Part One


Worm not only has 100% organic no-sugar added white grape juice and locally grown baby carrots in his bags, he's also got the smallest pair of ear protectors Bob's ever seen, a fully stocked kid's pharmacy, and an offer of babysitting from one of the security crew, Renee.

Renee's as tall as Bob is, she loves her Harley, and her hair is a shade of red never seen in nature, but she's got one of the best laughs Bob's ever heard, two grown kids, and Nell warms up to her right away when Worm brings her over as Bob feeds Nell lunch (toaster oven chicken breast, corn, some of the crockpot rice, and apple slices).

"Hey, Bryar. I heard we have a stowaway." Renee slides into the booth next to Nell and gives Bob an approving smile at his meal offering.

Bob hands her a bottle of water, "Yeah. Renee, this is my daughter Nell. Nell, this is Renee."

Nell wipes her fingers on the napkin Bob managed to scare up and holds out her hand for Renee to shake, "Hello."

"It's nice to meet you, Nell." Renee watches her eat the small bites of chicken Bob had cut for her, "Worm said maybe you needed some help?"

"When I'm onstage and in interviews, yeah." Bob rubs his hands over his face roughly, "I'm sort of winging it here."

Renee smiles and takes the apple slice Nell offers her, "Welcome to full time parenthood, Bob."

Bob snorts out an unamused laugh and pushes a staticky chunk of Nell's hair behind her ear, tugging on the messy end of her braid--he needs to fix her hair again--before stealing his own chunk of apple, "Do you want Worm and Renee to bring you to see soundcheck before I tuck you in?"

He can't stop the smile that forms as he watches Nell's eyes get bigger and bigger as she slowly stops chewing her corn. She swallows hard and scrambles up to stand on the bench, "I can see you play?"

"Yeah."

Nell claps her hands and flings herself into Bob's arms before wiggling free and sliding under the table to run back towards the bunks. She's back before Bob can yell for her to finish her lunch, her hands full of the mini drumsticks and practice pad Bob had given her. "I need to practice!"

"You need to finish your lunch, first, okay?"

She nods and scrambles back under the table to sit in front of her plate and grab a piece of chicken with her fingers.

"Hey! Fork!" Bob rolls his eyes as she shoves a forkful of rice into her mouth, "And slow down. We have plenty of time to practice."

Nell obligingly slows down and starts chewing her food instead of trying to inhale it. After a sip of milk, she turns to look at Renee, "Do you play?"

"Nope." Renee points at the pad and sticks, "Do you want to show me when you're done eating?"

Nell nods frantically and chews on her last apple slice. She finishes off her milk before pushing her plate towards Bob, "I'm done, Daddy."

Bob takes the plate over to the messy sink and sighs before pushing up his sleeves and starting in on the stacked dishes. It's one thing to live like a slob when it's just him and the guys. It's entirely different when his little girl has to live here too. Thank god they've only been on the road a couple of days so far.

And that Gerard and Mikey are on the other bus.

He listens to Nell tell Renee drums are the most important part of the song 'because Daddy plays them' as he scrapes at the congealed mess of one of Frank's grilled fake-cheese sandwiches and Amy's not--wasn't.

Amy wasn't.

Bob blinks hard and scrubs at the toaster oven rack until all the crusty soy cheese is gone, concentrating on Nell's surprisingly accurate explanation of rudimentary drumming. He's sort of amazed by her recall of what he'd told her last month when he'd given her the pad and sticks.

"Daddy, count for me, please?"

He slots the rack back into the toaster oven and tosses the sponge back into the sink, "Fast or slow?"

She frowns and taps out slightly off-beat rhythm on the pad, "Slow. I need to practice."

Bob starts a slow count and watches her hands as she follows along. He stops her twice to adjust her wrist positioning--he's learned his lesson, thanks--and when she gets through the simple pattern twice without mistakes, she gives them both the victory arms and pushes the pad in front of Renee.

"Now you."

***

It takes Bob less than five minutes to realize he can either pay attention to soundcheck or to Nell bouncing in Renee's arms just off stage, but not to both. It's harder than he thought it would be to concentrate on the sound and vibration of his drums, but Nell has her ear protectors on and Renee has a good grip on her, so Bob lets himself focus on the acoustics of the Civic Center. He motions for more snare and gives a thumbs-up when it sounds good to him.

