Her truck was gone when he snuck in through the garage door.
The house was quiet as he wandered into the kitchen while contemplating his next move. A stack of papers sat next to the pile of aluminum trays and extra tinfoil she'd grabbed for their upcoming holiday, and he rushed toward it in the hopes it would give him a clue as to where she was but found he was holding the Cline script and contract.
He blankly flipped through the script, running his fingers over her notes and the green highlights, finding his heart would lighten when he read something funny she'd written. And when he saw that the contract was signed, her elegant signature neatly placed near the bottom beside yesterday's date, he paused.
Why would she even have the contract if the insurance was refusing her? Didn't those huge studios have underwriting teams that would secure the insurance coverage first and then distribute contracts? Shit, their lawyer had even signed it - telling him she'd taken him up on his joking request to up her asking price - and he confirmed it when he flipped to the last few pages and found the agreed-upon sum.
Suddenly, he felt exceptionally foolish.
Why in hell had he believed Courtney Love, of all people, who stumbled to his hotel room in the dead of night? He absolutely should have known better. If he'd learned anything from the past he would have known that Courtney's modus operandi was to act rashly and prematurely.
Shaking his head at his own hasty reaction to a false rumor, he tried to ignore the embarrassment he felt and shuffled over to the coffee maker. If he could just inject a few hundred more milligrams of caffeine into his blood, he'd be coherent enough to call Silva and offer an apology to end all apologies.
The green light on the house phone blinked rapidly from the sofa table in the living room, stealing his attention. He grumbled to himself about even having a house phone as he started the coffee maker, in fact, he'd been dead set against one, but they both needed a dedicated landline for work and it kept the traffic off their cell phones, so he'd eventually relented.
But whatever the voicemail was, it could wait until after coffee. Not only was he was in desperate need of it, but he was also sure Liz would want some when she finally came home, so he went through the motions while silently berating himself for falling for Courtney's hysterics.
When the coffee was streaming into the carafe, he wandered over to the phone and pressed the necessary buttons to access their voicemail.
Mrs. Grohl, this is Deb from Dr. Ruthenberg's office. We have the results of your tests back and we'd like to speak with you as soon as possible to begin a plan of care. Please call us back at-"
The phone slipped from his shoulder and hit the side of the counter before clattering to the floor, but Dave was already halfway across the house.
*
He'd pushed that Tesla in the past, pushed it as far as he thought he could take it without it coming off its wheels, but he was managing to squeeze even more out of it that morning. Ripping down the 405 into Sherman Oaks, his heart lodged in his throat when the building came into view.
His phone on the dash mount cheerfully announced that he'd arrived at his destination and three floors up, he spotted Liz's truck in the surprisingly packed parking garage. By the grace of the universe, the space next to her's was open and he nearly rammed the nose of the Tesla into the concrete wall as he parked.
Racing through the building, he found the doctor's name on a directory and bolted up a flight of stairs, then down a long horror movie-like hallway before wrenching open a door that led to a deathly quiet waiting room. Several annoyed pairs of eyes examined him as he sheepishly stepped to the receptionist's desk.
"Hi," he winced at how loud his voice seemed in that vacuum, "Sorry, I'm a little late to the appointment. Elizabeth Grohl? I'm her husband."
The woman behind the counter broke into a polite smile and held up a hand to indicate he should wait, "Oh! Yes, of course. I'll have a nurse take you right back."
*
It was freezing in that doctor's office.
Downright bitter.
And to make matters even worse, she had been sitting there for twenty minutes in little more than a paper tablecloth with armholes, staring at a poster on the wall that was wondering in large bold letters if she'd been tested for gonorrhea lately. Her lip curled as she triple checked that her skin was fully on the paper covering the vinyl table when the doctor burst in.
"Elizabeth! How are you?"
"Nervous," she admitted, knowing every bit of her body language confirmed it.
"Ah," he slowly settled onto the rolling stool in front of her and furrowed his brow as he examined her chart, "I can see why. Your blood work confirmed it."
"Oh," she felt like her heart ground to a halt and along with it, her lungs.
"I take it my nurse didn't stop in with the news?"
Liz registered his concerned face, but could only shake her head while internally she was collapsing.
"Well," the doctor sighed deeply and stood, "Let's get started. Go ahead and lay back."
The paper under her crinkled as she moved, her cold, clammy hand clasped in the doctor's as he helped her recline. She wondered if maybe she had gone into shock, but supposed that the man beside her would know the signs and would act accordingly. But she was cold, so cold, that her feet and fingers were tingling, which was beginning to become worrisome.
"Take a deep breath for me, Elizabeth."
Her eyes flashed to his face and though he didn't let on that he knew she was in distress, he was reaching for a button on the wall that flashed first with blue and then with red. The red probably wasn't a good sign.
"I'm sorry, I just wasn't expecting... I mean... -"
"It's perfectly fine," he said gently, his eyes only leaving her face when the door opened and a nurse stepped in, "I understand this news is a little shocking. We need to discuss your care plan, but first I'd like to do some imaging. Is that all right with you?"
It wasn't. All she wanted to do was get on the first plane to New York, but what the hell was she gonna say? No?
The same nurse that had taken her blood pressure earlier kindly held the back of Liz's paper gown closed so she could shuffle down the carpeted hallway to yet another exam room where she was gently seated beside a smiling technician. Her chart was handed over and quiet looks of concern were exchanged between the medical professionals that Liz didn't miss.
"Ready, Mrs... oh."
And that's when Liz noticed the tech's script-style FF tattoo on her wrist, artfully nestled beside familiar molecules and the most recent equals logo.
"I like your tattoo," Liz said softly, trying to break the trance the poor girl was in.
