventually lead to their separation.

Thankfully, she had held it together. Whatever holding it together actually meant, anyways.

All she knew was that she no longer riddled with the fear of heartbreak.

They had driven to the airport in her car, as she was the one dropping Dave off that morning. He was intuitive enough to know that his departure was stressing her out, so he'd filled the ride with his usual upbeat chatter. Reagan had listened, smiling and laughing in all the right gaps of silence during which Dave looked at her cautiously with astute eyes.

It wasn't like she was going to snap. Fortunately, she had spent those last few weeks mentally preparing herself for Dave's absence. Although she had felt the pinprick of hot tears in her eyes only an hour earlier when she and Dave had laid together in bed, she felt somewhat recovered.

It was all part of her nearly forgotten promise to herself. She wouldn't become a total basket case just because Dave was leaving. All the time she had spent swearing to stay true to herself would have been wasted if she allowed herself to go to pieces.

She couldn't live permanently without Dave — that much she had deduced over the last year. But she could live without him for a few passing months if it meant spending a lifetime loving him.

"Goooood morning," Krist greeted as they finally joined the waiting crew. Both he and Kurt looked disheveled, clearly not having been adapted to being awake at such an early hour.

"Where's Shelli?" Reagan asked automatically, slightly taken aback to not see Krist's tiny, dark-haired wife at his side.

"We said our goodbyes in the parking lot," Krist explained. "She can't wait to get rid of me."

"I doubt that," Reagan retorted. Shelli, by Reagan's best guess, was probably nowhere near relieved to see her husband go. Reagan knew exactly how she must have felt.

There was precious time left to kill, so Reagan suggested that she and Dave wander off in search of coffee, although she had cut the drink out of her diet for the sake of the baby. Once they located a Starbucks, Reagan realized that it was strangely borderline painful to watch Dave raise his steaming cup of black brew to his lips. And it wasn't just because of her jealousy over his ability to have coffee while she could not.

She would miss everything about the little things that came with Dave's coffee drinking — the smell of his favorite dark roast and the way he closed his eyes when he drank it, savoring the taste. It was always those small details that crippled her the most, making her grit her teeth with the spasms of heartache that flared in her chest.