He gets a nod from Gerard and counts off the beginning of "Disappear." Since their show doesn't start until well after Nell's bedtime, everyone had been more than happy to play through a song for her now. Bob loses himself in the music like he always does and is a little sweaty when the song ends. He stows his sticks and lets his tech take his ears before he hops off the riser and is nearly felled by Nell hitting his legs at top speed.

Years of experience with Frank let Bob catch himself without falling and he bends down and swings her up into his arms. Her eyes are shining and she's trying to climb over him and onto the riser, so he flips her upside down and lets her dangle as he follows everyone else offstage. Her shrieking laughter only gets worse when Bob shifts her weight to hang over his forearm and reaches down to tickle her.

He stops just before she gets to the point where wetting her pants is a real possibility--Bob learned that lesson pretty quickly--and flips her back upright in his arms. He starts to put her down so she can walk on her own, but she clings to his neck and wraps her legs around his waist and that right there lets Bob know just how unsettled she is about everything. Nell has never been one to be carried or be strapped into a stroller when she could walk on her own. He hikes her up a little higher on his hip and presses his face into her messy hair, "I love you lots, Eleanor."

She tightens her arms around him until he can feel her shake from the effort, "I love you lots, Daddy."

Nell's clingy behavior doesn't stop when they get to their dressing room, so Bob dismisses his vague plan to corner Brian and have it out, and instead settles down on the couch to read some Shel Silverstein. Nell reads really well for a nearly-four-year-old, so for the past few months, Bob's mostly been there for moral support and help on the complicated words, but after only a couple poems, Nell pushes the book into Bob's hands and curls up with her head in his lap. Bob takes over and reads to her quietly, pretending not to notice Gerard and Mikey sitting on the floor to listen. He reads until she stops chewing on the side of her finger and starts laughing and reciting the phrases she remembers.

She's still smiling when he closes the book and hauls her up to blow a raspberry on her stomach and tell her, "It's bedtime, kiddo."

She goes limp in his arms and starts up a godawful snoring noise that she manages to keep going even as Bob slings her over his shoulder and stands up to head out towards the bus. "Say goodnight to everyone, Nell."

Nell stops mid-snore, props her hands on Bob's back, lifts herself up enough to see the guys, and says, "Goodnight," before flopping back down and starting to snore again.

Bob rolls his eyes at her hambone behavior and follows Renee down the hallways to the back entrance near the buses. They managed to park Bachelor less than ten feet from the door, so it's only a few steps before they're safe inside the bus. Bob sets Nell down and lets her run up the steps on her own, jogging a little when he hears her 'oof' and apologize to someone. Brian is edging around her, his duffel, backpack, and laptop case all hanging off his shoulders.

"What are you doing?"

Brian glances up at Bob, but cuts his eyes back to the door almost immediately, "I'm going to move to the other bus. Give you guys some more room."

Nell leans against Bob's leg and Bob automatically sets his hand on the top of her head. "Brian, please--"

"Spend some time with your daughter, Bob."

He's out the door before Bob can even begin to formulate a response and Bob is left with nowhere to focus the bright flame of anger Brian sparked. Nell's slight weight against his side reminds him of what he should be thinking about right now, so he shoves the frustrated rage aside and uses his grip on Nell's head to direct her back towards the bunks, "OK, let's find your toothbrush and jammies."

***

04/03/2008 - San Francisco, California, Warfield

It starts off small. So small, Brian would have missed it if he hadn't been searching every dark corner of the web for just this sort of thing.

The tour has been getting a hell of a lot of attention online from the fans and Brian is giddy about it. It is, however, making it difficult to keep track of whatever gossip and rumors are making their way around the various bulletin boards and discussion sites. He thinks he's about ten clicks into whatever link chain he's following before he spots the first hint of it.

It's short and he's pretty sure there are more misspelled words than not, but according to bloodxxteers990:

bob Bryer was carrryign a kid at teh san hosay show!!1! I sware i saw him by his buss. whoze bb is it?

The only responses on the thread are derisive and bloodxxteers990 seems to have a history of causing trouble on the board, so Brian leaves it alone, but he knows it's just the beginning.

***

Bob is exhausted by the time they get checked into the hotel even though it's barely lunchtime. They're pretty sedate for a rock band, but Bob's definitely been keeping rock star hours for most of his adult life. Nell has been going strong since just after dawn when she woke crying and calling for Amy. He'd bundled her up in her blankie and curled up with her on the couch in the front of the bus, rocking her until she'd cried herself out. Knowing there was nothing he could really do for her nearly broke his heart. He'd done his best the past four years--when he was there, he was there--but he's been an absentee father for all intents and purposes and now he feels like he's drowning. Calling and video conferences and visiting as often as his schedule allowed were better than nothing, but it's not the same as making sure teeth are brushed and there are no monsters under the bunk and finding "the other pink barrettes, daddy!"

