Chapter 79

After dinner had been demolished - and Billie had been pleasantly surprised to watch each of the band members carry his own dirty dishes to the kitchen - the group headed back out to the studio, continuing to work into the night.

While the band worked, Billie just stayed quiet and enjoyed the private, up close and personal access to something that most fans would kill for. Enjoyed listening to the experimenting with different chords, the changes of melody as the five guys tried to perfect the next song. Of course, Jon and Richie had already laid down much of the feeling for the song, but it was clear that everyone - even Hugh - had an input to give. It was just a little bit like the old quote about all men being created equal, but some being more equal than others - everyone had an input, but it wasn’t exactly a democracy.

Finally, though, Billie had to admit exhaustion, but she waited for a break in the flow of music before getting to her feet and bidding them all goodnight. There was a chorus of good-natured teasing about not being able to take the rockstar pace, and two pairs of eyes - one chocolate brown, one bright blue - followed her as she left the room. After a moment of quiet, Tico broke the silence with the soft thud of the bass drum, and they got back to work.

On her way into the house, Billie paused in the kitchen to fix herself a mug of cocoa. She’d been out to the big house often enough now to feel comfortable helping herself, at least after both Jon and Belle - and Richie - had made it clear that nobody stood on ceremony here. She was considered part of the extended family now, they’d all informed her, so she shouldn’t expect anyone to be helping her - she wanted something, she could get it herself! As that thought ran through her brain, Billie smiled and shook her head. Even with her ‘connection’ to Jon, she’d have never in a million years expected to find herself standing in the kitchen of his Jersey home, absent-mindedly scratching Copper behind the ears while she waited to hear the ping of the microwave.

Life really did have a way of surprising you sometimes.

With cocoa in hand, Billie made her way upstairs, closing the bedroom door behind her before setting down the mug. She slowly took off her clothes, tired from the long day, feeling a tiny twinge of pain in her shoulder as she stretched back to take off her sweater. Even as the pain reminded her of what had happened, she forced the memory away, resolutely refusing to let herself think of it. Instead, she flicked on the TV, hopping channels until she found the distraction of a movie. Pulling on the thick guest robe which hung in her bathroom, she settled onto the bed, picking up her cocoa while she focused her attention on the screen.

After the cocoa was gone, Billie turned the TV down a few notches but left it on - she'd always preferred to sleep in quiet darkness, yet since 'the incident', she found too much silence uncomfortable, hearing sounds that weren't really there, and the soft background of the TV helped soothe her. Of course, the flickering of the screen also brightened the room a bit, so when she woke in the night she could see and not imagine what - who - could be lurking in the shadows. Eventually, tiredness won out over the continuing ache in her shoulder, and Billie fell into sleep.

But tonight sleep wouldn’t bring rest, only confused nightmares as the pain in her shoulder worked itself into Billie’s subconscious, a stealthy, unwelcome reminder.


It was almost four in the morning when the band finally had to admit that they were too tired to be constructive, after a lengthy discussion over changing a chord ended when they realized they were arguing about changing it to what they already had. With a wry smile, Jon muttered that they really weren’t as young as they used to be, and a yawning Tico agreed, flexing his shoulders as he got up from behind the drums.

“Looks like none of us can take the pace any more.” Richie grunted as he stood, his ass protesting the long hours on the uncomfortable old stool he used. “I’ll see you assholes in the morning. Later in the morning anyway.”

There was a murmur of replies from the other guys, yet still Richie was last to leave the studio, never so tired that he wouldn’t carefully replace his various guitars on their stands before leaving. He flipped the light switch as he left the room, stretching the kinks out of his back as he walked slowly to the main house.

By the time he got to the house, only a few minutes after the others, they had all vanished to their respective bedrooms, and Richie paused only long enough to pour a glass of milk and grab a handful of cookies before he also headed upstairs.

Walking to his bedroom, Richie paused fractionally as he passed the door to Billie’s room, then stopped completely when his ears picked up the sound of soft sobbing. Or it could have been soft cursing. After a momentary hesitation he tapped a fingertip lightly on the door, hearing the sound hitch into silence.

“Billie?” Well, duh, Sambora - who else would it be? “S’Richie. You okay?”

“Y-yeah.” Came softly through the wood panel, but the tall guitarist was pretty well tuned to her voice by now, and he shook his head.

“Not buyin’ it, darlin’. Can I come in?”

Billie glanced down, quickly cinching her robe tight again as she walked over to the door, opening it and looking up into those dark, understanding eyes. She knew her own eyes were reddened and teary, legacy of the nightmare he’d woken her from.

“Oh, yeah, you’re fine.” Richie grinned down at her. “Wanna cookie?”

At that offer, her face brightened and Billie swung the door wide.

“You said the magic word.”

After Richie entered the room, Billie closed the door softly, surreptitiously wiping at her face with the soft sleeve of her robe. She caught Richie watching her and rolled her eyes.

“I really am okay, Richie. Bad dream is all.”

“Oh, so you don’t need one of my cookies?” He made to head back out of the room. “Okay then.”

“Nice try!” Billie blocked him, grabbing a cookie from his hand.

They each settled into one of the easy chairs over by the window, eating the cookies in one of their frequent companionable silences. Richie showed his gentlemanly side even more when he went into the bathroom, returning with a clean glass and tipping some of his milk into it for Billie. When she thanked him, he chuckled.

“Hey, what are cookies without milk?”

As they shared the last of the cookies, Richie noticed Billie shifting her shoulder uncomfortably, and at his querying glance she laid her hand onto the joint.

“Just sore tonight. Well, not really sore. Achy.”

Richie got to his feet, first toeing off his beloved ‘old man shoes’, and he moved across behind Billie, laying a gentle hand over hers.

“May I?” He asked politely, and she looked up at him trustingly as she nodded.

He massaged lightly over the robe, then kept watching her as he slowly tugged at the collar, moving the robe aside so he could massage her more effectively, more intimately, skin to skin. At the touch of his warm, strong hand on her shoulder, Billie smiled, closing her eyes for a moment before looking up at him again, seeing his soft smile, matching it with one of her own.


Jon woke early as usual, still cursed with a body that rebelled against sleep. As he got older it was actually getting worse, he thought, but nevertheless, regardless of the late hour he’d gone to bed, his internal clock had him awake by seven o’clock. He lay for a few minutes, savoring the warmth of the thick comforter, before his brain and bladder simultaneously kicked him out of bed.

Standing over his toilet, Jon mulled over the idea he’d just had, a new bridge for one of the songs, and he sighed as he knew he’d never get back to sleep now. Once nature’s demand was satisfied, he grabbed a pair of torn sweats and a faded t-shirt from the hamper - they weren’t that dirty - and pulled them on before leaving his bedroom, headed for the studio by way of the kitchen.

His and Dorothea’s bedroom was in the farthest part of the house, and as he padded through the foyer he heard a sound from upstairs, shocked when he looked up to see Richie gently closing Billie’s bedroom door, carrying his shoes as he walked toward his own room. Jon was still standing there, silent and open-mouthed, as Richie disappeared from view.

What the fuck?