Delilah

"But the world is black, and hearts are cold, and there is no hope that's what we're told."

Delilah could see the men from the slits of her eyes, cautious of their movements as if they were afraid of hurting her from 10 feet away. She could hear Cool talking about something, she had read that he was quite the energizer bunny, but she could see a look of guilt on his face. One that almost made her want to get up and tell him it was all a joke, he's been Punk'd, don't worry about it anymore, buddy.

"Dude, I was distracting the driver," he says, his guilt confirmed, she hears Armstrong tell him that he was just giving the dumbass directions and he should of been paying attention.

"Hey, are you okay?" The man she knew as Mike Dirnt walked over to her bedside, "Can we call someone for you, your family, to let them know you're okay?"

She shakes her head, looking away from Dirnt, trying to fake a face of pain; she needs all their sympathy. Her eyes connect with Armstrong's, he bends down in sits in the char beside the bed. He introduces the band to her, with a half smile.

"We heard your ribs are broken," again, "And we are incredibly sorry about what happened, and if there is anything you need, just ask."

Delilah knows he is just being a gentleman but she knows that in the back of his head he is thinking about what type of retard steps out in front of a moving vehicle.

"No, I am sorry," Delilah mutters back to him, "I just got dizzy, I stepped in front of the car, and I tried to kill myself."

"We're sure it was just an accident," Mr. Cool states, his voice inquiring her tone, her surprisingly good bogus sadness. She still felt the urge to blow her cover every time he spoke but she stayed silent, giving off the impression that she wasn't so sure it was just an accident.

She is conscious of the pressing stares that the men passed along to each other. Secret telepathic signals that ask each other, 'What the hell do we do now?'

Delilah takes in the white hospital room and contrast it has on the men's natural composure. Cool, standing awkwardly in the corner, not really in his infamous joking mood because she had infected him with the feeling that she needs help and he hurt her because he had distracted the limo driver. Her eyes glance at Dirnt, his hardened features holds a sympathetic knowledge, which would only get worse when he realized she was 'homeless'.

"What's you're name, we never figured it out?" Armstrong approaches with his steady, nasally voice, his throat working to keep his impatience out of the situation.

"Victoria Martin," she takes in the stubborn face of Billie Joe Armstrong, despite his subconscious coldness, she knew he was a born protector, protecting his home last night and protecting his best friend from more guilt. If he walked in the hospital room in full on forgiveness, Cool would feel like he had truly fucked everything up. She could almost feel his thoughtful presence.

Doctor David Malin, a man who looked as if he decided to stop asking the FBI questions a long time ago, walked back into the room and told her that she can leave and that she should be careful with her injuries or they might not heal correctly. Delilah almost laughs when she received the pointed glance "stop taking off your brace or I will break your neck."

"We can take you where you need to go, if you want," Tré's statement swooshing through Delilah's ears, she shivers and shakes her head, 'what the hell was that?'

"Shelter...the homeless shelter downtown," all the men were looking at her now in understanding as she realizes her little reaction of unwanted trembles were mistaken for fear. 'Well, that works, I guess.'

"That's no place for an injured lady," Mike Dirnt says, twisting his body to gain agreement from Tré' Cool, "It's too late for us to drive back to Oakland tonight..." Cool nods.

"Fine, it's settled, we're all heading to a hotel and we will get you a room," Billie Joe quakes, and stands up, "If you will allow us too."

"Okay, I'm sorry for the inconveniences I've caused you guys," she sighs, then realizes her body has seized up from her idiotic decision to play chicken with the limo as she collapses seconds after trying to stand up.

Even though she had Billie Joe Armstrong in reaching distance, she felt a Tré' Cool's panicked race to keep her from falling and his arms rapping around her. They both let out a sigh of relief. She turns around to thank him and notices that he is smiling.

"What?"

"What's what?" he says, escorting her out of the room with half her weight on his body.

***

After taking a taxi to the hotel with Tré' Cool, she sits on a bed alone and wondering if she had finally whittled her way into their life. Deciding she needed some type of reassurance, she calls the FBI men following her around and cleaning up her curious behavior.

"We didn't tell you to do that," a gruff man she knows (but forgot the name of) answers without greeting.

"Yeah, but guess where I am."

"I know where you are, good job," he says, adding, "But we could of just gotten you a job on the tour coming up."

Shit!

Delilah pulls the gun out of her hidden hoister and takes her shoes off. The gun lays beside her and she wonders if she will need it anytime soon. She then pulls the earpiece she had put in her pocket for safekeeping. She should have just waited for directions. Now she either had to keep going with her plan or kick herself off the case since they have seen her face now.

"Don't worry, all is not lost," a sensitive voice takes over, this man was Dale Taylor, he was a spiffy man with good ideas and had more common sense in his middle finger then Delilah had in her whole body.

She groans.

"I think Tre' Cool has a little crush on you," he laughs out, bringing a smile to her face as if she was a teenybopper.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Myers, I over heard him talking about you...well...right now," she hears shifting, and then he places the phone to a speaker.

"Good thing we didn't turn her into road kill," Armstrong's voice beats out, "Tré's been giving her the 'I-wanna-sex-you-up' look."

"That's so wrong dude," Tré' defends, "It's more like 'I-wanna-be-your-hero' look."

Delilah giggles, if he only knew.

"Victoria is sexy," Dirnt states, "But it's not like we know her."

"Let's -"

There is a whisper that Delilah can't make out, then a laugh. She pushes the phone up closer to her ear, and then the line goes silent. She looks at her phone, a dead battery.

She paces back and forth, wondering if she could actually get invited to go on the tour by one of the guys as a friend. Maybe they were just joking, making fun of the homeless chick that they had happened to try to run over that night.

She picks up a pillow, almost wanting to scream into it, but she knew that would not relieve any stress because she has tried it before. She needed to shoot something. She picks up the gun off the bed and almost drops it when there is a knock at the door.

She grabs the earpiece off the bed and tries to shove it and the gun under the bed, only to find out that there paneling to prevent things getting lost underneath. She opens the nightstand, noting the bible, and lays her pieces down on top. She takes a deep breath and walks to the door.

"Hey Victoria," she is met with blue eyes that are level with her brown one's, "Can I call you Vicky?"

"No," she feels slightly awkward in his presence, "but you can call me Tory."

"Are you going to let a lonely old man sit out in the hallway?"

"Depends on what the lonely old man wants from me..."

"Lonely old men take what they can get..." he pauses before laughing, "But this one just want to chat with his new friend." Then he gives her puppy dogs eyes.

***

Three hours later they sit on the bed in the hotel with a bowl of jello, two pounds of chocolate, and six different types of sodas watching family guy. Delilah was so hyped that her hands were shaking but it looked as if Tré' was just getting started.

"I didn't get booze," he says, after she asks why a rock star who likes to party didn't bring it to the room, "because it would react with you pain killers."

"Not like I have to drink it."

"I can't drink alone," he holds his finger up in dramatic pause, "But I promise we will get drunk together when you're all better."

In the back of her head she wished she could of just quit her job and jump Tre' Cool because she knew that her little secret would ruin everything in the end. She doesn't want to interfere with their lives anymore. There is no reason; doesn't the government know this shit?

She sobers from the sugar and looks at the time. Five o'clock in the morning. Originally, she was supposed to wake up at six thirty so that she could sneak down to the security van before breakfast and get more bugs for government snooping. But that was not going to happen now, she saw Tré' tilting into her pillow, finally worn out and having the peace of mind that everything was okay. She could smell old beer, chocolate, and lime on his breath. She closed her eyes and wondered if she was finally getting somewhere with this case...