He had no idea she had so much stuff. Not toys and stuffed animals because Amy is--was, dammit--careful not to let her get spoiled, but clothes and hair ties and sippy cups and booster seats and so many pairs of shoes. Who knew that the right shoes were so vitally important to her day going well?

Plus, Cortez had totally given him the heads-up that Gerard and Frankie were trying to convince Worm they needed a bigger trailer for "important equipment."

Bob is pretty sure that by 'important equipment' they mean 'the giant, airbrushed pink Barbie SUV' he'd seen them looking at online yesterday. They had looked a little shifty earlier, come to think of it. He really hopes he doesn't have to have the "we live on a bus, get your own wives pregnant if you're maternal instincts are that frustrated" talk with them.

It's like they don't realize she has an entire room full of toys from Amy's place that are now in storage near his apartment. Which, crap, is another thing he has to call his lawyer about--getting a house. His apartment was fine when it was just him and only a few weeks a year, but a kid needs a house and a yard.

Now he just has to convince Frank and the rest of those Jersey fuckers that he needs a house in Chicago, not Jersey. Or anywhere on the east coast, really. And he just knows one of them is going to say he needs to raise Nell "near civilization" and then he's going to have to beat some ass with her glittery Disney Princesses hairbrush.

If it comes down to that, though, he can always call in the cavalry.

There's no way his mom will let him move Nell halfway across the country. The guys love her, but they're all a little scared of her after the fit she threw during the whole fire-gangrene-staph infection thing. As it is, he'd had a hell of a time convincing her to stay in Chicago when he'd gotten a hold of her late last night when her flight finally landed.

He'd hated having to tell her about Amy over the phone; she'd loved her like a daughter and had practically adopted her the very first time they met in, god, Bob thinks it was probably 2000. His mom wanted to fly out to meet them in California, to smother Bob and Nell in hugs and kisses. Bob's not too old to admit he's pretty sure a hug from his Mom would make him feel a hell of a lot better, but he also knows his mom. He loves her, but she likes to take charge and he doesn't want to be pushed into making any decisions yet, so he convinced her to stay in Chicago and assured her that they'd see her when they got there. He promised Nell would call today and that seemed to appease her enough to drop the idea of riding on the bus with them for the next month.

He doesn't think he loves his mom that much.

Bob swipes the card through the reader and pushes the door open to let Nell dance into the room in front of him. He's carrying his bag, but Worm had waved him off when he'd reached for Nell's pile of stuff, saying he'd get it packed up and delivered to their room. Her stuff is there, lined up neatly on one of the beds and just waiting for her to make a mess out of it. On the other bed, there are a couple of Walgreen's bags in a heap.

"...and then Frankie said a bad word and I told him about the swear jar and Gerard laughed and laughed, but then he said a bad word too and Frankie laughed and laughed and said college would never be a problem, but he said a bad word in the middle again!" Nell opens her bags and has half of her crap strewn over her bed in a matter of seconds. When she gets to her enormous swear jar, she digs in her pockets and pulls out a handful of dollar bills and shoves them inside, laughing, "Daddy, I'm rich."

"You should ask Gerard to help you make a label for your jar." Bob opens the plastic bags, a little surprised to see package upon package of nicotine gum and patches in them. He hadn't realized anyone noticed he'd quit smoking.

Mostly.

Three cigarettes in five days totally counts as quitting.

***

04/04/2008 - San Francisco, California, Warfield

u guyz can fuck off. i saw bob brier with teh kid agan on a hotel blacony at lke thee in the mornign.

Apparently bloodxxteers990 was at the second San Fran show, too. And has a future as a creepy stalker.

Again, the responses to the post are personal attacks and seem to revolve around some incident from 2006, but Brian doesn't give a shit about the in-fighting of nerds, so he logs in to add another voice of dissent to what's rapidly becoming a flame war.

***

04/05/2008 - Southern California, somewhere in I-5, Southbound

"Ray?"

"Yeah, Bob?"

"Why is my daughter trying to drum along to Iron Maiden?"

Ray grins over at Nell even though she has his iPod on and is pounding out about half of the backbeat to "Wicker Man" on the table with her palms, "She wanted to know what I was listening to, so I made her a little playlist."

Bob doesn't even know where to start, "She wanted to listen to Iron Maiden?"

