it's been waiting for you
Title: Brutal Love [14]
Author: Molly
Pairing: Billie/Mike
Summary: “I thought it was bad luck to see each other before the wedding,” Billie Joe all but whispered, eyes darting around the familiar angles of Mike's face.
Previous Parts: located here
The weekend ran away in a rush. From the time they had finally ushered Olivia onto her bus Friday morning, Billie and Mike had been endlessly busy in preparation for their marriage to-be. First, Mike had called the courthouse, to make sure it was actually a possibility, and once Billie Joe had downed a cup of coffee, as a way to bring him back to the reality of the situation, they began telling their loved ones. Mike phoned Myla and Tré and Jason, while Billie told Aly, and most importantly of all, his mother, not to make any plans for Monday morning. Ollie had sounded very near to tears, as she congratulated them on the decision that, in her words, “was a long time coming,” and Aly had appropriately gasped and insisted on leading Billie on a search for the right tuxedo. There had also been understanding, almost sympathetic undertones in the way she had shared her approval on the matter; she was still the only one who knew about the as yet unknown medical status of one Mike Dirnt.
Although there wasn't much time to dwell on the matter, it was certainly in the back of Billie Joe's mind, constantly. Mike seemed to fare better than he; the bassist performed their few pre- “wedding” errands with honest enthusiasm, from helping Olivia find the flower girl dress he had promised her to choosing a matching set of expensive wedding bands at the jewelry store they had never before had cause to stop at in San Francisco. Billie attempted to keep pace with him emotionally, but he knew he wasn't living up to the standard that Mike was at. Luckily, Mike was too distracted to notice.
He wasn't sure what to make of it, really. It was all happening very fast, almost too much too soon, and even if he didn't have any doubts on his relationship with Mike, when it came down to it, he wondered if they were doing the right thing.
So that was the reason why Billie stood in front of the full length mirror, staring at his reflection illuminated by the artificial fluorescent lights of the courthouse bathroom, with his wild eyes blinking in near panic. Aly had locked them away in there after they had arrived nearly half an hour ago, to assure them ample time to prepare for the impending, momentous occasion. She was smoothing down the shoulders of his jacket, as he fiddled endlessly with his bow tie, and she sighed; she had seen the underlying anxiety in his eyes from the moment she had picked him and Olivia up from their house that morning.
“Stop fiddling with it, Billie Joe, it looks perfect.” In fact, all of Billie looked perfect. He was dressed in black jeans with a matching button-up, a white-spotted red bow tie wrapped around his neck, and a pristine white jacket. The look was inspired by the outfit Billie had been wearing to the VMAS in 2005, a night Mike often touted as “one of the best of their lives,” and it just felt right, to put Billie Joe in white with a polka dotted tie. (The man loved his polka dots.) But Aly knew his striking appearance would mean very little if he was fidgeting and glancing around the room like he was looking for the nearest exit.
“Billie,” she murmured, sliding her hands over his clean shaven cheeks. It was the only way to get his gaze to focus on her. “Christ, Armstrong, what's going on in that head of yours?”
He opened his mouth to speak, at the same time a quick knock thudded at the door, and it was opening before either he or Alyssa could answer. Olivia came twirling into the room, closely followed by a grinning Myla, and she bounced in front of Billie with an expectant smile on her face. “Look at my dress, Mommy!”
It was a frilly, lacy sundress with a satin red sash around the waist, and she looked like the most beautiful princess Billie Joe ever could imagine. He squatted to his knees to pull her close for a kiss, hiding the tears glittering his eyes and crack in his voice in the side of her neck; there was definitely something to be said about having your child as a part of your wedding-no matter the circumstances. “You look absolutely gorgeous, angel.”
“My hair too! Aunt Myla did it up all curly and she even put my ladybug clips in! See, Mommy?”
Billie could see, and he smiled weakly up at Myla. “Better than I could ever hope to do.” He looked back at his daughter, and lifted both of her hands to his lips for a kiss each. “Did you thank Aunt Myla for getting you all dolled up?”
“Not yet,” Myla smirked, her hands on her niece's shoulders. “I'm sure that's coming, right around the time she asks for one of the cookies stashed in my purse. . .”
Olivia gasped, slowly turning her head up to look at Myla in wide-eyed wonder. In a hushed voice, she said, “You have cookies?”
