where did she sleep when the morning came?
Title: Brutal Love [12]
Author: Molly
Pairing: Billie/Mike
Summary: Inseparable, irreplaceable.
Previous Parts: located here
As Dr. Pierce had promised, the procedure was finished within the hour, and Billie was permitted to greet his groggy boyfriend as he struggled from the fog of anesthesia. Mike had been a lot of exaggerated blinks and slurred curses-something Billie couldn't quite keep from giggling at-and the frontman had made the executive decision to take him for a walk around the building to clear his head a bit before brining him home to Olivia. Sure, the six year old had toured with a punk rock band for half of her life, making her no stranger to explicit slips of the tongue, but Billie Joe didn't think Mike would be too chuffed to find out he had ended up looking like a drunken asshole in front of their daughter. Though, if they were honest with themselves, it wouldn't have been the first time, but some memories are better left suppressed.
When Mike was sobered up enough to bring home, Olivia had greeted them with a chorusing cheer. She was wearing the pink tutu her father had bought her in a moment of weakness, and her and Alyssa were wearing matching princess crowns. It was just the thing they needed to see after their stressful day, and Mike had hugged Olivia extra long. They thanked Aly, promised to call her if they needed anything, and headed to the kitchen for big bowls of sugar and chocolate milk. In the back of his mind, Billie assured himself that he would get his daughter's diet back on track starting the next morning.
They had put her in bed together, taking turns reading the next chapter in the Chamber of Secrets, and sang her the goodnight song. This night, she went to sleep without any questions. They tucked her in with Shamu and crept away.
The dishes were still waiting in the sink, and although he was feeling very spent after their long day, Billie didn't want to leave them for the next day. He set to washing them, soap sups up to his elbows by the time Mike came in from locking up and setting on the security alarm. Mike grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge-he still felt like he had cottonmouth-and sat at the kitchen table, shuffling through the mail they had been putting off since they had returned home from Hawaii. God, didn't that feel like a lifetime ago. . .
It was strange, how a day so out of sync with the rest of their lives could end so normally. They enjoyed their evening as a family; Billie Joe was finishing up chores; Mike was checking over their latest earnings statement. Long ago, they had decided to combine the income that filtered in from Green Day, going as far as to sign a contract with Warner Brothers to say that their finances would be distributed as one and undiscerned from one another. All of their money was deposited into their joint bank account, the one they had opened when Billie was pregnant with Olivia. They had closed their separate accounts that same year.
Mike looked up from the endless list of figures and to Billie's back. He could hear him humming softly, a John Lennon number, he thought, as his hands sloshed in the sink water. Billie Joe was wearing an old, wrinkled striped t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants so well worn they slung low on his hips. His hair was an impossible mess, after being ravaged by his hands all day, and Mike felt an ache in his heart. It was so familiar, this simple image of his best and oldest friend, and he could sense himself wishing for those lost years again, when he had denied his love and himself.
Just as Billie was drying off his hands and turning around, Mike was getting up and shuffling towards him. Billie smiled softly at him, as Mike's hands slid around his hips and underneath his shirt, and Billie Joe returned the favor. “How're you feeling? Still sore?”
“A bit,” Mike admitted with a half-shrug, half-nod. His eyes kept a constant roaming over Billie's face, taking in every wrinkle, every whisk of hair, and every speck of brown in his eyes.
“Wanna head up to bed? You've gotta be tired.”
“In a minute.” Mike slid his palms over Billie's belly. He could still feel the faint outline of the c-section scar, and the touch brought back a thousand memories. “Thank you.”
He tilted his head, with eyebrows raised, his hands cupping around Mike's strong forearms. “For?”
“Being there with me today. I'd have been a nervous wreck without you.”
“You don't have to thank me for that,” Billie Joe shook his head. “Wouldn't have missed it for the world, honey, you know that.”
Mike nodded, almost imperceptibly, and pulled Billie in for a long hug. As he pressed loving kisses to Billie's throat, Billie Joe continued to run his fingers through Mike's choppy hair.
