I know I'll know
Title: Brutal Love [19]
Author: Molly
Pairing: Billie/Mike
Summary: Hands hanging loosely at his sides, extensions of sagged shoulders, Mike said, quietly, “I'm gonna fight, Billie.”
Previous parts: located here
Notes: Dedicating this to strychninetwist and the_wondering_1. Appreciation and love to you both xx
“Now that-that is a beautiful picture, Liv.”
The little girl beamed, proudly showcasing her drawing and spelling of a very asymmetrical citrus fruit, of which her teacher had awarded her an 'A.' Olivia allowed her mother to take it from her, using the opportunity to grab the hands of her Aunt Aly. “We even got to eat oranges in class today. We almost didn't, 'cause Mrs. Connelly didn't want to give anyone any if they were allergic, but nobody was so we all got some!” She turned to Billie, curling a fist around the hem of his black t-shirt. “Will you put oranges in my lunch now, Mommy? They were so good!”
Billie smiled, stroking the top of her head. “Sure thing, sweetheart. Next time I go to the grocery store, I'll get some oranges for you.”
“You know, Liv, oranges have a lot of Vitamin C in them,” Aly told her, crouching to her level and tweaking her nose. “They'll keep your skin soft and beautiful, like it is now.”
“Daddy says I have nice skin, 'cause Mommy has nice skin.” Olivia looked questioningly at her mother. “Do you eat a lot of oranges, Mommy?”
“Not really,” he laughed, placing the drawing back into her school folder and tucking it into her backpack. “I like orange juice, though.” Billie Joe put the sack in her hands and gestured towards the stairs. “If you don't have any homework, go ahead and put your backpack in your room, sweetie.”
“Okay.” She hugged it to her chest and set her eyes on Alyssa again. “Are you staying, Aunt Aly?”
She glanced at Billie, who was clearing away their cold cups of coffee she had made for them after her friend's nervous breakdown. Mike still wasn't back yet, Billie hadn't heard so much as a word from him, and that's what made Aly nod, grinning at the way Olivia's eyes lit up. “Yeah, for a little while, peanut.”
“Will you play Candyland with me?” Olivia asked in a hopeful lilt, bouncing on her toes.
“Sure,” she laughed, “but only if your mom plays too.”
Olivia yelped excitedly and took off for the stairs, to put her backpack away as she had been asked and to retrieve her favorite board game. As little feet pattered through the house, Billie Joe looked at Alyssa with a small smile of thanks. He looked tired, certainly worse for the wear, but he was still holding it together and she admired him for that. A distant part of Aly could not help but feel a twinge of annoyance at Mike, for walking out on the person who cared more for him than any other, but she knew that notion was both biased and misplaced. If what Mike was going through measured up to even half of the pain Aly could find in glittering green eyes, then she had absolutely no right to judge.
Perhaps Billie was thinking along the same line because he checked his phone again on the way to the kitchen, to dispose of the dirty mugs. There were no new notifications, not from anyone he cared to talk to anyhow, and he cleared his head with a ragged sigh as he placed the dishes in the sink. In the distance, Billie could hear Olivia and Alyssa in the living room, setting up the game. Biting his lip, he took out a box of brownie mix and slammed it on the counter with determination. If chocolate wasn't going to make Billie Joe feel better, nothing would.
Well. . . chocolate, and waking up and discovering the past couple of days had just been a cruel and realistic nightmare. And he would have easily given up all of his wealth, all of his awards, and all of his pretty little songs for that to be the case. A damn good trade, the voice in the back of Billie's head growled, but unfortunately, life didn't work that way.
By the time he had popped the tray of brownies into the oven, Aly was perched on the edge of the sofa and his daughter was kneeling on the floor. Olivia was haphazardly shuffling the color-coded index cards, the tip of her tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth during the process, just as her father always did in moments of concentration. Smiling in a wistful sort of way, Billie smoothed his hand over the top of Olivia's head and plopped down beside her. She passed the tiny yellow man made of plastic into his hand.
“Mommy is always the yellow guy,” Olivia explained to Aly quite matter-of-factly. “I take the red guy. Daddy is usually blue, so I guess you can be blue.” She placed the stack of cards on the edge of the playing board and looked at Aly expectantly; kindly. “You can go first, 'cause you're the guest.”
Alyssa glanced at Billie Joe, both bemused and impressed by the little girl's manners. “Well, thank you, Miss Livy,” and so she flipped the first card, starting the game.
The two girls of the game were quickly approaching the colorful finish line of Kandy Castle, while Billie seemed to be permanently stuck on a licorice space near Gumdrop Pass, when Mike came creeping into the living room. None of them noticed at first, because Aly was viciously teasing Billie about his lackluster skills at the game and it was dissolving the game's youngest participant to giggles, until Olivia saw him standing their quietly and gasped, jumping up to give him a hug.
“Hi, Daddy!” She wrapped her arms around his neck, as she was hauled into the air. “We were just playing Candyland!”
“I can see that,” Mike smiled, giving her a kiss on the cheek, and then offering a nervous smile to the adults in the room. Billie Joe was almost looking at him like he was a ghost, and it was not a comfortable feeling.
For his part, Billie had to lower his head and give himself a moment to overcome the shock of finding himself in a room with his husband again so suddenly. His belly, that had only just seemed to settle into the normalcy of playing a game with his daughter and friend, began to writhe and squirm with the angry snakes of despair. Setting his jaw, Billie glanced up at Mike; he looked tired, in a way he never had before, and a part of Billie Joe wanted to cry.