"Yeah!" Ray is unduly excited about the whole situation, Bob feels. "We talked about how the line-up changes made the songs different and she wanted to hear."

Bob just knows Nell is going end up with a whole section of her brain devoted to Ray's nerdish opinions on completely irrelevant bullshit. "She should be practicing her numbers or something, Ray, not preparing for a geek-off about Iron Maiden albums."

"She knows her numbers up to, like, fifty already and you can never know too much about Iron Maiden." Ray plugs another set of headphones into the splitter and starts drumming along with Nell.

Bob resists pounding his head against the side of the bus.

Barely.

***

04/06/2008 - Irvine, California, Bamboozle Left @ Verizon Amphitheatre

The first picture shows up after Bamboozle Left.

It's obviously from someone's--mcrs__bb4eva, specifically--cell phone. It's blurry and, if you squint, you can sort of see a blond man carrying something. If Brian didn't already know it was Bob and Nell, he'd be as dismissive as everyone else on the board.

It's been a few days since Bob brought Nell back and, frankly, Brian is surprised someone hasn't sold the story already. He hasn't even told the label yet, knowing Bob will want nothing to do with any sort of press conference they'll undoubtedly demand. The only person he's told is their PR rep--so she doesn't castrate him when it breaks--but he sort of wishes he'd told his therapist on their call the other night. This whole situation is messing him up and he can't afford to fuck up right now.

Or ever again.

He refreshes the board and another slew of poorly punctuated responses spring up, mocking mcrs__bb4eva's photography skills, hair, pants, and favorite lyric, but someone has linked to the board posting from the San Jose shows and there's a small pocket of actual discussion about it.

Brian takes it upon himself to spam the hell out of that thread.

God, he hates the internet.

***

04/07/2008 - Northern California, somewhere on I-5, Northbound

"Gerard?"

"Yeah, Nell?"

"Who's Martina?"

Bob glances up from his magazine, looking at where Nell and Gerard are drawing together. Nell has been a little quiet since she ran over to the other bus to hijack Gerard at the last rest stop.

"She does PR--Public Relations--for the band." Gerard scratches at his head, "She makes sure we don't look like jerks in public, mostly."

Nell makes a quiet sound and digs through her crayon bucket for an orange one.

"Why'd you want to know about Martina?" Gerard is sketching, but not really looking at what he's doing, so Bob is pretty sure he's just doodling.

"Mr. Brian was talking to her on the phone when I was looking for you. He was mad and using bad words but I didn't tell him about the swear jar."

Bob stops himself before he can totally crush his magazine into a ball and toss it across the room. He's glad Gerard asks, "What was he mad about?"

"Don't know. He said no one knew yet and he had it under control." She shrugs, "Then he saw me and went to the back of the bus."

"I'm sure it was nothing." Gerard shoots Bob a look over Nell's head and, yeah, they're both pretty sure they know what Brian was talking about.

Dammit.

And if Bob knows Gerard at all, he's wondering why Bob and Brian aren't working on some sort of strategy together. And why Brian moved buses. And why Nell is still calling him 'Mr. Brian' instead of just using his first name like the rest of the band demanded almost immediately. Bob is really not up to explaining why Brian is epically pissed at him, even beyond the professional and PR nightmare he's created.

Nell pulls on Gerard's sleeve to show him whatever she's been working on and that distracts him from staring at Bob like he's a puzzle that needs solving. Bob lets go of the breath he's been holding.

Interrogation averted. For now.

***

04/08/2008 - Portland Oregon, Crystal Ballroom

Brian has his headphones on, but they're just to keep anyone from fucking with him. He turned off his iPod about three hours into his bulletin-board created migraine--four more separate threads about the mysterious kid hanging around the My Chem tour staff that he's had to scuttle--but he's learned that leaving his headphones in place cuts the number of times he gets pestered in half.

Like today, for instance. He's camped out in the dressing room, piggybacking on the wireless from some damn place and he has yet to be harassed for cigarettes, diet soda, to referee an argument about DC versus Marvel, or any of the other truly ridiculous things he's been bothered about over the years. Of course, that may have something to do with the fact that everyone has spent the day fawning over Bob's kid.

After a marathon session of Princess Rescue with Frank, she's sitting with Gerard and Mikey now, diligently coloring away at the drawings Gerard hands her, consulting with both of them on color choices. Bob ends his phone call to whoever he's got handling things in Chicago--Brian knows he should be in on that shit, but he just...he can't right now--and bends over Nell to check out what she's coloring.