They stayed like that for awhile, pressed so tight against one another they could feel each other's heartbeats. Billie thought about Mike's heart murmur, and how worried he often was that one day, it was going to give up on him; ironic how now, there was a chance that he would lose his boyfriend to something else altogether. Part of him wondered how Mike's heart would affect whatever the “something else” was, and he shivered. He could not allow his mind to go there, because if he did, he wouldn't be able to pull himself back.
The trouble was, the idea of Mike being sick-of Mike having cancer-was unfathomable. They were still relatively young; approaching forty, but in damn good shape, thanks to Green Day's marathon rock concerts and Mike's continuous dedication to the treadmill. Something like this couldn't happen to Mike, because he was Billie's best friend in the world. They had a seven year old child together, and Billie Joe simply could not picture a setting in which Mike was not present or able to raise her with him. Just thinking about this, he hugged the bassist extra tight.
Seeming to sense Billie's inner distress, Mike pulled back enough to look down into Billie's eyes. He could see all of the worries and fears and frustrations inside them, and it was like looking into a mirror. Mike's stomach contracted, at seeing Billie Joe's pain, because he knew how much Billie loved him. Mike was everything to Billie, as Billie Joe was to Mike. They were each other's right hand, and that was because their friendship ran so deep. Nearly thirty years deep, in fact, and they were the center of each other's lives. One without the other would never do, because they were essentially the same person. Inseparable, irreplaceable.
With all of these things in mind, Mike had an epiphany. It happened very suddenly, like a flash of lightening that jolted his skull, and he could feel the excitement of his revelation descending down his spine. Mike placed his hands on either side of Billie's neck and began to kiss him, in earnest, inching forward until the pressure from his hips forced Billie's back against the kitchen counter. His belly was trembling, as he could feel Billie Joe's hands roaming everywhere along his body, and Mike could not control the short moan that vibrated his mouth, earning one from Billie as well. They kissed until they had to stop to breathe, and Mike panted and gasped, softly, against Billie's lips as he said, “Marry me.”
Billie Joe didn't seem to realize what he'd said, at first. His eyes were still closed, as he recovered from Mike's blistering kiss, and when they blinked open again, he realized how intently Mike was staring down at him. It was about at that moment that the words began to process, and dumbly, he asked, “What?”
“Marry me,” the bassist repeated, so simple and so impassioned at the same time. He lovingly tucked a strand of hair behind Billie's ear, an almost amused Mona Lisa smile playing on his lips at the sight of pure confusion on Billie's face.
“Mike--” Billie Joe began, then stopped, and laughed as a big smile split his lips. “Mike, you're bullshitting me, right?”
“I'm dead fucking serious, love.” And Mike did look serious. His signature little smile was gone, and he shuffled impossibly closer, drinking in every pore on Billie's face.
Billie opened his mouth, then closed it again, because he wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to say. Mike was looking at him in a way he had before, though perhaps with more intensity than usual; Mike looked fit to consume him from the bottom up. Truthfully, Billie Joe felt like jelly under his stare, but luckily, he was being propped up by both the sink and his boyfriend's convincing hips. He let out a quick breath, taking a moment to shake his head and collect his response. “Mike, we-we always said we didn't need to get married. That all it is, is a piece of paper, and we're better than that. Getting married is just a formality, that's what we've always agreed on.”
“I know. I know we did. But B--” Mike said his nickname, that no one else ever called him; just a syllable, just a letter, really. But it never failed to send a chill down Billie's spine, because he was only ever called that when his boyfriend was feeling particularly deep and romantic (which, admittedly, wasn't all that often.) In the midst of all these wild thoughts, Mike gathered up both of his hands in his own and held them between their chests, and the room was so quiet, they could hear their Felix the Cat clock ticking away form its spot over the kitchen counter. “--we've done everything else. We have a house together, and have done for ten years. Everything is in both our names, from the band to the cars to Rudie's. We've travelled the world together, been to hell and back, have experienced pretty much everything life has thrown at us, together. And the cherry on top of it all is Olivia, the best thing we've ever done. The only thing left is that formality, Billie. We took all the other steps. Why not this last one?”
