Labor of Love

Prologue

July, 1989

        Los Angeles, California

Twenty-five-Year-old Bobby Dall let out a groan that was equal parts pleasure and pain as he flopped on his bed after Hell-only-knew how long. At this point, he was lucky to even remember his own name, let alone how long it’d been since he’d last seen the place he currently called home. Despite the fact that he shared it with his band mates–front man and rhythm guitarist Bret Michaels, lead guitarist CC DeVille, and drummer Rikki Rockett–he was just glad to be here. So many months on the road could really take it outta a guy, as he’d learned on their first serious tour and only had reinforced this Time around.

        Said front man–who’d turned twenty-six just a few months ago–couldn’t help a soft laugh as he entered the bedroom they shared. Met with the sight of his lone brunette band mate sprawled out on his bed with his face buried in his pillow and his ass up in the Air, he couldn’t help but laugh. Then again, that was most likely in part due to the delirium of having been on tour for what’d seemed like forever before their final show in New Zealand.

        That lone brunette rolled his eyes as he tossed both hands up without bothering to lift his head, his middle fingers deftly raised in an all-too-familiar gesture. His friend burst into louder laughter as he followed his lead by dropping his suitcase at the foot of his bed and all but Swan-diving onto it. All of them were just as glad as the othersta be home, even though they knew it’d be only a short Time before their record label was wanting them back in the studio. Course, even if the record label didn’t, doubtless the band themselves would–they were fairly Creative bastards, after all. Once that itch hit, there was simply no scratching it till they unleashed their Creativity, whether individually or collectively.

        Considering that they were all drop-dead exhausted for the moment, it was no surprise that even the other pair of blondes were quick to fall asleep. Now that they’d finished out their tour without anybody dying–in an accident, at their own hands, or at the hands of another–it was Time to catch up on some rest. And well-deserved rest it was, too, considering all the shit they’d put up with after leaving for tour over a Year ago.

        The thing that none of them were expecting was for the apartment to damn near be empty again when they all woke–in different Times and places.