"Gerard. What did I tell you about drawing things for Nell?" Bob's voice is a bit too calm for Brian's liking and he gears himself up to intervene.

"No vampires, werewolves, mummies, or other horror-type creatures." Gerard's answer is prompt and without any sort of sarcasm, which is pretty impressive.

"Right, so what's this?" Bob points at the page Nell is coloring on.

"It's a unicorn, Daddy!" Nell grabs the red crayon.

Gerard looks a little shifty, so it's Mikey that says, "I think one of the earlier ones shows how it becomes a zombie unicorn."

"It's goring something." Bob pinches the bridge of his nose, "There's no blood in coloring books, Gerard."

"Unless they're about Jesus," Mikey adds, coloring his own picture.

"Oh, hey! Do you remember that one coloring book?" Gerard reaches over Nell to poke at Mikey, "From, like, Alabama or whatever? The one in the Salvation Army about the Passion of the Christ?"

Mikey nods, "Why didn't we buy that? It would have rocked."

"I think we had to pool all of our money to fix the van."

"Right! It was overheating, I think."

"Something. There was a lot of smoke."

Bob drops his head to hang between his shoulders, "Gerard, please, just check with me on the drawings, okay?"

Gerard makes some sort of motion that Brian assumes is agreement while still reminiscing with Mikey about all the treasures they had to leave in that Salvation Army and Bob kisses Nell's head before collapsing back onto the raggedy couch and rubbing at his face with the parts of his fingers not covered by his braces. He looks tired and when he winces as he pushes himself up on the couch, it's all Brian can do not to yank out his headphones and make him take his meds and ice his wrists.

Fuck that.

Bob's made it clear he doesn't need any of Brian's help, so he can take care of his own fucking wrists. Brian glares at Bob for a second before cranking Black Flag on his iPod.

Fucker.

***

04/09/2008 - Portland, Oregon, Crystal Ballroom

Fucking amateur photographers and their fucking telephoto lenses.

And fucking Bob and his stupid, grinning face.

It's late, so very late, and Brian's eyes are burning from days of stomping out internet speculation about the little blonde girl who keeps showing up at My Chem shows. When the pictures show up in one of the LiveJournal communities he's monitoring, he has to blink, because they're awesome.

They're also completely unassailable.

It's a series of four pictures, obviously taken somewhere around the venue yesterday because Brian recognizes the billboards in the background. The first is Bob and Nell walking together, heads tilted towards each other to talk, her little hand held carefully in his. In the second, it looks like Nell is flying as Bob lifts her up over his head to sit on his shoulders. Nell is on Bob's shoulders in the third, his knit cap puddling around her eyes and her hands pulling Bob's hair back into a messy pair of pigtails. The last picture shows Nell in Bob's arms, her face buried in his neck and, god, the look on Bob's face.

Brian refreshes the page and 48 new comments appear. Fuck.

From the bunks, he hears Mikey's phone let loose with Pete's ringtone several times before he picks it up and starts a quiet, mumbled conversation. It's quiet enough on the bus that Brian can hear the rattle of Mikey's curtain being pushed back and the dull thump of his feet hitting the floor.

Mikey's rumpled with sleep and still has his phone clutched in his hand when he slumps down next to Brian, "Pete said there are pictures?"

Brian makes a frustrated noise as he scrolls through the comments, "How the hell does Pete know already? They were just posted fifteen minutes ago."

"He has like eighteen super secret internet names and never sleeps. He likes to stir shit up when he's bored."

Brian pinches the bridge of his nose and thanks every deity he can think of that Pete Wentz is not his problem. "Yeah, somebody with a telephoto lens got some pictures yesterday."

Mikey slides the computer off of Brian's lap and onto his own, scrolling up until the pictures are visible. "Oh. Wow. Pete said they were awesome, but--"

"I know. Bob is still going to lose his shit." Brian leans forward, resting his face in his hands, "I was hoping I could keep this contained until after Mexico at least."

"Jesus, Brian," Mikey's flipping through his open tabs, "Is this what you've been doing all week?"

"Pete's not the only one with secret internet identities." He sits back and steals his computer back from Mikey, "I need to call the label. Fuck, they're not going to be thrilled about this, I'm sure."

Mikey makes a face, "Well, that's why we pay you the big bucks."

"Yeah, I'm rolling in it." Brian waves him off, "Go back to bed, Mikey."

He stands and stretches, "Oh, by the way, Pete said they're invading when we hit Chicago. Something about Patrick's biological clock."