Another lump was slowly creeping up into Billie Joe's throat again, and he had to swallow, hard, to get rid of the tears that came with it. Very rarely did Mike express himself this way; so openly and fervent with his words. For the most part, his boyfriend let his actions do the talking, and that suited them both just fine. And as much as Billie could see the honesty and purity of Mike's words, he knew where they were coming from. “Mike-Mikey, you're only saying these things because you think you might be sick, and--”
“Stop,” he shushed Billie before he could say another word, with tender kisses on his mouth and soothing hands in his hair. When Mike looked down into his eyes again, they were as intent and loving as ever, but somehow more so. “I might be sick, and that possibility is scary as hell. It's scary for us both. But Bill, you're the only one I would ever want by my side. You're the only one who could ever even come close to comforting me right now, and it isn't just because I've known you as long as I can remember. It's because you're the love of my life. You're everything, always have been. My entire life has been shaped around you, because of you, and you're it-you're my soulmate. I was lucky enough to find you, and I'd be the worst kind of goddamn fool if I didn't show that to the rest of the world.”
The tears started somewhere around “you're the love of my life,” but Mike was there to wipe them away with gentle fingers, even as his own tears leaked out of his eyes. “Mike--”
“Do I have to get down on one knee?”
“No, Mike, I--”
But before he could finish, Mike was crouching into proposal, clutching his hand in his own. Eyes shining, he murmured, “Will you marry me, Billie Joe?”
A gasp left him, and Billie covered his mouth with his palm; he had lost control over his emotions to begin with-an unexpected proclamation and a proposal will do that to a person-but he smiled through his tears, in spite of himself. Because as he looked down at his best fucking friend, the love of his own life, and the father of his child, he knew that Mike was exactly right. And so Billie said softly, in his watery voice, “Of course I'll marry you, Mike.”
Mike hopped up in a hurry to gather his boyfriend-his fiancé-into his arms for a long, joyous, tear-stained kiss, and at least for the moment, both of their spirits were at peace.
--
This is exactly the scene this story was based around. This image plagued me for months, and I kept telling myself this story didn't need to be written. I'm now five hundred pages deep, so obviously, I needed to write this story, whether or not it needed me. I enjoy it immensely--it's my escape. I hope others continue to enjoy it as well.
xx
Author: Molly
Pairing: Billie/Mike
Summary: Inseparable, irreplaceable.
Previous Parts: located here
As Dr. Pierce had promised, the procedure was finished within the hour, and Billie was permitted to greet his groggy boyfriend as he struggled from the fog of anesthesia. Mike had been a lot of exaggerated blinks and slurred curses-something Billie couldn't quite keep from giggling at-and the frontman had made the executive decision to take him for a walk around the building to clear his head a bit before brining him home to Olivia. Sure, the six year old had toured with a punk rock band for half of her life, making her no stranger to explicit slips of the tongue, but Billie Joe didn't think Mike would be too chuffed to find out he had ended up looking like a drunken asshole in front of their daughter. Though, if they were honest with themselves, it wouldn't have been the first time, but some memories are better left suppressed.
When Mike was sobered up enough to bring home, Olivia had greeted them with a chorusing cheer. She was wearing the pink tutu her father had bought her in a moment of weakness, and her and Alyssa were wearing matching princess crowns. It was just the thing they needed to see after their stressful day, and Mike had hugged Olivia extra long. They thanked Aly, promised to call her if they needed anything, and headed to the kitchen for big bowls of sugar and chocolate milk. In the back of his mind, Billie assured himself that he would get his daughter's diet back on track starting the next morning.
They had put her in bed together, taking turns reading the next chapter in the Chamber of Secrets, and sang her the goodnight song. This night, she went to sleep without any questions. They tucked her in with Shamu and crept away.
The dishes were still waiting in the sink, and although he was feeling very spent after their long day, Billie didn't want to leave them for the next day. He set to washing them, soap sups up to his elbows by the time Mike came in from locking up and setting on the security alarm. Mike grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge-he still felt like he had cottonmouth-and sat at the kitchen table, shuffling through the mail they had been putting off since they had returned home from Hawaii. God, didn't that feel like a lifetime ago. . .