All three adults laughed, as Billie gathered his daughter in for another hug, though he was careful not to mess with Myla's handiwork. “You're the prettiest flower girl there ever was, Livy,” he murmured into her ear, and for what felt like the thousandth time in just a few days, another lump was forming in his throat.
“C'mon, Liv, let's let your mommy finish getting ready and go show Daddy and Tré your dress.” Myla took Olivia's hand and began to lead her back out from the bathroom. “Tre will probably be interested in the cookies in my purse as well. . .”
Billie Joe watched them leave, from his vantage point near the floor as he did not bother to stand from the crouch. The tears were really threatening mutiny now, making his vision blurry, and he lowered his forehead against his palm, a sharp intake of breath his only defense against them.
Biting her lip, Aly slid soothing hands along Billie's back and kneeled next to him-taking careful measures not to smudge her dress on the tiled floor-and pulled his tattooed hand away from his face, so he couldn't hide his angst anymore. His green eyes were tortured, clearly torn in two directions, and Aly clucked her tongue in sympathy.
“Oh, babe. . .”
“I'm being ridiculous,” Billie muttered, standing abruptly and raging his fingers through his already (artfully) unkempt hair. He paced to the other side of the bathroom, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to get a hang on himself, and focused on breathing properly. “Ridiculous.”
“What are you being ridiculous about, Billie Joe?” She asked as she followed him, tentatively, though giving him plenty of space. “If it's because you're scared, that isn't ridiculous. What you and Mike are going through is scary, and you can't expect--”
“I'm not scared!” He exclaimed suddenly, surprising them both as he turned around, flinging his hand in the air for emphasis. The other went to his forehead again as he shook his head. “I mean, I am, of course I am, but-it's more than that-it's--”
Alyssa waited, patiently, hands useless by her sides until he seemed to calm enough for her to touch him again, holding onto his shoulders. “What?” She prompted gently, peering into his stormy, bloodshot eyes. “Spit it out, darlin'.”
“We wouldn't be doing this if Mike didn't think he was sick,” Billie said, the words rushing out of him like air from a popped balloon, a simultaneous explosion of relief and anguish firing off in his heart. “We wouldn't be getting married if Mike didn't think-if this weren't happening-”
Words seemed to fail him, and Billie hung his head as he focused on steadying his breathing. Aly pulled him in for a hug and simply held him for a moment. She was at a loss; she knew anything she could say would fall on deaf ears. Billie Joe had already reached his point of panic, and there was only one person in the world that knew how to bring him back. So she kissed his cheek and squeezed him, saying, “Sit tight for a minute, Billie.”
She was almost asking the impossible. Billie felt like he was about to twitch himself into another dimension, so much so that he hardly noticed her leave. He kept pacing two short strides, first left, then right, then left again, while continuously either tweaking his bow tie or rubbing at his gelled hair. If Billie Joe was honest, it was difficult to pinpoint exactly what was bothering him so much-the anticipation that came from awaiting Mike's test results, to be sure, but then there was that niggling doubt in the back of his mind that kept saying this didn't feel right. . . That whatever they were doing, they were going about it all wrong. . .
And how could he think that? How could Billie truly believe that marrying Mike wasn't the right thing? They had been as good as married for going on twelve years the following February-his birthday, actually-and they had a child together. Marriage was a formality, but when it came down to it, Mike had made the real point; they had taken all of the other steps. Neglecting this one seemed sort of silly, in the scheme of things.
But it had happened so fast. One minute, Billie was perfectly secure in his relationship, his family, and then the next, Mike was dropping a bomb on them that had the potential to obliterate life as they knew it. And somehow, the ascension of that warhead had inspired his boyfriend to propose, to lead them to this strange little courthouse in Oakland, where they would promise to care for and love each other for the rest of their lives.
The thought made Billie Joe's chest contract, as he realized what the problem was, at the heart of it all. He hung his head down, eyes squeezed shut with his hands clenched in his hair, because now he understood: Mike needed reassurance that he would hold to that promise, if the results of his biopsy were not what they hoped to hear. That was what kept breaking Billie's heart, over and over again, and it hadn't even occurred to him until this very moment.
Only seconds after his epiphany, the door was opening, and Billie glanced up with parted lips and austere eyes. It was Mike, creeping into the room carefully with a benign expression on his face. He closed the door quietly before saying, “Hey.”
