Where'd You Go? (Track Twelve, III), chapter 10

Carefully, Wren slid Billie Joe's guitar case out of the backseat. She met Mike at the door. When he tried to help, she gave him a stern look.

I'm not gonna have my boyfriend--hee hee hee, he's my boyfriend! Nahnahnah. Boyfriend, Mike--screw up his wrists on my account!

"You gotta rest so you can play again. Don't screw it all up trying to be manly."

"There's nothing more manly than hurting yourself and working through it," he teased while flexing his guns. He didn't make another attempt to help carry the guitar though. "I can think of a few manly things I could do. Moan and complain about being hen picked, for example." He followed her, like an obedient puppy, into the living room where Wren deposited the case. She just had to beam at him and give him a quick kiss.

Resting her hands on his wiry shoulders, Wren shifted so their hips were touching. "Well, until your wrists are better, that's all the moaning you get to do."

Yeah, I thought I was going to take to things slow. But, we've known each other for while. Besides, now that he's fair game, he's too damn irresistible to not make passes at.

He smiled, and rested his forehead against hers. "Fine. I'll wait."

Good thing he can keep himself under control, since I seem to have a small problem with that.

Suddenly, Wren noticed the dried blood on his shirt. It reminded her of how close she had come to losing him. How close they had come to losing Tré. She scurried away to finish unloading the car.

Several trips, and kissing breaks, later, Wren exhaustedly flopped down on the couch with all the equipment from the car restored to their proper spots. Mike came and sat on the couch's arm with a huge jaw cracking yawn.

"You should get some sleep. You need it to heal up."

"Yes mother," he rolled his eyes, "but you should too."

"How about a compromise. I'll nap out here so I can hear the phone and you go to bed."

I really do not want to go back to the hospital. It's too sterile, cleaned of life. I'd like to go to my own bed--or Mike's-- Wren smirked gleefully. --and just snuggle under the blankets. But, it's not fair to keep Billie Joe there. He probably hates as much as I do.

Mike affectionately massaged Wren's shoulder. "Come and get me when he calls." She watched his lithe form stroll out of the room and down the hall. Kicking off her shoes, Wren sprawled out on the couch.

Upon waking up, she could hear a voice chatting away. She also noticed that she was under the blanket from her room and her head was on her own pillow as well. Blearily, she blinked and looked outside the living room window from her position on the couch. The shadows on the lawn were long, and the light was fading.

How long have I been sleeping?

She listened as Mike's voice drew closer.

"Yeah, I know you were right. I grovel, remind me to lick your shoes."

A pause.

"I'm not fucking licking that."

Another pause.

"Yeah, but I'm gonna wait, let her go first. Nothing right now. So, we'll be right over, I just gotta--" He poked his head through the doorway, cordless phone cradled between ear and shoulder. "Nevermind. See you in a bit."

Wren did not fail to notice how carefully Mike took the phone away from his ear and shut it off. She also noted that he had changed out of his bloody shirt into a clean one and had managed to shave.

Aw, too bad, I was kinda enjoying the rough look. Not that he isn't enjoyable all the time.

"Tré's up?" She threw off the blanket and rose.

"Awake as you can be after being on morphine. He's awake enough to hit on the nurses, just not awake enough to tell them apart from Billie Joe."

Wren laughed as they exchanged wry looks. "Sounds like he's feeling better. Gimme two secs to go get looking decent and we'll go."

As she fought off some serious bed head, she heard heavy breathing at the door, followed by, "Beeeeee afraaaaaaaid. Be very afraid."

"You're weird, you know that? You're like some kind of messed up peeping-tom."

"I only do it to people I like," he confessed as he entered.

"As far as I know, that is why peepers do what they do."

He pulled himself up on the counter. Wren was almost too busy scowling at her reflection to notice.

Stupid cow-lick. Get lost! Grrrrr.

"We, the four of us, should have a hair party to celebrate Tré's return."

Wren put down her hair brush. "Do you really want Tré and Billie Joe to style your hair? Think about it."

Mike looked thoughtful. Finally he conceded, "That would make me afraid." He slipped off the counter and wrapped his arms around her waist, hands hanging limply. "I think I need to cuddle." As he lowered his chin to her shoulder, she stared at their reflection.

"It's gonna be tricky doing this in secret. Tré is as nosey as hell."

"It's not permanent, just until everyone's used to us being out of commission. Like you said, it's sort of a respect thing. 'Hey, we almost died, we're all bruised up, but on the flip side, me and Wren are together now,' doesn't seem quite right."

"Well yeah, but it kinda sounded like you told Billie Joe."

"No. I just said things in a way that could be taken wrongly. All he thinks is that I know that you aren't going after him, but I haven't made a move."

She raised an eyebrow. "He's not blind, he might figure it out."

"Nah, we'll be super sneaky." His lips slid up her neck. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through the short bristly hair at the back of his neck.

"I've wondered what it would be like for you to do this." Chills rippled pleasantly up her spine as he kissed his way back to her lips.

He stepped away, showing visible signs of self restraint. "We better go, or some people might get ideas."

"Tré's always having those kind of ideas." Wren shrugged, "but I guess if he says something now, you'll blush and give it all away." She grinned sassily as Mike looked a bit embarrassed. "Yeah, let's go. The sooner we go, the sooner we get back."