It was strange, how a day so out of sync with the rest of their lives could end so normally. They enjoyed their evening as a family; Billie Joe was finishing up chores; Mike was checking over their latest earnings statement. Long ago, they had decided to combine the income that filtered in from Green Day, going as far as to sign a contract with Warner Brothers to say that their finances would be distributed as one and undiscerned from one another. All of their money was deposited into their joint bank account, the one they had opened when Billie was pregnant with Olivia. They had closed their separate accounts that same year.
Mike looked up from the endless list of figures and to Billie's back. He could hear him humming softly, a John Lennon number, he thought, as his hands sloshed in the sink water. Billie Joe was wearing an old, wrinkled striped t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants so well worn they slung low on his hips. His hair was an impossible mess, after being ravaged by his hands all day, and Mike felt an ache in his heart. It was so familiar, this simple image of his best and oldest friend, and he could sense himself wishing for those lost years again, when he had denied his love and himself.
Just as Billie was drying off his hands and turning around, Mike was getting up and shuffling towards him. Billie smiled softly at him, as Mike's hands slid around his hips and underneath his shirt, and Billie Joe returned the favor. “How're you feeling? Still sore?”
“A bit,” Mike admitted with a half-shrug, half-nod. His eyes kept a constant roaming over Billie's face, taking in every wrinkle, every whisk of hair, and every speck of brown in his eyes.
“Wanna head up to bed? You've gotta be tired.”
“In a minute.” Mike slid his palms over Billie's belly. He could still feel the faint outline of the c-section scar, and the touch brought back a thousand memories. “Thank you.”
He tilted his head, with eyebrows raised, his hands cupping around Mike's strong forearms. “For?”
“Being there with me today. I'd have been a nervous wreck without you.”
“You don't have to thank me for that,” Billie Joe shook his head. “Wouldn't have missed it for the world, honey, you know that.”
Mike nodded, almost imperceptibly, and pulled Billie in for a long hug. As he pressed loving kisses to Billie's throat, Billie Joe continued to run his fingers through Mike's choppy hair.
They stayed like that for awhile, pressed so tight against one another they could feel each other's heartbeats. Billie thought about Mike's heart murmur, and how worried he often was that one day, it was going to give up on him; ironic how now, there was a chance that he would lose his boyfriend to something else altogether. Part of him wondered how Mike's heart would affect whatever the “something else” was, and he shivered. He could not allow his mind to go there, because if he did, he wouldn't be able to pull himself back.
The trouble was, the idea of Mike being sick-of Mike having cancer-was unfathomable. They were still relatively young; approaching forty, but in damn good shape, thanks to Green Day's marathon rock concerts and Mike's continuous dedication to the treadmill. Something like this couldn't happen to Mike, because he was Billie's best friend in the world. They had a seven year old child together, and Billie Joe simply could not picture a setting in which Mike was not present or able to raise her with him. Just thinking about this, he hugged the bassist extra tight.
Seeming to sense Billie's inner distress, Mike pulled back enough to look down into Billie's eyes. He could see all of the worries and fears and frustrations inside them, and it was like looking into a mirror. Mike's stomach contracted, at seeing Billie Joe's pain, because he knew how much Billie loved him. Mike was everything to Billie, as Billie Joe was to Mike. They were each other's right hand, and that was because their friendship ran so deep. Nearly thirty years deep, in fact, and they were the center of each other's lives. One without the other would never do, because they were essentially the same person. Inseparable, irreplaceable.
With all of these things in mind, Mike had an epiphany. It happened very suddenly, like a flash of lightening that jolted his skull, and he could feel the excitement of his revelation descending down his spine. Mike placed his hands on either side of Billie's neck and began to kiss him, in earnest, inching forward until the pressure from his hips forced Billie's back against the kitchen counter. His belly was trembling, as he could feel Billie Joe's hands roaming everywhere along his body, and Mike could not control the short moan that vibrated his mouth, earning one from Billie as well. They kissed until they had to stop to breathe, and Mike panted and gasped, softly, against Billie's lips as he said, “Marry me.”
Billie Joe didn't seem to realize what he'd said, at first. His eyes were still closed, as he recovered from Mike's blistering kiss, and when they blinked open again, he realized how intently Mike was staring down at him. It was about at that moment that the words began to process, and dumbly, he asked, “What?”