“Hi,” Billie Joe answered in a breath, hands falling to his sides like birds shot in midair. He suddenly felt quite self-conscious-which was silly, he knew, considering Mike had seen him (and his naked body) in every way imaginable, from age ten to thirty-eight.
“You look amazing, Bill,” Mike murmured, as he stepped closer, a soft, pleased smile lifting the corners of his thin mouth. His eyes were shining.
“So do you.” And boy, did he. The sight of him caused Billie's heart to fall into his stomach. Mike was clad in all black; shiny new shoes, a pair of achingly tight dark jeans held up by a studded belt, and a sharp dress jacket with the collar turned up over a ribbed black tank top that revealed wily little pieces of chest hair. The outfit was so simple, and yet so elegantly Mike, and the frontman was overwhelmed with affection for the sight of him. And yet he was the very reason Billie was feeling so messed up.
As all of the conflicting thoughts played out on his pale face, Mike kept slowly inching forward, until he was close enough to slide his hands around his waist, underneath the pristine jacket.
“I thought it was bad luck to see each other before the wedding,” Billie Joe all but whispered, eyes darting around the familiar angles of Mike's face. The bassist had slept at Tré's house the night before, insisting on going through with a time honored tradition, so this was the first time they had come face to face in over twelve hours. Twelve hours that Billie had spent in oppressing agitation. “You were the one who thought it was so important. . .”
“Yeah, I know, but we're better than silly superstitions anyway.” Mike was gazing down at him, tilting his head to meet downcast eyes, as Billie focused his restless hands on the lapels of Mike's coat. “Aly said you were freaking out.”
Billie Joe's eyes flickered up to his, and his teeth bit hard on his bottom lip. Slowly, he slid his hands down the length of Mike's front, to hook around the leather strap of his belt. Although he knew he should say something, Billie could not think of anything appropriate, so he lowered his eyes once more.
“Hey. Billie,” he breathed, and he had to tip Billie's chin with his thumb and forefinger to achieve his stare again. “If you don't wanna do this-if you feel like I'm pushing this, you need to tell me. You know that I never want to do something that you don't want.”
“Shit, Mike.” It came out almost like a squeak, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, to somehow get a grip. He clutched Mike's belt tighter, taking a few deep breaths. He could feel Mike's hands on him, stroking his face, his neck, his biceps, when really, he should have been the one comforting Mike. His eyes snapped open again, and an odd sound left him as he began, “It's not-it's not that I don't want this. I do. But I want it for the right reasons.”
Mike appeared confused by the response, shaking his head and frowning to illustrate his disorientation. “You think we're doing this for the wrong reasons?”
“If it weren't for the fact that you might have cancer, we wouldn't be standing here, Mike.” The words came out of him in a choked rush, and Billie Joe stared up into his favorite shade of blue boldly. His emotions had caused him to surrender to the tears, and they slipped down his cheeks freely; he didn't even care. “Mike, I'm going to be there for you. Always and no matter what. There is no limit to what I'll do for and with you.” Billie was throwing out a hand for emphasis, finger pointing at the invisible problems he was referring to, and he went on, “You don't need a piece of paper for that, Mike. You don't need some kind of legality or official paperwork. If it's cancer, I'm going to be there every single moment. I won't leave your fucking side. If it's nothing, then we'll go on with our lives and be rockstars and parents, and we'll fuck every day and eat cereal for dinner and make kick-ass records because that's what we do. But if you're looking for some kind of black and white guarantee that I'm going to stick by you through whatever this is, you don't need it, Mike. I'm yours, a hundred percent, so if you need a kidney, or-or a piece of my liver, or whatever, Mike, you already have it, because all of me already belongs to you. It's been that way for going on thirty fucking years, and a couple of signatures on a government stamped document doesn't mean shit to the way I'm committed to you.”
He was shaking, hands and lips trembling so violently he couldn't speak anymore, which forced him to take a moment to catch his breath. Mike allowed him a few seconds, gently pressing his damp face against the breast of his jacket, scattering kisses of comfort all over messy black hair. Billie held onto Mike's sides weakly, the back of his mind wandering to Aly's purse, where his bottle of Xanax was stashed, but Mike's hands on his cheeks forced him to look up again, bloodshot eyes and panting lips and all.
