Communion

An Italian chandelier cascaded over the dining room of this fifteen hundred square foot loft overlooking the Pacific Ocean. French tapestries and rugs lined the walls and oak floors leading down the hall into the master bedroom. If someone were walking the hall of this beautiful hotel suite on this groggy afternoon, they would likely hear subtle male and female giggles ringing in their ears through the closed bedroom door.

Slumped over a sheer canopied bed, Mike Dirnt caressed his potent hungry lips against the neck of his girlfriend of just over one year. Running her auburn hair between his rough-skinned bassist fingers, the two listened to the violent rains crash against the French doors - leading out onto a veranda - in a coinciding rhythm with their bodies.

"I'm so glad you're here right now," Holly whispered in the bassist's ear softly.

True, it was only 5:30 in the morning, but the sun had already decided to peak behind the misted gray clouds. The cars had already decided to roll Sunset Boulevard.

Mike let a smile form on his lips as he brought them off of her neck and whispered in reply, "I'd feel lost without you." Like other days, the blue-eyed bassist would be spending today in the studio with his band. Taking away from his time with Holly and Ryan.

Enjoying the erotic sensation of her boyfriend's pelvic region smacking against her own, the young woman let out a sigh. "No Michael, I'd be lost without you."

"Just shut up and fuck me," Mike replied blatantly.

"Yes sir."

The couple continued at it, for another few moments before Mike stopped. Neither of them had climaxed, but he had attuned his ears to something he could faintly hear coming from another hotel suite.

"What's wrong?" Holly asked as Mike rolled off of her swiftly and stepped up off the bed and onto the oak floor.

"Do you hear that?" a nude Mike questioned as he tiptoed over to the wall and placed his head flat against its surface.

"Hear what?"

Mike held his index finger back at Holly insinuating he wanted silence so he could eavesdrop. Holly went quiet as she watched her bassist boyfriend, still and vacant.

'Well maybe you should try giving a shit!'

'Adie I do! I care so goddamn much! But I'm busy as hell! Why must you make this so much more difficult on me than it already is!?'

'I just wish you'd try putting your family before your music sometimes, Billie!'

'God dammit Adrienne! Music, is my fucking life! Why must we fight about this even at five in the fucking morning?!'

'Billie Joe Armstrong, I've stood by your side for almost twenty fucking years now! Why can't you for once just put some time aside for Jakob?! Forget it...just forget it...'

Mike drew back from the wall slowly as he heard a finishing boom, which sounded to him like a suite door slamming shut. He returned his gaze to Holly before he came and sat back down on the bed in silence.

Holly placed her hand on Mike's shoulder comfortingly and breathed warmly on the back of his neck. "It's okay..." she hushed quietly, running her other hand over the tattoos covering his muscular arm.

"I hope this doesn't cause our band any problems. I really do Hol'. I really do..." the bassist trailed off and ran a hand through his blonde tipped, brown, and gray rooted hair.

"It won't Michael. I promise you it won't," the confident hazel-eyed woman said reassuringly. She gave a brief pause and then sighed, "It's so cute how you do that."

"Do what?"

"Call me 'Hol.'"

"You don't mind?"

"It's so casual, I love it. It let's me know you feel comfortable with me," the auburn-haired woman smiled.

"I do. Very much so. You helped me through probably the most awful thing that's ever happened to me."

"Your stroke..."

"It was bad Hol'. It was really bad," the blue-eyed man reminisced as he shook his head in thought. "I've never felt so fucked up in my entire life. Not speed or crack cocaine could make me feel the way I felt. I would have died if you weren't there."

"No Michael, you're strong. And you've done more for me that I can ever do for you. You got me off the streets, stopped me from being just 'your special girl, Holly' to some random ugly old man. You've done a lot for me," Holly remembered, nodding her head and she began to tear lightly. "I was so afraid for you. I just kept asking myself why...why you? You know? I kept asking myself what the hell could have happened and what was going on in your heart to cause this to happen to you-"

"Shhh...Holly, please don't cry..."

* * *

The rains were unmistakable and unforgiving that July evening, one year prior. A window in an upstairs room at Oakland Hospital was pelted and dripped with the evenings precipitation. Family and very close friends had paced the halls, making phone calls to Mike's mother, father and his fifteen year old daughter Estelle.