“You ran for a long time, Daddy,” Olivia commented with all of the finesse of a child, then wrinkled her nose. “You kinda stink too.”
Mike chuckled and set her back down. “Sorry, sweets. Guess I need a shower.”
“Olivia has just been owning our butts, here,” Aly said, with a neutral smile in the bassist's direction; she could practically see the tension thrumming from both his and Billie's bodies, and a part of Aly felt a duty to protect Olivia from that. “We might need some support from you there, Mikey.”
“Yeah, Daddy, play with us! I gave Aunt Aly your blue guy, but you can use the green one instead!”
Before he could answer, a buzzer began to ring from the next room, and Billie physically jumped-he'd forgotten he'd put brownies in the oven. Aly, Mike, and Olivia were all looking at him with varying degrees of curiosity, and he smiled forcefully, getting up off the floor. “I put some brownies in.”
“You made brownies?” Olivia asked with wide eyes, as if in total disbelief this fact could have gotten past her, and she bounded into the kitchen after her mother, Candyland forgotten. “I want one, I want one, I want one!”
Alyssa and Mike watched them wander out of the living room, both of them biting their lip when a strained silence ensued. She picked up the game cards to shuffle through them distractedly, and he rocked back on his heels, hands on the hips of his skanky shorts, as they struggled for something to say to one another. It was difficult, when all Aly could make sense of was her extreme sadness for her favorite family, and Mike selfishly wished she wasn't there because he had to talk to Billie Joe, now, before Mike could waste another second being a total asshole.
The bassist idly scratched his grimy bicep, gesturing to the scattered pieces of Candyland with a slight smile. “You know,” Mike mumbled, low so people in neighboring rooms wouldn't hear his words, “I really fucking hate this bastard game.”
Surprised by his comment, she laughed. “Me too, but when that little angel asks you to play Candyland, you gotta play fucking Candyland.” Her chuckle died, and Aly ran her fingers through her hair, staring at the ridiculous board game as she contemplated whether or not she ought to say what she wanted to. But one of the reasons her and Billie got on so well was their mutual ease with speaking her minds, so she went ahead, but carefully, “I'm not sure if it's my place to say it, but I'm glad you're back. I think Billie was gettin' pretty edgy there, for awhile.”
Although moments before he'd wanted nothing more than for her to leave, he felt himself soften, and nodded. “Thanks for being here for him and Livy today,” Mike said quietly. “I know you'd do it no matter what and all, but I, you know, appreciate it.”
“Anytime,” Aly vowed with a gentle smile, “I've got your guys' back.”
A few seconds later, Billie Joe came walking back into the room with what seemed to be a pouting six year old balanced on the hip. “They're still too hot to eat just yet, Livybug,” he was saying, “you'll burn your little tongue.”
As Olivia mumbled something about brownies being worth burning her tongue, Aly looked at the odd pieces of the Armstrong-Pritchard family in front of her. Mike looked like complete shit, in his dirty athletic attire and bags the size of suitcases under his eyes, and Billie's forced calm was nearly palpable, in the way he carried his daughter and so obviously avoided glancing at Mike. Little Livy was blissfully oblivious in all of it, just an innocent bystander, and Alyssa's heart ached.
She knew her friends had a lot to work through. But she didn't know how easily they'd be able to do that with a curious young girl overing around.
So Aly stood, looking to Billie's pale eyes. “You know what I think would be really fun?”
“What?” He asked, brow furrowing in confusion.
“If I brought Olivia back to my house for a girl's night.” Her eyes flickered between both parents, gauging reactions. “We haven't had a sleepover in ages.”
Olivia gasped, wriggling out of her mother's grip to bounce over to Aly. Tiny fingers wrapped around the hem of her t-shirt. “Really?”
“Yeah!” Alyssa nodded emphatically. “We can watch princess movies and do our hair and tell each other secrets.”
Her eyes were sparkling, clearly enraptured by the idea, but her eager expression wavered for a moment, as in a small, grave voice she asked, “What about the brownies?”
She bent towards her with her hands on her knees, smiling in a sly manner. “Maybe your mom will let me bring some with us.” Aly paused, for dramatic effect, before adding, “I even have ice cream in my freezer to go with them.”
This seemed to be the last straw. Olivia jumped up and down excitedly, turning towards Billie Joe with crazily hopeful eyes. “Can I go, Mommy, can I go?”
Billie smiled down at her, petting her hair. “It's okay with me.” He chanced a reluctant gaze in Mike's direction, at the same time his stomach flopped; the idea of being all alone in the house with Mike was somewhat scary, but they had to address their undesirable circumstances sooner or later. “If it's okay with your dad, that is.”
It was the bassist's turn, to be on the receiving end of desperate hazel eyes and a trembling lower lip, and he couldn't help but chuckle. Mike's nod was somewhat hesitant though. His mind was running over the same thing Billie Joe's was. “Of course it's okay, as long as you leave enough brownies for Mommy and me.”
She whooped in excitement. “I'll go get my stuff!” Olivia turned tail and ran for the stairs, dark hair flying behind her.
As Billie watched her go, and Mike follow to no doubt help her, he bit his lip and shuffled towards Aly, reaching for her hands. “You're sure about taking her tonight? Not too much trouble?”