Mike gazed down at him, the lines of his face creased with concern and a bizarre mixture of-what was it?-- pity. Yet his eyes were kind, a shade of mellow Billie couldn't remember seeing since there last days in Hawaii, and it was as reassuring as it was unsettling. “Listen, Beej,” Mike said, and though his voice was quiet, it was as strong as it had ever been. “You've got this all wrong. I don't want to get married because I want to make sure you're going to be there for me. I want to get married because I know you're going to be there for me. In thirty years, you've never left my side. In ten years, I have never once doubted how much you cared for me, and that's because of how much I care about you. We're a team, baby. And honestly, we should have done this a long time ago for all the difference time has made. Everything I want, I want from you, and everything I need, I need from you. It's always been you, Billie Joe. I've told you this before, and I'll say it a million more times if I have to, but you've gotta get it through your stubborn skull, Armstrong-this isn't about cancer, or fear, or anything else. This is about us. It's about our family. It isn't even a choice, love. It's just the way it fucking is.”
The noise that came out of him was half-laugh, half-sob, and Billie wrapped his arms around Mike's neck, burying his tear-stained face into his neck. He was warm, and solid, all of the things he had come to depend on, and right now, it felt delicious to be held by a pair of arms so familiar and well-loved. “God, I love you,” Billie whispered, punctuating his words with a salty kiss to Mike's ear. “So much it's stupid.”
Heaving his own shaky chuckle, Mike nodded. “Feeling's mutual,” he murmured and kissed Billie Joe's forehead. As he looked down tenderly into bright green eyes, Mike cracked a half-smile. “Besides. . . we had a baby almost seven years ago. It's about time I make an honest man out of you.”
Billie laughed, and it was an easy, quiet sound that kind of echoed off the tiles decorating the walls. “Yeah,” he muttered, as he roughly brushed away the remaining tears on his face. “Jesus, I'm such a mess. . .”
“No. You're Billie. It wouldn't be you if you didn't nearly have a panic attack five minutes before the wedding.” Mike kissed him, soft, slow, and sweet, and when he pulled back, he kissed his nose for good measure. Smiling, he asked, “Ready to get married, B?”
“Born ready, Mikey."
--
Appreciating all your feedback, guys!
Best xx
Author: Molly
Pairing: Billie/Mike
Summary: “I thought it was bad luck to see each other before the wedding,” Billie Joe all but whispered, eyes darting around the familiar angles of Mike's face.
Previous Parts: located here
The weekend ran away in a rush. From the time they had finally ushered Olivia onto her bus Friday morning, Billie and Mike had been endlessly busy in preparation for their marriage to-be. First, Mike had called the courthouse, to make sure it was actually a possibility, and once Billie Joe had downed a cup of coffee, as a way to bring him back to the reality of the situation, they began telling their loved ones. Mike phoned Myla and Tré and Jason, while Billie told Aly, and most importantly of all, his mother, not to make any plans for Monday morning. Ollie had sounded very near to tears, as she congratulated them on the decision that, in her words, “was a long time coming,” and Aly had appropriately gasped and insisted on leading Billie on a search for the right tuxedo. There had also been understanding, almost sympathetic undertones in the way she had shared her approval on the matter; she was still the only one who knew about the as yet unknown medical status of one Mike Dirnt.
Although there wasn't much time to dwell on the matter, it was certainly in the back of Billie Joe's mind, constantly. Mike seemed to fare better than he; the bassist performed their few pre- “wedding” errands with honest enthusiasm, from helping Olivia find the flower girl dress he had promised her to choosing a matching set of expensive wedding bands at the jewelry store they had never before had cause to stop at in San Francisco. Billie attempted to keep pace with him emotionally, but he knew he wasn't living up to the standard that Mike was at. Luckily, Mike was too distracted to notice.
He wasn't sure what to make of it, really. It was all happening very fast, almost too much too soon, and even if he didn't have any doubts on his relationship with Mike, when it came down to it, he wondered if they were doing the right thing.
So that was the reason why Billie stood in front of the full length mirror, staring at his reflection illuminated by the artificial fluorescent lights of the courthouse bathroom, with his wild eyes blinking in near panic. Aly had locked them away in there after they had arrived nearly half an hour ago, to assure them ample time to prepare for the impending, momentous occasion. She was smoothing down the shoulders of his jacket, as he fiddled endlessly with his bow tie, and she sighed; she had seen the underlying anxiety in his eyes from the moment she had picked him and Olivia up from their house that morning.