A fierce blush spread across the tech's cheeks when she realized she'd been caught starstruck, "I'm a big, big fan."
"Me too," Liz smiled at her and let her situate her on the table, "He's in New York right now." She felt the need to explain his glaring absence but didn't elaborate further.
"Making a new album, I hope," she smiled and turned to her hulking machine, tapping some buttons to make it whirr and beep. "I'm still not over Concrete and Gold."
Settling her head on the tiny plastic pillow beneath her, Liz suddenly felt the urge to burst into tears. Concrete and Gold was only so many years old and yet, so much had happened in that short amount of time. She'd been the one to hand over Dave's award for his artistry on that record, which had kicked off the most insane chain of events that led to that moment... Alone on a table, wondering what would become of her.
A short knock fell on the door, making Liz turn her face toward the wall so she wouldn't be exposed any more than she already was, but the tech gently laid a warmed blanket over her before the handle was turned. She lay as still as possible, breathing in a rhythm she hoped sounded normal, listening to the soft whispers of the tech and interrupting nurse until a heavier pair of footsteps stopped and the table underneath her abruptly bumped.
"Shit, sorry."
Something popped in Liz's neck when she snapped it to the side, tears instantly filling her eyes as Dave loomed over her. He was backlit by the harsh lights above them, but she could see he'd been crying.
"Sorry. Traffic was a bitch," he explained as if he'd only been across town.
Liz was vaguely aware of the tech staring at them, struggling to find her words, "I'll uh... I'll give you two a moment."
*
She'd been crying... hard, by the looks of it. Her makeup was mostly gone, and her eyes were red and swollen, standing out harshly against her pale skin.
He waited until the tech left before falling to his knees beside the table Liz was on, a thousand questions bursting forth in his mind with the loudest of all being, How long? How long until you leave me?
"Did they tell you?"
The agony in her voice broke the dam, making him forget all reason by climbing up onto the exam table with her and folding her into his arms so he could weep into her hair.
"Yeah," he lied through a breaking voice, holding her tighter when she tried to move to see his face. He knew what was happening, he just couldn't bear to hear the words yet.
"I wanted to tell you," she explained with her voice muffled by his shoulder, "I couldn't tell you over the phone. I was going to book a-"
"It's okay," he was truly struggling to keep it together at that point, but he knew he had to. He'd have to sit through whatever procedure he'd wandered into the middle of because he sure as hell wasn't about to leave her side now, or ever. Until... "Let's just finish up here and then we can go home."
He finally let her pull back enough to look at him and both of their eyes instantly welled with tears again.
"Thank you for being here," her voice trembled.
A simple headshake was all he could offer without completely embarrassing himself and it was another few minutes before he felt steady enough to retrieve the tech.
He wedged himself between the table and the wall where he could keep both hands on Liz. The smell of her hair, the minty floral that made their entire bathroom and bed smell like heaven, kept him somewhat anchored to her. All he had to do was get through the next hour or so, then get her home so they could start making plans. They'd find the best doctors on the planet, get her the best treatments and medicines and-
"Ready?"
Dave's hand tightened around her arm as she nodded at the tech and he watched with mild horror as a gross amount of a clear gel was smeared onto a suspicious-looking wand. He knew where it was headed but was fully unprepared when it disappeared beneath the blanket and Liz covered a whimper by clearing her throat.
"Sorry," the tech said softly as she wrenched her arm around. "These are always a little uncomfortable."
"For both of us, I'm sure," Liz muttered, her eyes still shut tightly against the pain.
Dave gently brushed his palm over her forehead, pushing the loose strands of hair away and hoping it would alleviate some of her discomfort when the large TV at the foot of the exam table flickered on.
*
His left eye cranked open, followed sluggishly by the right, and finally together as a pair landed on Elizabeth.
She was reclined in a plastic chair with her feet propped up on the edge of the bed and was calmly sucking on one of those cheap suckers that always seemed to mercilessly slice one's tongue up, while her left hand was linked with his right.
He watched her for a while, taking in her profile and the way the muscles in her face moved until he slipped up and squeezed her hand. The stick protruding from her lips froze almost comically as her eyes landed on his and she pulled her feet to the floor so she could lean into him.
"Hey, sleepyhead!" her voice was gentle and soft, the same tone she would use to wake up the kids on an early morning. "How do you feel?"
"... tired," he croaked, surprised at how gravelly his voice sounded. He must have slept hard. "Get in here with me."
She searched his face and a smile tugged at the corner of her lips as he tried to scoot over, "I have a better idea. How about we get you out of here and home to our bed?"
"Just get in-" he stopped short when he reached for the thin blanket laid across him and noticed the IV lines sticking out of his arm. "... the fuck?"
It was only then that he realized they weren't in their bedroom, but a tiny curtained space with a bed, one chair, and a computer monitor mounted to the wall behind him.
"You blacked out, dummy," Liz said from over her shoulder as she stuck her head out of the curtain to look for a nurse, "They hauled us down to the ER."
They, he wondered, who the fuck is 'they'?
And that's when the second blow hit him. He sat up like a shot, his spine snapping stick straight while trying to grab for his wife, "Liz!"
"What?" she spun around with wide eyes just as the monitor beside them started to beep rapidly to match his heartrate.
"You're-"
She stared back at him, her eyes now smiling and her lips eventually following suit.
"Are you-?" he urged, wondering if the last moments he recalled from the exam room were a dream.
She took her sweet-ass time closing the curtain again and pulling some papers from her bag before sliding up onto the bed beside him. The glossy paper shook in his trembling hands, but it was clear - very clear - that he'd been mistaken when Liz pointed to the third photo in the set and said through a laugh,
"David, we're definitely having a boy."