Brian wishes there was a wall he could bang his head against.

***

4/10/2008 – Somewhere in Utah at a rest stop

Brian is negotiating a turf war between techs from Drive By and Billy Talent and wondering where the fuck the tour manager is when Frank walks up and shoves him.

He stumbles, but manages to stay on his feet. "What the fuck, Frank?"

Frank shoves him again, "Exactly, Schechter. What the fuck?"

Brian knocks his hands away and pushes him back. "Fucking stop it! What the fuck is your problem?"

"My problem is that I just spent forty-five minutes trying to convince a three year old that you don't hate her or wish her daddy hadn't brought her on the road." Brian knew Frank and Gerard were riding on Bob and Ray's bus so they could play dress up or color or whatever with the kid while Bob talked to his attorney about getting Nell a passport for Mexico.

Brian ignores the guilty jolt that gives him and keeps his mouth shut--mostly because he knows Frank is right, but also because there's a small part of him that he knows is dying to say some truly horrible shit. He dodges Frank again, trying to get back to his bus and grimly aware they have the attention of Ray and Mikey and half of the wandering staff.

"Oh, no. You don't get to run away from this." Frank grabs his arm and Brian's had enough.

Of just about everything.

He elbows Frank in the side and his grasp on Brian's arm loosens, but not enough for him to get away, so he does it again. That seems to trigger the pool of crazy rage Frank carries around with him, though, because the next thing Brian knows, they're wrestling around on the scrubby grass and hard-packed dirt that edge the rest stop.

Brian has a moment of jesus christ, this is fucking crazy before his own instincts kick in and he lands a punch somewhere in the vicinity of Frank's kidneys. It's on then, apparently, and Brian can feel bruises springing up all over his body as they roll across the ground, kicking and punching at each other. It's been a while since Brian's been in a fight, and he's used to tangling with people much bigger than he is, so it only takes a couple minutes for Frank to pin him on his stomach with a knee in his back and one hand fisted in his hair.

Frank grinds the side of his face into the ground a little, but then the weight of him is gone from Brian's back and he comes up swinging, not even caring if Frank has to perform with a black eye. It won't be the first time, after all. It's not Frank behind him, though.

It's Bob.

Bob looks fucking livid and catches his arm before he can even finish his swing. He picks Brian up and tosses him a few feet over to Cortez before pacing in a tight circle, and glaring at both him and Frankie, who is slung over Worm's shoulder in a fireman's carry.


"You can't--I just--I can't--" Bob makes an incoherent sound of rage and wheels around, kicking the big, blue garbage can sitting next to the drinking fountain before picking it up and heaving it in the general direction of the squat lavatory building. The force of his throw spins him around and he loses his balance, dropping down to knees.

He stays like that for a second, fists clenched on his thighs, before hissing, "Goddammit," and punching a dead patch of grass on the ground. He's mumbling to himself, punching at the dirt for emphasis every few words. Brian shrugs out of Cortez's loose hold and takes a step forward to hear what the fuck Bob is saying.

"--fucking dead...don't know what the fuck I'm even doing--"

He's punching the ground a little harder each time and Brian's pretty sure he's going to cripple himself before he's done. He takes another step forward to stop him, to apologize, to something, but Mikey breaks away from where he'd been glued to Ray's side and walks over to Bob, touching his shoulder lightly. When Bob doesn't knock Mikey's hand away or try to punch him, he folds himself down to the ground and just leans against Bob's side.

Eventually, Bob stops trying to punch a hole in the ground and leans back against Mikey, his hands clenched on his knees and his head bowed. His hair curtains his face, but Brian can see it moving from the force of Bob's shaky breaths. Mikey puts a careful arm around his back and fists his hand in the loose material of Bob's sweatshirt.

At some point, Worm and Cortez had moved to form a sort of honor guard in front of them, backs turned, but blocking them from all the other techs and shit milling around. Worm lets Frank down and he stands between them, leaning against Worm's side and worrying at the spot where his lipring used to be. Brian is standing a little ways off, just a few feet from the rest of them, but it feels insurmountable.

Yeah, he's hurt about Bob fucking lying to him and hiding this huge part of his life for-fucking-ever, but that's all bullshit in comparison. Just the sheer level of emotion from Bob should have told him that days ago. He's never seen Bob like this, not even during that one late night phone call when he was doing PT in Chicago and the guys were playing with fill-in drummers. God, Brian is an idiot. Someone--Nell's mom--Bob's friend--died and he's mad that he wasn't in the loop?