“Stop fiddling with it, Billie Joe, it looks perfect.” In fact, all of Billie looked perfect. He was dressed in black jeans with a matching button-up, a white-spotted red bow tie wrapped around his neck, and a pristine white jacket. The look was inspired by the outfit Billie had been wearing to the VMAS in 2005, a night Mike often touted as “one of the best of their lives,” and it just felt right, to put Billie Joe in white with a polka dotted tie. (The man loved his polka dots.) But Aly knew his striking appearance would mean very little if he was fidgeting and glancing around the room like he was looking for the nearest exit.
“Billie,” she murmured, sliding her hands over his clean shaven cheeks. It was the only way to get his gaze to focus on her. “Christ, Armstrong, what's going on in that head of yours?”
He opened his mouth to speak, at the same time a quick knock thudded at the door, and it was opening before either he or Alyssa could answer. Olivia came twirling into the room, closely followed by a grinning Myla, and she bounced in front of Billie with an expectant smile on her face. “Look at my dress, Mommy!”
It was a frilly, lacy sundress with a satin red sash around the waist, and she looked like the most beautiful princess Billie Joe ever could imagine. He squatted to his knees to pull her close for a kiss, hiding the tears glittering his eyes and crack in his voice in the side of her neck; there was definitely something to be said about having your child as a part of your wedding-no matter the circumstances. “You look absolutely gorgeous, angel.”
“My hair too! Aunt Myla did it up all curly and she even put my ladybug clips in! See, Mommy?”
Billie could see, and he smiled weakly up at Myla. “Better than I could ever hope to do.” He looked back at his daughter, and lifted both of her hands to his lips for a kiss each. “Did you thank Aunt Myla for getting you all dolled up?”
“Not yet,” Myla smirked, her hands on her niece's shoulders. “I'm sure that's coming, right around the time she asks for one of the cookies stashed in my purse. . .”
Olivia gasped, slowly turning her head up to look at Myla in wide-eyed wonder. In a hushed voice, she said, “You have cookies?”
All three adults laughed, as Billie gathered his daughter in for another hug, though he was careful not to mess with Myla's handiwork. “You're the prettiest flower girl there ever was, Livy,” he murmured into her ear, and for what felt like the thousandth time in just a few days, another lump was forming in his throat.
“C'mon, Liv, let's let your mommy finish getting ready and go show Daddy and Tré your dress.” Myla took Olivia's hand and began to lead her back out from the bathroom. “Tre will probably be interested in the cookies in my purse as well. . .”
Billie Joe watched them leave, from his vantage point near the floor as he did not bother to stand from the crouch. The tears were really threatening mutiny now, making his vision blurry, and he lowered his forehead against his palm, a sharp intake of breath his only defense against them.
Biting her lip, Aly slid soothing hands along Billie's back and kneeled next to him-taking careful measures not to smudge her dress on the tiled floor-and pulled his tattooed hand away from his face, so he couldn't hide his angst anymore. His green eyes were tortured, clearly torn in two directions, and Aly clucked her tongue in sympathy.
“Oh, babe. . .”
“I'm being ridiculous,” Billie muttered, standing abruptly and raging his fingers through his already (artfully) unkempt hair. He paced to the other side of the bathroom, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to get a hang on himself, and focused on breathing properly. “Ridiculous.”
“What are you being ridiculous about, Billie Joe?” She asked as she followed him, tentatively, though giving him plenty of space. “If it's because you're scared, that isn't ridiculous. What you and Mike are going through is scary, and you can't expect--”
“I'm not scared!” He exclaimed suddenly, surprising them both as he turned around, flinging his hand in the air for emphasis. The other went to his forehead again as he shook his head. “I mean, I am, of course I am, but-it's more than that-it's--”
Alyssa waited, patiently, hands useless by her sides until he seemed to calm enough for her to touch him again, holding onto his shoulders. “What?” She prompted gently, peering into his stormy, bloodshot eyes. “Spit it out, darlin'.”