Rose now sat teary-eyed with a sleeping Michelle and her husband whom had his arms wrapped around each of them comfortingly. Holly sat on the far side of the waiting room with a slightly disoriented look upon her face. On her lap, Mike's adoptive son and his favourite stuffie, Cheerios. Adrienne sat with her two teenaged sons; as did Billie sit by himself, sulking as though he felt like the biggest fuck up in the world.

Green Day's frontman was reminded of how his best friend had drunkenly gotten into the pants of his cousin and how he had been basically acting since the day he found out, like he was harbouring it against him. Then there was telling Tre in anger that the only person in the world he should ever be mad at is Mike. But is it a good and valid reason to get so angry at someone for getting drunk and accidentally sleeping with a married woman? Is the reason so good that it can cause someone enough stress to kill over with a stroke?

Billie Joe wouldn't show it, but behind his raven hair, locking to shoulder level now; he hid tears of guilt.

Some birthday this had turned out to be for Rose. A pain was ripping through her heart of gold; whatever had hit Mike was now close to claiming her as well. She weeped, but felt numb; cold and at fault, but warm and innocent in her husband's arms.

Her face bore the same look as Billie Joe's which no one could clearly see, curtained behind his hair. She had no wish to talk to Billie and at this point felt she never would again.

The irony of how they both felt equal guilt for Mike's falter.

* * *

"Hmm, you wanna finish what we started?" Holly reinstated.

"I'm not much in the mood now. Do you mind?" He watched Holly bite her bottom lip and shake her head in response as he got up and began dressing himself. "I need to go down to the studio. I think Billie just left."

"That's fine. I'll just stay here with Ryan," Holly cooed cooperatively as she wiped her face of now try tears.

"You're a life savour Hol', I'll take you out for dinner later on," Mike chuckled as he began buckling a belt around a pair of black pants he hadn't even put on yet. He returned to the bed quickly and pecked her cheek. Finding a black t-shirt tucked away in amongst the hanging clothing in his closet, Mike started for the bedroom door.

"Michael?" Holly called after the tall man suddenly.

"Hmm?" Mike returned, turning around to make eye contact with his attractive younger girlfriend. "Yeah?"

"Are you ever going to let them know..." Holly paused briefly to think and then sighed, "how we met?"

Mike sighed with a smile. "Not unless you want them to know. That's not really their business though. Is it now?"

Holly shook her head as she returned her boyfriend a thankful smile. "I might bring Ryan down later if the rain lets up. Have a nice day," the woman added before giving the tall man a wink.

Mike shot her back a wink with a wave. "I'd love that. Have a nice day."

* * *

The harsh rains continued to pelt Southern California as the warm summer turned into a cooler autumn. Green Day was near wrapping up work on their twelfth album. Which would be considered a good thing, hence giving them more time to spend with each of their families.

Rose and Tre spent a lot more time with each other, away from recording equipment and instruments.

More time out doing things.

It was true, nowadays Rose would often be found out socializing herself with everyone and anyone whom crossed her path. Tre was slightly bemused to say the least, but he never questioned it for one moment. He was just glad to be sharing some of the best days of his life with his wife and daughter.

But perhaps being slightly ignorant.

Now due to the flooded streets of L.A. and Hollywood, the couple often found themselves partaking in indoor activities. Enjoying the hotel's heated indoor pool, days huddled up in bed listening to the rain together and being parents to their young daughter, Michelle.

Life couldn't have been much more serene than it was in the current with their relationship.

Rose and Mike often tended to avoid each other nowadays, even still. It was the best way to avoid arguments over Ryan or noticeable tension between the two in front of everyone else. It wasn't as though they hated each other though. Mike had just moved on with his life and Rose had returned to her comfortable life with her loving husband.

No damage done.

* * *

A restored friendship between Rose and Billie found them at a coffee shop down the strip from their residence at The Chateau Marmont, grabbing lattés together. Rose was beaming happily with red cheeks; perhaps due to to the cooler weather. Or something else.

Billie Joe definitely was beginning to take notice of the way Rose was behaving as of late. Because whenever they would engage in conversation he would always raise a brow at her and her ability to jump up and ask the woman working behind the counter for extra creamers and sugar packets.