Her chocolate eyes raked over Billie's face knowingly. Aly could feel the unease and unbidden worries, even more than she could see them. “No trouble at all, BJ. I have tomorrow off anyway and can take her to school in the morning.” She pulled him in for a hug, squeezing tighter than she would on any other day. “You need to talk to Mike,” Alyssa murmured, “you guys need your space.”
Space, he thought, as he shut his eyes closed tight. Need a hell of a lot more than space. . .
“Thanks, Als,” Billie Joe said instead. “For everything.”
A few minutes later, and Olivia was all but yanking her Aunt Aly out the door, who was just barely hanging onto a plate of just sliced chocolate baked goodness. She had unceremoniously bid anxious goodbyes to her parents, too eager for a night filled with desserts and Beauty and the Beast and hopefully having her hair done up real nice, the way only Aunt Alyssa could do it. As usual, any and all of the tension that so clearly existed between the adults went unnoticed, because in Olivia's world, it was just another Wednesday.
Aly had allowed herself to be led out of the house, but not without first giving Mike his own meaningful embrace. She kissed his cheek and told him she loved him, and then with a reassuring glance in Billie's direction, the two girls were gone.
Once it was just the two of them again, Billie didn't allow himself enough time to start fidgeting; he immediately bent over the coffee table to pick up the abandoned game of Candyland. He was almost painfully aware of Mike's eyes on him, following everything from the way his bare feet shuffled along the carpet to the way his blunt fingers folded up the stiff board to return it to the box. The silence was so deafening, and it felt the way it did when you pick curiously at a sore, just to see if it still hurts. Billie Joe bit his lip.
“So,” he began softly, as he shuffled cards back together and lodged them away on top of the board. “Where exactly were you for the last twelve hours?”
The question made Mike's stomach flip nauseously, and he squeezed his bicep in a nervous tic. “I, you know. . . just ran. For a long time.” He let out a long breath, one it felt like he had been holding in since walking through the door. “Then I went to Tré's. He drove me home.”
He looked at Mike suddenly, surprised. “Tré?” Billie straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. “Did you-did you tell him?”
Mike nodded, almost solemnly, and he stepped closer. “Yeah. He knows.” The bassist chewed at the inside of his mouth, as he approached near enough to gaze down at Billie's unreadable eyes. It pained Mike to realize that now, when it felt so important, he couldn't know what his husband was thinking, when on any other normal day, he could. But it wasn't a typical Wednesday, was it? “Beej. . . I'm sorry. For yesterday. I acted like an idiot.” When Billie Joe didn't say anything, but simply stared resignedly on, he continued, “I was-I was scared. I was selfish.”
“You don't have to be sorry.” His voice was controlled, almost mechanical, but his heart felt like it was shrinking. “You told me how you feel. You did exactly what you were supposed to do.”
Something pinched in Mike's face, while he shook his head. “No,” he said, a degree of indignation there, in the quiet break of his voice. “I was throwing a pity party and talking at you, instead of having an actual conversation with you. I was wrong, babe, I know that.”
Billie's throat was tightening, and he looked down to scuff at the rug with his toes, blinking the little beads of emotion trying to work their way out of his eyes; unfortunately for them, Billie'd had more than enough tears for one day. “Look-I can't even pretend to understand what this is like for you. I don't.” He finally had the bravery to look back up, because his eyes were hard now. “I'm not mad at you. I'm not even upset with you.” Billie Joe paused, taking a moment to glance over the pictures hung on their wall; black and whites of Billie's parents, a couple from the road, and plenty of Olivia, in various stages of her life-including one of the day she was born, swaddled in his arms in that yellow hospital room, Billie looking at the camera appearing exhausted and yet blissfully happy. He rubbed his face against his shoulder. “It isn't my decision to make. It isn't my choice.”
The weight of the words hit Mike in a way nothing else had lately, and he took in a sharp breath, that turned into a shaky exhale when the hand Mike extended to touch the frontman's face was met with a pained flinch. “Hey,” he said, voice sliding into something slightly desperate, “I didn't mean that stupid thing I said about being sorry for asking you to marry me. Of all the shitty things I've said in my life, that was the worst. I could never be sorry for marrying you, and I didn't mean that.” Mike carefully curled his fingers around Billie Joe's, because he needed contact, and this time, Billie didn't resist him; he didn't embrace the touch, either, but he didn't pull away. “I mean-I do feel terrible, I'm going to be honest about that. One of the hardest parts of this is-is that it hurts you. So in a sense, I guess I did mean it. . . but not in a way that would make me wish we'd never gotten married. Do you get that, Billie?”
“I never really thought you meant it in that way, Mike,” Billie Joe murmured, using his free hand to flick the stray hair out of his eyes. He didn't look at Mike, adamantly refused to return the intent gaze being given to him by blue eyes, because as he had for the past thirty-six hours, he felt permanently on the verge of a nervous breakdown. After a shaky breath, Billie said what was really on his mind, almost hesitantly, “But you told me that you wanted to get married, because you knew I would always be there for you. You wanted to take the last step, because we're a team and have been a team for years now. But then when it came down to it, Mike, you just. . . completely disregarded me.” Now he stepped away, out of his touch, to again fold his arms over his chest, like he was trying to protect himself. “I mean, you could talk to Tré, but not me? You gotta understand if I'm a bit hurt by that.”
“And I do,” he insisted, chasing Billie with another step in his direction, though he kept his hands to himself this time. Mike's eyes flashed with what looked like pain. “I told you, Beej, I fucked up, and I'm sorry. And it is our decision. Your opinion matters in this. We-we are a team.” His voice broke. “If you think I can't fucking do this without you, then you're just wrong, Billie Joe.”
