OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohl

sixty-nine.

MARCH 6th, 1992, SEATTLE, WA

         "YOU'RE HOME EARLY!" Dave said brightly. Reagan walked, or rather waddled, her way through their front door with an exhausted look on her face. As she flipped the door's lock closed, she smiled half-heartedly at Dave, who sat chipper as a puppy in the living room with his usual guitar across his lap.

"Good thing, too. I'm so tired."

"That's my fault," Dave admitted. "I kept you up late."

It wasn't necessarily by force that Dave had gotten Reagan to stay up the previous night with him. His sleep schedule was upside down from months of touring and she'd found it irresistible to stay wide awake with him as he watched television or entertained his hands with a guitar or drumsticks. Work and other responsibilities didn't concern Reagan when she was holing up like a hibernated animal with Dave once again at home. The only thing that grounded her back into the real world was the sound of her alarm going off with every new morning.

"It's not your fault," Reagan assured him. She dropped her ratty bag down to the floor and walked stiffly over to the couch. Dave jumped up in immediate attention, eager to please to her.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. "I can make you something."

"Don't," Reagan said, shaking her head. "You don't have to wait on me."

"Reags, I've done nothing all day. You worked, and that makes one of us. Let me get you something to eat."

"Fine," she agreed. She preemptively knew that this was not a battle she would win with him. Considering her options, she catalogued her cravings and tried to decide what sounded best. "Can you make a grilled cheese?"

"Sure," Dave said readily. "A grilled cheese it is."

Reagan watched him dart into the kitchen and heard the clatter of pans as he dug one out from its usual space. As he stood up, she could see him through the opening that split the kitchen from the living room. He tucked his hair behind his ear, now growing nearly as long as hers, and started cooking.

"You can get out of the apartment, you know," Reagan called to him as she untied her Converse. The effort in bending over her pregnant belly to pull at the laces nearly left her breathless.

"It's not fun to go anywhere without you," Dave replied. Reagan immediately detected the lie in his reassurance, knowing Dave well enough to understand that his independence was not usually hindered by anything except apparently, her.

"I know you miss going to shows," she said, tugging her sneakers off of her feet and letting them thud down onto the carpet. "And getting into trouble with whoever is willing."

"We do not get into any trouble," Dave corrected. "We're all good boys. And I don't miss any of it, really. At least not right now."

"I'm not exactly the most fun to be around."

"I beg to differ. I said it before and I'll say it again. You're very entertaining when your pregnant."

Reagan snorted and grabbed the remote, turning on the television and putting her feet up. She flipped the station to the news, figuring it would be best to actually remain updated with the rest of the world. Since coming home from Hawaii, she hadn't really thought about life outside of her and Dave's apartment and even felt guilty for her lack of planning, at least for Gracie's sake. Only once since they'd been back in Seattle had Dave and Reagan seriously discussed their blueprint plans for being new parents, and the subject had revolved around potentially leaving their west Seattle apartment for an actual house.