The Griddle Café in West Hollywood: it's down home atmosphere and friendly employees made this a likely spot for underdog celebrities like Billie Joe Armstrong feel right at home. A booth at the back of the restaurant sat the pair; Rose's eyes were fixated on her creation whilst Billie spoke basically in a one sided conversation.

"How much fun can that possibly be?" the raven-haired guitarist questioned the younger woman as he gestured his head at the pile of creamers set before both of them.

"It can be a lot of fun," she replied sarcastically.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. Why?" Rose replied as she glanced up for only a brief moment and returned to looking at the creamers and scattered sugar packets.

"You're acting...different."

"Different?"

"Yes, different. I think..." he added and looked down with a confused look on his face.

Rose pushed over the creamers intentionally and straightened her posture as her eyes went wide and she stared at Billie with his drawn down. She didn't say anything, but her look indicated she was curious and waiting for an explanation as to what her older cousin meant.

"Meh, I don't know. I'm probably just tired. This record is really wearing me-"

"Excuse me?"

Billie Joe adverted his gaze up from the table, and Rose away from her creamers and sugar packets. And there stood a brown-eyed woman whom must of been in her mid thirties.

"Yes?" the green-eyed musician replied this perfect stranger.

"Are you Billie Joe Armstrong? From Green Day?" the woman asked with a slightly shakey and raspy sounding voice.

"Umm yeah. That's me."

"Oh wow, I'm so sorry to bother you. I just saw you sitting here and I felt so inclined to come over and meet you. I've been a fan of yours forever Mr. Armstrong," the woman gasped with excitement.

Rose raised her eyebrows as she returned her glance to Billie who had a smug, surprised and egotistical look upon his face.

"I'm Sarah. Could I bug you for an autograph?" the woman introduced herself as she held out her hand for Billie Joe to shake it.

Rose and Billie Joe winced together at the sound of that name. But surely enough, Billie took her hand and shook it politely. "Please, just call me Billie," he replied her.

"I'm sorry."

"No, that's fine. Umm, I don't have a pen on me," the vocalist informed her after he felt his pant and jacket pockets for something to write with.

"No problem. I'll go ask the woman at the counter!" Sarah shot out in excitement. "Be right back!"

"Okay!" Billie replied excitedly, almost in a mocked tone. He returned his gaze to Rose who now had her latté cup in her face and was subtly rolling her eyes. "What's wrong?"

Rose let her mouth part from the rim of her cup, leaving foam behind on her upper lip. She set it down on the table gently and just shook her head as if to tell him nothing was wrong.

The woman returned with the pen. Billie Joe took it from her dumbfoundedly and looked confused about what she wanted him to sign. "So where?"

"Umm, too bad I don't have my CD collection with me. Oh wait! I do! Let me just run out to my car! I'm so sorry, I'll be right back," the woman shrieked again in excitement.

Billie Joe gave her an agreeing nod as he watched her march off out the front door and into the drenched parking lot.

"Hmm, I could go for a smoke right now," he murmured, although seeing the rains as an inconveniece of having one.

Rose sat silent and took another sip of her latté.

Billie Joe let out a confused sigh as he played with the pen reading 'The Griddle Café' down the side that Sarah had left in his care. "Okay. What the hell did I do now?"

Two minutes or so passed without the woman returning. Rose placed her cup down she'd been cradling in her delicate hand for some time. "I s'pose she can't decide which album she wants you to sign..." the raven-haired woman spoke quickly and in a tone that disconcerted her older counterpart.

"That sounded a bit bitter, Rose."

"It did? I wasn't trying to sound bitter at all. Oh, here comes your fan," she informed with a gesture of her head.

Sarah arrived back at the duos table and placed a worn and now wet, copy of Dookie down before them. Her face was bright and entranced by the punk-rock legend sitting but a foot in front of her.

"Oh, good choice," Billie commented with a sly smile.

"Yes, it's original," Sarah added.

Having no troubles remembering the woman's name, Billie Joe swiftly removed the booklet out from its plastic case and jotted: To Sarah, thanks for your love and support. Billie Joe Armstrong. He replaced the booklet in its case and handed it back to the ecstatic woman.

Her face was brighter than it had been before as she held her CD close to her heart and smiled nonchalantly, "Thank you."

"No problem."

"Have a nice day."

"Thanks, I'll try. You too."