Sometimes Brian wishes he could kick his own ass.

Mikey says something very quietly in Bob's ear and Bob nods. He's not looking at anyone, just staring very intently at the ground. Mikey helps Bob stand up--well, it's Mikey, so it's not like it's really much help at all, but it's the thought that counts--and leads him to one of the buses, the one that Brian knows Gee and Nell were riding on before going to explore the visitor's center. They disappear into the bus without saying anything, and a few moments later Ray gets a text from Mikey that says he and Nell only need to be on the bus before they leave.

"What the fuck just happened?" Frank is practically vibrating between Worm and Cortez.

Brian rubs at his forehead, "Frank--"

"No, fuck you, Schechter. I just watched one of my best friends fucking break down in a parking lot and it looks to me like you being a fucking cunt about his daughter was the reason."

Ray finishes up his text to Mikey and slides his phone back into his pocket, "It's a lot of other things, Frank."

"Yeah. Whatever. I'm going to go distract Nell--again--from the fact that she knows Brian hates her and now her dad is hiding in his bunk." He stomps off towards the visitor's center, ignoring the way everyone scrambles to get out of his way.

Brian grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes, chasing the lightning bolts of color for a second. "Fuck."

Ray looks like he maybe wants to say something, but Brian's had enough. And he knows he's been a douche, thanks. He doesn't need one more person reminding him. So he turns on his heel and heads back towards his bus to figure out exactly how he's going to fix all this.

Fuck.

***

Bob wakes up feeling amazingly well-rested. He fumbles his cellphone out of his pocket and realizes he's been asleep for nearly sixteen hours. It's the most sleep he's had in months, let alone over the past fucked up week, and he's clear-headed for the first time since he got the call about Amy.

And he's fucking furious.

He's been so focused on Nell the past week--on making sure she feels secure, that she knows Bob loves her, on soothing her after the nightmares that wake her up every night like clockwork--that he hasn't really let himself actually think about Brian's reaction to everything. And, frankly, he hasn't had the energy to deal with it, either. Brian is a big boy and he's more than capable of working through his own issues, so Bob decided to let him stew in the corner for a while.

The whole situation is just so fucked up and so completely out of Bob's experience that he just didn't see--couldn't see--how Brian's behavior was affecting Nell. Brian can be mad at Bob all he wants, but taking it out on Nell is completely unacceptable.

And Brian is going to hear about it.

As soon as Bob gets something to eat and cuddles his little girl for a while.

He rolls out of his bunk and stumbles towards the lounge, drawn by the smell of oatmeal and the sound of Nell's laughter. His anger at Brian just sort of dissolves at the sight before him. She's wedged on the couch between Mikey and Ray, all three of them absolutely enthralled by the fucking Wiggles. Bob totally hates those guys already, but Nell loves them, so he grits his teeth and makes plans to get her listening to real music as soon as possible.

Something must alert Nell to him standing there, because she looks up from the TV and scrambles off the sofa--narrowly missing kneeing Ray in the balls if his flail is anything to go by--to fling herself at Bob's knees. "Daddy! You was sleeping and Mikey said to leave you be so I drew you a picture!"

"Oh yeah?" He hauls her up and sets her on his hip for a second before she squirms down to run back to the bunk she's claimed as hers.

Mikey prods him to the kitchenette table and sets a bowl of maple-y smelling oatmeal in front of him, "Get started while she's looking. How you ended up with a kid who's a bigger slob than me, I'll never know."

Bob rolls his eyes, but it's true. Nell tends to create chaos in everything around her in a matter of minutes, no matter how hard she tries not to make a mess. He digs into the oatmeal, actually hungry for the first time in days. It's a little gluey in the center and dry around the edges, but it's food and it's already made, so Bob doesn't really care.

When Mikey slides him a glass of water, he makes grabby hands at his cup of coffee, but Mikey just turns to protect the cup with his body and says, "Dehydration."

He'd complain, but his eyes feel sticky and there's a dull headache poking at the back of his skull, so he takes the water and doesn't complain when Mikey refills it instead of handing over the sweet, life-giving coffee. Bob finishes off the oatmeal and his second glass of water before Nell makes it back to the table carrying an armful of paper.

"Looks like you were a busy girl."

"You were asleep forever, Daddy." Nell makes a messy pile in front of Bob, fussing with the order for a second before holding up the first one.

Bob has become a master at the art of seeing a horsey in a couple of purple circles and a scribble of green, but this one is a little different and Bob tilts his head a little, "This is really pretty."