“To be honest with you, I don't know what I think. It's been pretty difficult to figure that out, when most of my time has been spent fielding questions from Olivia and convincing her everything is okay, when it isn't, and her father has disappeared in the middle of the night with little more than a note.”
Mike was had there, and he knew it. And if he perhaps had any doubts, all he would have to do would be to take in the rigid lines of Billie's body, because the familiar outline of his best friend was strung as tight as an electric guitar string. When he had been so busy being angry and resentful of his circumstances, Mike had forgotten to consider the turmoil it might put Billie in as well; Mike had turned tail and ran, not bothering to have a second thought, because it had been so easy to leave Olivia in the capable hands of her other parent.
God, it was wrong, so wrong, but he had already apologized. The horse felt like it had been beaten to death. If Billie Joe wanted Mike on his hands and knees, Mike would address that later. But right now, he had something more important to say. Hands hanging loosely at his sides, extensions of sagged shoulders, Mike said, quietly, “I'm gonna fight, Billie.”
Very smoothly, Billie's eyes slid into Mike's direction again. They were a modest foot apart, give or take a few inches, but it felt like much further. Billie Joe swallowed. “You are?”
“I'm gonna do what I have to do to stick around. Talking with Tré--” He hesitated, since he had already shot himself in the foot by having such an important discussion with his drummer instead of his husband, but the damage had already been executed, hadn't it? So Mike plunged bravely on, “--he made me realize that my family-you and Olivia-you guys are what matters. Being here for Olivia. . . watching her grow. . . I can't abandon her, not if I can help it. Maybe I won't beat this thing, but I'm gonna throw some punches of my own on the way down.”
The raspy words resonated in his skull, as he closed his eyes and bowed his head, as the implications of Mike's intentions reverberated throughout his body like the way the deafening sound of every one of Green Day's concerts vibrated him to the core. It was an odd sensation, and coupled with the sort of sickened feeling somewhere deep in his chest, Billie felt almost dizzy. His eyes squeezed shut, a tear leaked out, and he rubbed at it rebelliously, turning to the side as if he wanted to hide every single last emotion from Mike. “If that's what you want to do.”
“I do. I think I've done a pretty decent job of not being a selfish asshole for most of my life, and it feels stupid to start now.”
“Nobody would think you were selfish, Mike,” Billie whispered. “Just human.”
“As long as I've shared my life with you, Billie Joe, I haven't felt human. The things I've been able to experience are super human, if anything, and I want as many more of them that I can steal while I've still got the time.”
It was getting to be too much. If Mike kept saying such powerful things, he was going to lose it, and he wasn't willing to, not again. Billie rubbed at his chin, and took another step towards the doorway. “Well, I'm glad you know what you want now,” he said softly. A pause followed; Billie's eyes flickered over the pictures on the wall again, lingering on a black and white shot of he and Mike sitting on the tailgate of Mike's first shitty red pickup, their foolish grins no doubt attributed to the weed tucked away in Billie Joe's jacket pocket. He could remember the day so easily. Billie shook his head. “Look, I haven't eaten since dinner last night. I'm going to heat up some of the waffles I made Olivia for breakfast this morning, if you want some.”
“Billie,” he blurted. The frontman was walking away from Mike, and he couldn't take it, so Mike stopped hesitating and bounded up behind him, hooking both arms around his stomach and pulling him close against his chest. He buried his nose in dirty curls and resisted a frustrated sob. “Billie Joe, come back to me,” Mike choked, “come back to me, B.”
“That's the thing, Mike, I've been here the whole damn time.” His voice came out in a watery, unreliable mockery of its usual sound. Billie curled his fingers around the forearm tightened around his middle. That damned lump was building, again, in his throat. “I haven't gone anywhere, baby. Never would.”
“I'm sorry.” The bassist began to cry, shaking with his face pressed into Billie's pale neck, and when Billie Joe turned in his arms, so they were front to front, he clutched him tighter. “God, I'm sorry, so fuckin' sorry, for everything, Billie, everything. . .”
The tears on his skin were what broke Billie, and the way he spun around to embrace Mike wasn't exactly optional; Billie Joe's heart had decided he was going to do it before his brain had sent the order to his bones and limbs. Their positions felt so familiar, and yet so different now, with the weight of the confirmation of their greatest fears pressing on their shoulders. His lips were trembling as he mouthed wet kisses across Mike's exposed collarbone, fingernails digging into the skin underneath his ribbed tank top.
“Don't,” Billie whispered, his own hushed sobs ravaging his voice, as he kissed and nuzzled at the pulse in his husband's neck. “Enough,” he repeated, tilting his head to catch the tortured emotions marching through Mike's eyes, and he shook his head with bloodshot eyes as his hands slid easy paths to either side of his favorite angular face. “I love you so fucking much, Mike, and I don't want any more fights or apologies or stupid shit we don't mean. You're my-my best friend, Mike, I-I--”
When he couldn't continue, too consumed by his earnest crying to formulate words, Mike shushed him through his own tears, leaning down for soft yet urgent kisses. “You're mine,” he whispered fiercely, raking possessive fingers through tangled black hair. “You're mine, and I love you. I need you. I need you now, like I always have, and I need us to do this together. Please, Billie. I won't push you away anymore, I promise, just please don't walk away--”
“Mike, I'm not going fucking anywhere, so shut up. Just shut up and kiss me and we'll deal with the reality tomorrow. Just fucking kiss me. Please.”