“We wouldn't be doing this if Mike didn't think he was sick,” Billie said, the words rushing out of him like air from a popped balloon, a simultaneous explosion of relief and anguish firing off in his heart. “We wouldn't be getting married if Mike didn't think-if this weren't happening-”
Words seemed to fail him, and Billie hung his head as he focused on steadying his breathing. Aly pulled him in for a hug and simply held him for a moment. She was at a loss; she knew anything she could say would fall on deaf ears. Billie Joe had already reached his point of panic, and there was only one person in the world that knew how to bring him back. So she kissed his cheek and squeezed him, saying, “Sit tight for a minute, Billie.”
She was almost asking the impossible. Billie felt like he was about to twitch himself into another dimension, so much so that he hardly noticed her leave. He kept pacing two short strides, first left, then right, then left again, while continuously either tweaking his bow tie or rubbing at his gelled hair. If Billie Joe was honest, it was difficult to pinpoint exactly what was bothering him so much-the anticipation that came from awaiting Mike's test results, to be sure, but then there was that niggling doubt in the back of his mind that kept saying this didn't feel right. . . That whatever they were doing, they were going about it all wrong. . .
And how could he think that? How could Billie truly believe that marrying Mike wasn't the right thing? They had been as good as married for going on twelve years the following February-his birthday, actually-and they had a child together. Marriage was a formality, but when it came down to it, Mike had made the real point; they had taken all of the other steps. Neglecting this one seemed sort of silly, in the scheme of things.
But it had happened so fast. One minute, Billie was perfectly secure in his relationship, his family, and then the next, Mike was dropping a bomb on them that had the potential to obliterate life as they knew it. And somehow, the ascension of that warhead had inspired his boyfriend to propose, to lead them to this strange little courthouse in Oakland, where they would promise to care for and love each other for the rest of their lives.
The thought made Billie Joe's chest contract, as he realized what the problem was, at the heart of it all. He hung his head down, eyes squeezed shut with his hands clenched in his hair, because now he understood: Mike needed reassurance that he would hold to that promise, if the results of his biopsy were not what they hoped to hear. That was what kept breaking Billie's heart, over and over again, and it hadn't even occurred to him until this very moment.
Only seconds after his epiphany, the door was opening, and Billie glanced up with parted lips and austere eyes. It was Mike, creeping into the room carefully with a benign expression on his face. He closed the door quietly before saying, “Hey.”
“Hi,” Billie Joe answered in a breath, hands falling to his sides like birds shot in midair. He suddenly felt quite self-conscious-which was silly, he knew, considering Mike had seen him (and his naked body) in every way imaginable, from age ten to thirty-eight.
“You look amazing, Bill,” Mike murmured, as he stepped closer, a soft, pleased smile lifting the corners of his thin mouth. His eyes were shining.
“So do you.” And boy, did he. The sight of him caused Billie's heart to fall into his stomach. Mike was clad in all black; shiny new shoes, a pair of achingly tight dark jeans held up by a studded belt, and a sharp dress jacket with the collar turned up over a ribbed black tank top that revealed wily little pieces of chest hair. The outfit was so simple, and yet so elegantly Mike, and the frontman was overwhelmed with affection for the sight of him. And yet he was the very reason Billie was feeling so messed up.
As all of the conflicting thoughts played out on his pale face, Mike kept slowly inching forward, until he was close enough to slide his hands around his waist, underneath the pristine jacket.
“I thought it was bad luck to see each other before the wedding,” Billie Joe all but whispered, eyes darting around the familiar angles of Mike's face. The bassist had slept at Tré's house the night before, insisting on going through with a time honored tradition, so this was the first time they had come face to face in over twelve hours. Twelve hours that Billie had spent in oppressing agitation. “You were the one who thought it was so important. . .”
“Yeah, I know, but we're better than silly superstitions anyway.” Mike was gazing down at him, tilting his head to meet downcast eyes, as Billie focused his restless hands on the lapels of Mike's coat. “Aly said you were freaking out.”
Billie Joe's eyes flickered up to his, and his teeth bit hard on his bottom lip. Slowly, he slid his hands down the length of Mike's front, to hook around the leather strap of his belt. Although he knew he should say something, Billie could not think of anything appropriate, so he lowered his eyes once more.
“Hey. Billie,” he breathed, and he had to tip Billie's chin with his thumb and forefinger to achieve his stare again. “If you don't wanna do this-if you feel like I'm pushing this, you need to tell me. You know that I never want to do something that you don't want.”