The woman left the table side and Billie Joe glanced back at Rose whom sat with foam on her upper lip and appeared to be into making forms with creamers once again.

"What the fuck was that all about?" Billie Joe inquired as he sat back in the booth and crossed his arms.

"That? What's 'that'?" Rose replied, her green eyes drawn down towards the tabletop in a very sudden and anti-social manner. And apparently this anti-social behavior was only being exempted towards him.

"You change so fast, I have no idea what I've even fucking done," Billie Joe cooed as he shook his head in confusion.

"You've done nothing," Rose chirped and threw her long hair back over one shoulder. "'Kay?"

"Umm...okay?"

"You feel like going back to the hotel?"

"Not much, really. We can go back though, if you want. I kinda feel like a trip to the lounge might be good."

"Why go to the lounge when you can go to a club?" Rose questioned before drinking down the last of her latté and wiping the foam from her upper lip, which made her look quite like a 'Got Milk?' ad.

"Adie would kill me if I touched alcohol. Which really sucks, 'cause I love to drink, as you know..." the guitarist said with a look of sadness on his face.

"Yes, I do know," Rose nodded knowingly. "Why not just drink than? You are a grown man, Armstrong."

"Rose, I don't think I should go there..."

"I'm supposed to be alcohol-free too. That hasn't stopped me from raiding the mini-bar on some particular evenings while you guys are at the studio though."

"You haven't?" Billie Joe said sounding almost shocked beyond belief.

"I have. And oh wow Billie, I drank! Somebody call my mommy!" she replied sarcastically and broke into laughter. "You've always been such a dork, but still, you're dorkin' to an all-time low lately."

"Shut the fuck up."

Rose smiled and continued on a more serious note, "In moderation of course...I'm not drinking like I did when Frank and I got married or anything."

"Well, that's good. I gotta admit though, I do miss it a lot. The clubs, the parties. Everything was so much cooler and fun when liquor was involved. Maryjeewanna only goes so far these days, ya know?" Billie Joe said quietly as he bit into his bottom lip in thought.

"I'm lucky if I've had two joints since Michelle was born," Rose replied at just as quiet of a level. "Yeesh, when did we become so dull?"

"I don't know. I've been asking myself the same thing lately. I've always had this great life, during my adult and teen years, and I think that's a part of what made me good on the stage. I mean great on the stage. I'm a little worried this feeling of dullness is going to interfere with my...umm-"

"Stage presence?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, whadaya say. You and me, we go out and get shitfaced when your record hits the shelves?" Rose suggested as she cocked her eyebrows.

"You know, I could have sworn you were pissed off at me a minute ago."

Rose shook her head and laughed under her breath. "No I wasn't. You're just going through mid-life crisis and you don't know what you're saying or anything that's going on right now."

"Ah, well thank you for that," Billie Joe laughed light-heartedly about the emerald-eyed woman's insulting joke. "I don't know, me and Adie are just on shaky grounds right now. I don't want to do anything to upset her, ya know?"

"Yes, I do know." Rose nodded and looked down at her cousin's hands; nimble and still playing with the café's pen.

"So what do you say? Wanna get shit-faced with me Armstrong?"

"Hmm, sure. Why not?" the guitarist shrugged reluctantly.

* * *

Early that December, work wrapped on the band's twelfth album. Green Day and its families decided to header back on north to San Francisco County for a certain someone's forty-first birthday and the Christmas holidays.

Not being dicked enough to fly a simple three hundred and fifty miles, each member of the band and their respectable families drove the distance. It wasn't like they had a blizzard to worry about in California. In fact, the temperatures were darn right humid and airy feeling for December.

Damn global warming.

In a black SUV - nothing atypical for California - Tre Cool, his wife Rose and their four year old daughter Michelle had cut off of the main highway to venture the scenic route the way home.

Michelle was sat comfortably in the back of the vehicle with a set of headphones on. She could be heard giggling every so often as she watched whatever new release Disney and Pixar had brought out; without a doubt featuring humorous talking animals.

Tre sat at the wheel with his wife at his side; her face buried in a novel with a particularly disconcerted look upon her face. She shifted her weight every so often as her eyes didn't stir away for a second.

"Are you okay hon?" the drummer asked in his distinct nasally sounding voice with concern. Removing a hand from the steering wheel, he placed it down upon her kneecap gently and smiled.