Author: Molly
Pairing: Billie/Mike
Summary: Hands hanging loosely at his sides, extensions of sagged shoulders, Mike said, quietly, “I'm gonna fight, Billie.”
Previous parts: located here
Notes: Dedicating this to strychninetwist and the_wondering_1. Appreciation and love to you both xx
“Now that-that is a beautiful picture, Liv.”
The little girl beamed, proudly showcasing her drawing and spelling of a very asymmetrical citrus fruit, of which her teacher had awarded her an 'A.' Olivia allowed her mother to take it from her, using the opportunity to grab the hands of her Aunt Aly. “We even got to eat oranges in class today. We almost didn't, 'cause Mrs. Connelly didn't want to give anyone any if they were allergic, but nobody was so we all got some!” She turned to Billie, curling a fist around the hem of his black t-shirt. “Will you put oranges in my lunch now, Mommy? They were so good!”
Billie smiled, stroking the top of her head. “Sure thing, sweetheart. Next time I go to the grocery store, I'll get some oranges for you.”
“You know, Liv, oranges have a lot of Vitamin C in them,” Aly told her, crouching to her level and tweaking her nose. “They'll keep your skin soft and beautiful, like it is now.”
“Daddy says I have nice skin, 'cause Mommy has nice skin.” Olivia looked questioningly at her mother. “Do you eat a lot of oranges, Mommy?”
“Not really,” he laughed, placing the drawing back into her school folder and tucking it into her backpack. “I like orange juice, though.” Billie Joe put the sack in her hands and gestured towards the stairs. “If you don't have any homework, go ahead and put your backpack in your room, sweetie.”
“Okay.” She hugged it to her chest and set her eyes on Alyssa again. “Are you staying, Aunt Aly?”
She glanced at Billie, who was clearing away their cold cups of coffee she had made for them after her friend's nervous breakdown. Mike still wasn't back yet, Billie hadn't heard so much as a word from him, and that's what made Aly nod, grinning at the way Olivia's eyes lit up. “Yeah, for a little while, peanut.”
“Will you play Candyland with me?” Olivia asked in a hopeful lilt, bouncing on her toes.
“Sure,” she laughed, “but only if your mom plays too.”
Olivia yelped excitedly and took off for the stairs, to put her backpack away as she had been asked and to retrieve her favorite board game. As little feet pattered through the house, Billie Joe looked at Alyssa with a small smile of thanks. He looked tired, certainly worse for the wear, but he was still holding it together and she admired him for that. A distant part of Aly could not help but feel a twinge of annoyance at Mike, for walking out on the person who cared more for him than any other, but she knew that notion was both biased and misplaced. If what Mike was going through measured up to even half of the pain Aly could find in glittering green eyes, then she had absolutely no right to judge.
Perhaps Billie was thinking along the same line because he checked his phone again on the way to the kitchen, to dispose of the dirty mugs. There were no new notifications, not from anyone he cared to talk to anyhow, and he cleared his head with a ragged sigh as he placed the dishes in the sink. In the distance, Billie could hear Olivia and Alyssa in the living room, setting up the game. Biting his lip, he took out a box of brownie mix and slammed it on the counter with determination. If chocolate wasn't going to make Billie Joe feel better, nothing would.
Well. . . chocolate, and waking up and discovering the past couple of days had just been a cruel and realistic nightmare. And he would have easily given up all of his wealth, all of his awards, and all of his pretty little songs for that to be the case. A damn good trade, the voice in the back of Billie's head growled, but unfortunately, life didn't work that way.
By the time he had popped the tray of brownies into the oven, Aly was perched on the edge of the sofa and his daughter was kneeling on the floor. Olivia was haphazardly shuffling the color-coded index cards, the tip of her tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth during the process, just as her father always did in moments of concentration. Smiling in a wistful sort of way, Billie smoothed his hand over the top of Olivia's head and plopped down beside her. She passed the tiny yellow man made of plastic into his hand.
“Mommy is always the yellow guy,” Olivia explained to Aly quite matter-of-factly. “I take the red guy. Daddy is usually blue, so I guess you can be blue.” She placed the stack of cards on the edge of the playing board and looked at Aly expectantly; kindly. “You can go first, 'cause you're the guest.”
Alyssa glanced at Billie Joe, both bemused and impressed by the little girl's manners. “Well, thank you, Miss Livy,” and so she flipped the first card, starting the game.
The two girls of the game were quickly approaching the colorful finish line of Kandy Castle, while Billie seemed to be permanently stuck on a licorice space near Gumdrop Pass, when Mike came creeping into the living room. None of them noticed at first, because Aly was viciously teasing Billie about his lackluster skills at the game and it was dissolving the game's youngest participant to giggles, until Olivia saw him standing their quietly and gasped, jumping up to give him a hug.
“Hi, Daddy!” She wrapped her arms around his neck, as she was hauled into the air. “We were just playing Candyland!”
“I can see that,” Mike smiled, giving her a kiss on the cheek, and then offering a nervous smile to the adults in the room. Billie Joe was almost looking at him like he was a ghost, and it was not a comfortable feeling.
For his part, Billie had to lower his head and give himself a moment to overcome the shock of finding himself in a room with his husband again so suddenly. His belly, that had only just seemed to settle into the normalcy of playing a game with his daughter and friend, began to writhe and squirm with the angry snakes of despair. Setting his jaw, Billie glanced up at Mike; he looked tired, in a way he never had before, and a part of Billie Joe wanted to cry.