“Shit, Mike.” It came out almost like a squeak, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, to somehow get a grip. He clutched Mike's belt tighter, taking a few deep breaths. He could feel Mike's hands on him, stroking his face, his neck, his biceps, when really, he should have been the one comforting Mike. His eyes snapped open again, and an odd sound left him as he began, “It's not-it's not that I don't want this. I do. But I want it for the right reasons.”
Mike appeared confused by the response, shaking his head and frowning to illustrate his disorientation. “You think we're doing this for the wrong reasons?”
“If it weren't for the fact that you might have cancer, we wouldn't be standing here, Mike.” The words came out of him in a choked rush, and Billie Joe stared up into his favorite shade of blue boldly. His emotions had caused him to surrender to the tears, and they slipped down his cheeks freely; he didn't even care. “Mike, I'm going to be there for you. Always and no matter what. There is no limit to what I'll do for and with you.” Billie was throwing out a hand for emphasis, finger pointing at the invisible problems he was referring to, and he went on, “You don't need a piece of paper for that, Mike. You don't need some kind of legality or official paperwork. If it's cancer, I'm going to be there every single moment. I won't leave your fucking side. If it's nothing, then we'll go on with our lives and be rockstars and parents, and we'll fuck every day and eat cereal for dinner and make kick-ass records because that's what we do. But if you're looking for some kind of black and white guarantee that I'm going to stick by you through whatever this is, you don't need it, Mike. I'm yours, a hundred percent, so if you need a kidney, or-or a piece of my liver, or whatever, Mike, you already have it, because all of me already belongs to you. It's been that way for going on thirty fucking years, and a couple of signatures on a government stamped document doesn't mean shit to the way I'm committed to you.”
He was shaking, hands and lips trembling so violently he couldn't speak anymore, which forced him to take a moment to catch his breath. Mike allowed him a few seconds, gently pressing his damp face against the breast of his jacket, scattering kisses of comfort all over messy black hair. Billie held onto Mike's sides weakly, the back of his mind wandering to Aly's purse, where his bottle of Xanax was stashed, but Mike's hands on his cheeks forced him to look up again, bloodshot eyes and panting lips and all.
Mike gazed down at him, the lines of his face creased with concern and a bizarre mixture of-what was it?-- pity. Yet his eyes were kind, a shade of mellow Billie couldn't remember seeing since there last days in Hawaii, and it was as reassuring as it was unsettling. “Listen, Beej,” Mike said, and though his voice was quiet, it was as strong as it had ever been. “You've got this all wrong. I don't want to get married because I want to make sure you're going to be there for me. I want to get married because I know you're going to be there for me. In thirty years, you've never left my side. In ten years, I have never once doubted how much you cared for me, and that's because of how much I care about you. We're a team, baby. And honestly, we should have done this a long time ago for all the difference time has made. Everything I want, I want from you, and everything I need, I need from you. It's always been you, Billie Joe. I've told you this before, and I'll say it a million more times if I have to, but you've gotta get it through your stubborn skull, Armstrong-this isn't about cancer, or fear, or anything else. This is about us. It's about our family. It isn't even a choice, love. It's just the way it fucking is.”
The noise that came out of him was half-laugh, half-sob, and Billie wrapped his arms around Mike's neck, burying his tear-stained face into his neck. He was warm, and solid, all of the things he had come to depend on, and right now, it felt delicious to be held by a pair of arms so familiar and well-loved. “God, I love you,” Billie whispered, punctuating his words with a salty kiss to Mike's ear. “So much it's stupid.”
Heaving his own shaky chuckle, Mike nodded. “Feeling's mutual,” he murmured and kissed Billie Joe's forehead. As he looked down tenderly into bright green eyes, Mike cracked a half-smile. “Besides. . . we had a baby almost seven years ago. It's about time I make an honest man out of you.”
Billie laughed, and it was an easy, quiet sound that kind of echoed off the tiles decorating the walls. “Yeah,” he muttered, as he roughly brushed away the remaining tears on his face. “Jesus, I'm such a mess. . .”
“No. You're Billie. It wouldn't be you if you didn't nearly have a panic attack five minutes before the wedding.” Mike kissed him, soft, slow, and sweet, and when he pulled back, he kissed his nose for good measure. Smiling, he asked, “Ready to get married, B?”
“Born ready, Mikey."
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