“Marry me,” the bassist repeated, so simple and so impassioned at the same time. He lovingly tucked a strand of hair behind Billie's ear, an almost amused Mona Lisa smile playing on his lips at the sight of pure confusion on Billie's face.
“Mike--” Billie Joe began, then stopped, and laughed as a big smile split his lips. “Mike, you're bullshitting me, right?”
“I'm dead fucking serious, love.” And Mike did look serious. His signature little smile was gone, and he shuffled impossibly closer, drinking in every pore on Billie's face.
Billie opened his mouth, then closed it again, because he wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to say. Mike was looking at him in a way he had before, though perhaps with more intensity than usual; Mike looked fit to consume him from the bottom up. Truthfully, Billie Joe felt like jelly under his stare, but luckily, he was being propped up by both the sink and his boyfriend's convincing hips. He let out a quick breath, taking a moment to shake his head and collect his response. “Mike, we-we always said we didn't need to get married. That all it is, is a piece of paper, and we're better than that. Getting married is just a formality, that's what we've always agreed on.”
“I know. I know we did. But B--” Mike said his nickname, that no one else ever called him; just a syllable, just a letter, really. But it never failed to send a chill down Billie's spine, because he was only ever called that when his boyfriend was feeling particularly deep and romantic (which, admittedly, wasn't all that often.) In the midst of all these wild thoughts, Mike gathered up both of his hands in his own and held them between their chests, and the room was so quiet, they could hear their Felix the Cat clock ticking away form its spot over the kitchen counter. “--we've done everything else. We have a house together, and have done for ten years. Everything is in both our names, from the band to the cars to Rudie's. We've travelled the world together, been to hell and back, have experienced pretty much everything life has thrown at us, together. And the cherry on top of it all is Olivia, the best thing we've ever done. The only thing left is that formality, Billie. We took all the other steps. Why not this last one?”
Another lump was slowly creeping up into Billie Joe's throat again, and he had to swallow, hard, to get rid of the tears that came with it. Very rarely did Mike express himself this way; so openly and fervent with his words. For the most part, his boyfriend let his actions do the talking, and that suited them both just fine. And as much as Billie could see the honesty and purity of Mike's words, he knew where they were coming from. “Mike-Mikey, you're only saying these things because you think you might be sick, and--”
“Stop,” he shushed Billie before he could say another word, with tender kisses on his mouth and soothing hands in his hair. When Mike looked down into his eyes again, they were as intent and loving as ever, but somehow more so. “I might be sick, and that possibility is scary as hell. It's scary for us both. But Bill, you're the only one I would ever want by my side. You're the only one who could ever even come close to comforting me right now, and it isn't just because I've known you as long as I can remember. It's because you're the love of my life. You're everything, always have been. My entire life has been shaped around you, because of you, and you're it-you're my soulmate. I was lucky enough to find you, and I'd be the worst kind of goddamn fool if I didn't show that to the rest of the world.”
The tears started somewhere around “you're the love of my life,” but Mike was there to wipe them away with gentle fingers, even as his own tears leaked out of his eyes. “Mike--”
“Do I have to get down on one knee?”
“No, Mike, I--”
But before he could finish, Mike was crouching into proposal, clutching his hand in his own. Eyes shining, he murmured, “Will you marry me, Billie Joe?”
A gasp left him, and Billie covered his mouth with his palm; he had lost control over his emotions to begin with-an unexpected proclamation and a proposal will do that to a person-but he smiled through his tears, in spite of himself. Because as he looked down at his best fucking friend, the love of his own life, and the father of his child, he knew that Mike was exactly right. And so Billie said softly, in his watery voice, “Of course I'll marry you, Mike.”
Mike hopped up in a hurry to gather his boyfriend-his fiancé-into his arms for a long, joyous, tear-stained kiss, and at least for the moment, both of their spirits were at peace.
--
This is exactly the scene this story was based around. This image plagued me for months, and I kept telling myself this story didn't need to be written. I'm now five hundred pages deep, so obviously, I needed to write this story, whether or not it needed me. I enjoy it immensely--it's my escape. I hope others continue to enjoy it as well.
xx