"It's a squid, Daddy!"

"A squid? Really?" Bob hangs his head for a second. "Have you been talking to Gerard?"

"He called before just to talk to me!" Her little face is glowing and Bob reminds himself to buy Gerard the extra fancy coffee at the next stop.

"And you talked about squid?"

"Yeah. Ceph'pods. They have ink in them!" She sets that drawing aside and holds up the next one, "Here's a unicorn!"


"Is it Mr. Unicorn?"

"No, Daddy! Mr. Unicorn is white, this one is pink!" She points to the vaguely horse shaped blob in the center.

Bob nods, "You're right. I'm a silly Daddy, huh?"

"Only sometimes." She leans against him for a second before continuing the parade of drawings.

Bob sees more squids, unicorns, some kittens, and one picture of the bus before Nell finishes and he's sort of impressed by the sheer amount of time Mikey must have spent drawing with her to accomplish all of this. Ray has been hovering on the edge of Bob's vision for about fifteen minutes and Bob knows he won't settle until they have a chance to talk, so when Mikey starts up the Wiggles DVD again, Bob settles Nell on the couch and follows Ray to the back lounge.

Ray immediately picks up his guitar and starts noodling on it. Bob knows not to take that the wrong way--he knows that's how Ray gets comfortable when he's nervous. "You doing better?"

And there's really nothing the two of them hate more than discussions like this, but Bob has only the vaguest impressions of what went on after he--god, did he throw Frank?--went outside, so he sort of has to man up and get this over with. "Yeah, I think so."

"Good." Ray leans over the guitar and plays a short chord progression he's been fooling around with for a few months. Bob knows he's not off the hook yet. "So, what's going on, Bob? I mean, I picked up on some of it with all the shouting yesterday, but I'm still a little lost."

Bob is squirming because that shit is embarrassing. He loses his temper sometimes, yeah, but that was losing control. "A lot of that was just stress and exhaustion. I mean, you know Nell hasn't really been sleeping all that well and Amy's dead. I just really hadn't had a chance to think about it."

"I totally understand that, and you know if there's anything we can do to help..." Ray meets Bob's eyes, looking earnest. Bob nods, because if there's one thing he knows, it's that his guys have his back. "But I'm still not clear on how exactly Frank and Brian getting into a fight enters into this."

And, wow, does Bob not want to talk about what he thought maybe was developing with Brian, but again, keeping all this shit inside is maybe what lead to him melting down in public so, "I--Brian is mad. At me. For not telling him about Nell."

"I think we all were a little...perturbed about you keeping that a secret."

"Shit, Ray, you think I don't know that? This is different, though. I thought--In Vegas we--We were for sure heading towards...something and he obviously thought he deserved to know. Maybe he did. I don't even know anymore."

This is obviously news to Ray. "And so Frank picked a fight with Brian because..."

"I really have no idea."

Ray has that look on his face he gets sometimes, the look of a guy with a disgustingly stable and drama-free home life who's trying to figure out why his bandmates are from Mars. Bob doesn't get that look often, but he's seen it directed at Gerard often enough. "Okay. Um. Have you tried talking to Brian?"

"I was sort of too busy making sure my daughter wasn't too traumatized by having a drunk run her mom down to soothe Schechter's delicate feelings."

"Right," Ray says slowly. "And that's why--oh boy. Okay, how about you talk to Brian now, before this shit gets any worse?"

"I was going to when I woke up, but he's sort of on the other bus," Bob concedes.

"Were you going to talk to him, or yell at him some more? Because I stuck around for a while yesterday and, if it makes any difference, I think he realizes he's been a jackass."

It sort of does make a difference. Mostly because he wants it to. He sort of really needs Brian in his life right now, even just as a friend, because this shit is overwhelming and no one in the world does overwhelming better than Brian.

"Seriously. Talk to him. Don't just yell, okay? 'Cause I can see where you're coming from, but I can see why Brian's reacting the way he is too." Ray strums a few random chords and adds, "He's a good guy. He'll listen, if you don't make it into a fight from the very start."

Bob makes a face, but nods. He knows that, but he sort of just needed someone to say it to him. Yeah, the whole situation is bullshit and is everyone's and no one's fault at the same time but even if he wants someone to blame, that's really not a good message to send to his kid. So, he makes a promise to himself to clear the air with Brian as soon as possible, but right now they're driving and--he checks the time on his cell phone--it's just about Nell's nap time.



Part Three

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