“You ran for a long time, Daddy,” Olivia commented with all of the finesse of a child, then wrinkled her nose. “You kinda stink too.”
Mike chuckled and set her back down. “Sorry, sweets. Guess I need a shower.”
“Olivia has just been owning our butts, here,” Aly said, with a neutral smile in the bassist's direction; she could practically see the tension thrumming from both his and Billie's bodies, and a part of Aly felt a duty to protect Olivia from that. “We might need some support from you there, Mikey.”
“Yeah, Daddy, play with us! I gave Aunt Aly your blue guy, but you can use the green one instead!”
Before he could answer, a buzzer began to ring from the next room, and Billie physically jumped-he'd forgotten he'd put brownies in the oven. Aly, Mike, and Olivia were all looking at him with varying degrees of curiosity, and he smiled forcefully, getting up off the floor. “I put some brownies in.”
“You made brownies?” Olivia asked with wide eyes, as if in total disbelief this fact could have gotten past her, and she bounded into the kitchen after her mother, Candyland forgotten. “I want one, I want one, I want one!”
Alyssa and Mike watched them wander out of the living room, both of them biting their lip when a strained silence ensued. She picked up the game cards to shuffle through them distractedly, and he rocked back on his heels, hands on the hips of his skanky shorts, as they struggled for something to say to one another. It was difficult, when all Aly could make sense of was her extreme sadness for her favorite family, and Mike selfishly wished she wasn't there because he had to talk to Billie Joe, now, before Mike could waste another second being a total asshole.
The bassist idly scratched his grimy bicep, gesturing to the scattered pieces of Candyland with a slight smile. “You know,” Mike mumbled, low so people in neighboring rooms wouldn't hear his words, “I really fucking hate this bastard game.”
Surprised by his comment, she laughed. “Me too, but when that little angel asks you to play Candyland, you gotta play fucking Candyland.” Her chuckle died, and Aly ran her fingers through her hair, staring at the ridiculous board game as she contemplated whether or not she ought to say what she wanted to. But one of the reasons her and Billie got on so well was their mutual ease with speaking her minds, so she went ahead, but carefully, “I'm not sure if it's my place to say it, but I'm glad you're back. I think Billie was gettin' pretty edgy there, for awhile.”
Although moments before he'd wanted nothing more than for her to leave, he felt himself soften, and nodded. “Thanks for being here for him and Livy today,” Mike said quietly. “I know you'd do it no matter what and all, but I, you know, appreciate it.”
“Anytime,” Aly vowed with a gentle smile, “I've got your guys' back.”
A few seconds later, Billie Joe came walking back into the room with what seemed to be a pouting six year old balanced on the hip. “They're still too hot to eat just yet, Livybug,” he was saying, “you'll burn your little tongue.”
As Olivia mumbled something about brownies being worth burning her tongue, Aly looked at the odd pieces of the Armstrong-Pritchard family in front of her. Mike looked like complete shit, in his dirty athletic attire and bags the size of suitcases under his eyes, and Billie's forced calm was nearly palpable, in the way he carried his daughter and so obviously avoided glancing at Mike. Little Livy was blissfully oblivious in all of it, just an innocent bystander, and Alyssa's heart ached.
She knew her friends had a lot to work through. But she didn't know how easily they'd be able to do that with a curious young girl overing around.
So Aly stood, looking to Billie's pale eyes. “You know what I think would be really fun?”
“What?” He asked, brow furrowing in confusion.
“If I brought Olivia back to my house for a girl's night.” Her eyes flickered between both parents, gauging reactions. “We haven't had a sleepover in ages.”
Olivia gasped, wriggling out of her mother's grip to bounce over to Aly. Tiny fingers wrapped around the hem of her t-shirt. “Really?”
“Yeah!” Alyssa nodded emphatically. “We can watch princess movies and do our hair and tell each other secrets.”
Her eyes were sparkling, clearly enraptured by the idea, but her eager expression wavered for a moment, as in a small, grave voice she asked, “What about the brownies?”
She bent towards her with her hands on her knees, smiling in a sly manner. “Maybe your mom will let me bring some with us.” Aly paused, for dramatic effect, before adding, “I even have ice cream in my freezer to go with them.”
This seemed to be the last straw. Olivia jumped up and down excitedly, turning towards Billie Joe with crazily hopeful eyes. “Can I go, Mommy, can I go?”
Billie smiled down at her, petting her hair. “It's okay with me.” He chanced a reluctant gaze in Mike's direction, at the same time his stomach flopped; the idea of being all alone in the house with Mike was somewhat scary, but they had to address their undesirable circumstances sooner or later. “If it's okay with your dad, that is.”
It was the bassist's turn, to be on the receiving end of desperate hazel eyes and a trembling lower lip, and he couldn't help but chuckle. Mike's nod was somewhat hesitant though. His mind was running over the same thing Billie Joe's was. “Of course it's okay, as long as you leave enough brownies for Mommy and me.”
She whooped in excitement. “I'll go get my stuff!” Olivia turned tail and ran for the stairs, dark hair flying behind her.
As Billie watched her go, and Mike follow to no doubt help her, he bit his lip and shuffled towards Aly, reaching for her hands. “You're sure about taking her tonight? Not too much trouble?”
Her chocolate eyes raked over Billie's face knowingly. Aly could feel the unease and unbidden worries, even more than she could see them. “No trouble at all, BJ. I have tomorrow off anyway and can take her to school in the morning.” She pulled him in for a hug, squeezing tighter than she would on any other day. “You need to talk to Mike,” Alyssa murmured, “you guys need your space.”
Space, he thought, as he shut his eyes closed tight. Need a hell of a lot more than space. . .
“Thanks, Als,” Billie Joe said instead. “For everything.”
A few minutes later, and Olivia was all but yanking her Aunt Aly out the door, who was just barely hanging onto a plate of just sliced chocolate baked goodness. She had unceremoniously bid anxious goodbyes to her parents, too eager for a night filled with desserts and Beauty and the Beast and hopefully having her hair done up real nice, the way only Aunt Alyssa could do it. As usual, any and all of the tension that so clearly existed between the adults went unnoticed, because in Olivia's world, it was just another Wednesday.
Aly had allowed herself to be led out of the house, but not without first giving Mike his own meaningful embrace. She kissed his cheek and told him she loved him, and then with a reassuring glance in Billie's direction, the two girls were gone.
Once it was just the two of them again, Billie didn't allow himself enough time to start fidgeting; he immediately bent over the coffee table to pick up the abandoned game of Candyland. He was almost painfully aware of Mike's eyes on him, following everything from the way his bare feet shuffled along the carpet to the way his blunt fingers folded up the stiff board to return it to the box. The silence was so deafening, and it felt the way it did when you pick curiously at a sore, just to see if it still hurts. Billie Joe bit his lip.
“So,” he began softly, as he shuffled cards back together and lodged them away on top of the board. “Where exactly were you for the last twelve hours?”
The question made Mike's stomach flip nauseously, and he squeezed his bicep in a nervous tic. “I, you know. . . just ran. For a long time.” He let out a long breath, one it felt like he had been holding in since walking through the door. “Then I went to Tré's. He drove me home.”
He looked at Mike suddenly, surprised. “Tré?” Billie straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. “Did you-did you tell him?”
Mike nodded, almost solemnly, and he stepped closer. “Yeah. He knows.” The bassist chewed at the inside of his mouth, as he approached near enough to gaze down at Billie's unreadable eyes. It pained Mike to realize that now, when it felt so important, he couldn't know what his husband was thinking, when on any other normal day, he could. But it wasn't a typical Wednesday, was it? “Beej. . . I'm sorry. For yesterday. I acted like an idiot.” When Billie Joe didn't say anything, but simply stared resignedly on, he continued, “I was-I was scared. I was selfish.”
“You don't have to be sorry.” His voice was controlled, almost mechanical, but his heart felt like it was shrinking. “You told me how you feel. You did exactly what you were supposed to do.”
Something pinched in Mike's face, while he shook his head. “No,” he said, a degree of indignation there, in the quiet break of his voice. “I was throwing a pity party and talking at you, instead of having an actual conversation with you. I was wrong, babe, I know that.”
Billie's throat was tightening, and he looked down to scuff at the rug with his toes, blinking the little beads of emotion trying to work their way out of his eyes; unfortunately for them, Billie'd had more than enough tears for one day. “Look-I can't even pretend to understand what this is like for you. I don't.” He finally had the bravery to look back up, because his eyes were hard now. “I'm not mad at you. I'm not even upset with you.” Billie Joe paused, taking a moment to glance over the pictures hung on their wall; black and whites of Billie's parents, a couple from the road, and plenty of Olivia, in various stages of her life-including one of the day she was born, swaddled in his arms in that yellow hospital room, Billie looking at the camera appearing exhausted and yet blissfully happy. He rubbed his face against his shoulder. “It isn't my decision to make. It isn't my choice.”
The weight of the words hit Mike in a way nothing else had lately, and he took in a sharp breath, that turned into a shaky exhale when the hand Mike extended to touch the frontman's face was met with a pained flinch. “Hey,” he said, voice sliding into something slightly desperate, “I didn't mean that stupid thing I said about being sorry for asking you to marry me. Of all the shitty things I've said in my life, that was the worst. I could never be sorry for marrying you, and I didn't mean that.” Mike carefully curled his fingers around Billie Joe's, because he needed contact, and this time, Billie didn't resist him; he didn't embrace the touch, either, but he didn't pull away. “I mean-I do feel terrible, I'm going to be honest about that. One of the hardest parts of this is-is that it hurts you. So in a sense, I guess I did mean it. . . but not in a way that would make me wish we'd never gotten married. Do you get that, Billie?”
“I never really thought you meant it in that way, Mike,” Billie Joe murmured, using his free hand to flick the stray hair out of his eyes. He didn't look at Mike, adamantly refused to return the intent gaze being given to him by blue eyes, because as he had for the past thirty-six hours, he felt permanently on the verge of a nervous breakdown. After a shaky breath, Billie said what was really on his mind, almost hesitantly, “But you told me that you wanted to get married, because you knew I would always be there for you. You wanted to take the last step, because we're a team and have been a team for years now. But then when it came down to it, Mike, you just. . . completely disregarded me.” Now he stepped away, out of his touch, to again fold his arms over his chest, like he was trying to protect himself. “I mean, you could talk to Tré, but not me? You gotta understand if I'm a bit hurt by that.”
“And I do,” he insisted, chasing Billie with another step in his direction, though he kept his hands to himself this time. Mike's eyes flashed with what looked like pain. “I told you, Beej, I fucked up, and I'm sorry. And it is our decision. Your opinion matters in this. We-we are a team.” His voice broke. “If you think I can't fucking do this without you, then you're just wrong, Billie Joe.”
“To be honest with you, I don't know what I think. It's been pretty difficult to figure that out, when most of my time has been spent fielding questions from Olivia and convincing her everything is okay, when it isn't, and her father has disappeared in the middle of the night with little more than a note.”
Mike was had there, and he knew it. And if he perhaps had any doubts, all he would have to do would be to take in the rigid lines of Billie's body, because the familiar outline of his best friend was strung as tight as an electric guitar string. When he had been so busy being angry and resentful of his circumstances, Mike had forgotten to consider the turmoil it might put Billie in as well; Mike had turned tail and ran, not bothering to have a second thought, because it had been so easy to leave Olivia in the capable hands of her other parent.
God, it was wrong, so wrong, but he had already apologized. The horse felt like it had been beaten to death. If Billie Joe wanted Mike on his hands and knees, Mike would address that later. But right now, he had something more important to say. Hands hanging loosely at his sides, extensions of sagged shoulders, Mike said, quietly, “I'm gonna fight, Billie.”
Very smoothly, Billie's eyes slid into Mike's direction again. They were a modest foot apart, give or take a few inches, but it felt like much further. Billie Joe swallowed. “You are?”
“I'm gonna do what I have to do to stick around. Talking with Tré--” He hesitated, since he had already shot himself in the foot by having such an important discussion with his drummer instead of his husband, but the damage had already been executed, hadn't it? So Mike plunged bravely on, “--he made me realize that my family-you and Olivia-you guys are what matters. Being here for Olivia. . . watching her grow. . . I can't abandon her, not if I can help it. Maybe I won't beat this thing, but I'm gonna throw some punches of my own on the way down.”
The raspy words resonated in his skull, as he closed his eyes and bowed his head, as the implications of Mike's intentions reverberated throughout his body like the way the deafening sound of every one of Green Day's concerts vibrated him to the core. It was an odd sensation, and coupled with the sort of sickened feeling somewhere deep in his chest, Billie felt almost dizzy. His eyes squeezed shut, a tear leaked out, and he rubbed at it rebelliously, turning to the side as if he wanted to hide every single last emotion from Mike. “If that's what you want to do.”
“I do. I think I've done a pretty decent job of not being a selfish asshole for most of my life, and it feels stupid to start now.”
“Nobody would think you were selfish, Mike,” Billie whispered. “Just human.”
“As long as I've shared my life with you, Billie Joe, I haven't felt human. The things I've been able to experience are super human, if anything, and I want as many more of them that I can steal while I've still got the time.”
It was getting to be too much. If Mike kept saying such powerful things, he was going to lose it, and he wasn't willing to, not again. Billie rubbed at his chin, and took another step towards the doorway. “Well, I'm glad you know what you want now,” he said softly. A pause followed; Billie's eyes flickered over the pictures on the wall again, lingering on a black and white shot of he and Mike sitting on the tailgate of Mike's first shitty red pickup, their foolish grins no doubt attributed to the weed tucked away in Billie Joe's jacket pocket. He could remember the day so easily. Billie shook his head. “Look, I haven't eaten since dinner last night. I'm going to heat up some of the waffles I made Olivia for breakfast this morning, if you want some.”
“Billie,” he blurted. The frontman was walking away from Mike, and he couldn't take it, so Mike stopped hesitating and bounded up behind him, hooking both arms around his stomach and pulling him close against his chest. He buried his nose in dirty curls and resisted a frustrated sob. “Billie Joe, come back to me,” Mike choked, “come back to me, B.”
“That's the thing, Mike, I've been here the whole damn time.” His voice came out in a watery, unreliable mockery of its usual sound. Billie curled his fingers around the forearm tightened around his middle. That damned lump was building, again, in his throat. “I haven't gone anywhere, baby. Never would.”
“I'm sorry.” The bassist began to cry, shaking with his face pressed into Billie's pale neck, and when Billie Joe turned in his arms, so they were front to front, he clutched him tighter. “God, I'm sorry, so fuckin' sorry, for everything, Billie, everything. . .”
The tears on his skin were what broke Billie, and the way he spun around to embrace Mike wasn't exactly optional; Billie Joe's heart had decided he was going to do it before his brain had sent the order to his bones and limbs. Their positions felt so familiar, and yet so different now, with the weight of the confirmation of their greatest fears pressing on their shoulders. His lips were trembling as he mouthed wet kisses across Mike's exposed collarbone, fingernails digging into the skin underneath his ribbed tank top.
“Don't,” Billie whispered, his own hushed sobs ravaging his voice, as he kissed and nuzzled at the pulse in his husband's neck. “Enough,” he repeated, tilting his head to catch the tortured emotions marching through Mike's eyes, and he shook his head with bloodshot eyes as his hands slid easy paths to either side of his favorite angular face. “I love you so fucking much, Mike, and I don't want any more fights or apologies or stupid shit we don't mean. You're my-my best friend, Mike, I-I--”
When he couldn't continue, too consumed by his earnest crying to formulate words, Mike shushed him through his own tears, leaning down for soft yet urgent kisses. “You're mine,” he whispered fiercely, raking possessive fingers through tangled black hair. “You're mine, and I love you. I need you. I need you now, like I always have, and I need us to do this together. Please, Billie. I won't push you away anymore, I promise, just please don't walk away--”
“Mike, I'm not going fucking anywhere, so shut up. Just shut up and kiss me and we'll deal with the reality tomorrow. Just fucking kiss me. Please.”