"Hmm?" Rose murmured as she raised her head but still had her eyes adverted down at her novel.

"Good book?"

"Hmm...oh no, not really," the young woman said as she finally pried her eyes away from it and glanced up at her husband. "I could write a better one." She chuckled in such an egotistical way that no doubt mirrored her older famous counterpart.

"You feeling okay?"

"Mmhmm. Why do you ask?"

"No reason. You just seem a little depressed right now," Tre noted as he gave her knee a gentle squeeze that beared his affection for her.

"No..." she replied in a tremored voice as she shook her head assuringly.

"Okay then," Tre smiled and nodded his head in a manner that seemed awkward and timid.

Truth be told, Rose had had something on her mind for almost a week or more now. It was a subject that until recently, she had put on the back burner and left untouched and unassessed for years.

Her thoughts had been on when she had learned of the affair and quarral between a family member of hers and her then boyfriend. About a very stressful time that spanned back to before her husband was convicted to spend nine years of his life in prison for aggravated assault on her elder sister.

Sarah.

Rose had always had a particular disliking for her elder sibling. And, whether it be that woman in the restaurant a week prior who shared the same name. Or things finally just being peaceful in the last two years, allowing her to contemplate and mull her life over, and any decisions she had once made. It scared her to death when she thought of it now, but she wondered if perhaps her reaction to finding out her lover had attacked someone whom shared her blood, was perhaps tainted due to stresses she was going through at that time of her life. She wondered if perhaps she should have reacted in a different manner, or one that was deemed more appropriate.

If she shouldn't have forgiven him.

Exchanging a glance with her beloved spouse, the woman felt a chill seether up her spine and right back down it again. She loved her husband. She loved her Frank. With every inch of her being, she had done so for the past seven and a half years of their marriage.

Before their marriage, even.

The rains pelted against the windshield a little less violently as Tre turned off at the last exit that would lead in the direction of the San Francisco, Bay area. Looking out into the channel between the city of Oakland and that city; famous for its cable cars and steep hills, the evening was a gloomy grey smog.

The drummer was strangely quiet for his usual self on that evening. Especially since his family and he would be just finally seeing the likes of their house again after several months of being away. The holidays were nearing and so should've the excitement of it all.

The spirit.

Whilst having a hard time making eye contact with the love of her life; stealing her gaze away from being hidden within the pages of a book was no simple or easy task. It only became apparent she should do so when her husband piped up as though a thought had struck his mind and he was itching to say what he was thinking.

"Do you like Mike's girlfriend?"

"Hmm? What?" Rose asked as she closed her novel; placing her index finger into its fold, acting as a bookmark.

"What do you think of Mike's girlfriend?" the drummer asked as he removed his hand from her knee and bit his fingernail carelessly.

"Umm, I don't know? She's nice..." the drummer's wife replied with a voice that sounded small and nervous like it were coming from a mouse. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. Things have just been weird in the last couple of years." Tre looked up into his rear view mirror to see that his daughter was sleeping peacefully in her car seat. He grinned like a content father before continuing he's proclamation. "I mean I get out of prison, Mike has a kid that he says he's adopted, but looks a lot like him, Billie and you were fighting a lot last year and Mike has a really hot girlfriend he won't tell any of us where he's met. Weird inside jokes and secrets keep getting thrown around, and I feel like I'm...like I'm bewildered. Yes. Bewildered."

Rose swallowed back a lump in her throat and felt her heart begin to race almost in and out of her chest. "Bewildered?"

"I'm going to be forty-one in three days Rose. I think I am entitled to use some words that sound half intelligent."

"Hey, I wasn't saying you weren't." The raven-haired woman removed her finger from bookmarking her book and threw her hands up defensively.

"Especially Mike. He's really been giving me the creeps in the last year," the middle aged musician blurted out with honesty.

"Wha'? Why?"

"His girlfriend is really effin' hot. Smoking hot," Tre added with emphasis. "And I don't see why he acts like everything is all normal when he-"

"When he what, Frank?" Rosie cut her husband off, ignoring the non-serious fact that he had called Mike's girlfriend "effin' hot".

Tre took a deep breath and brushed back messily, his hair; once again in a light brown faux-hawk. "I don't like the way he looks at you."

Rose gasped lightly at the sound of those words coming from her husband's lips. It was like something jolted her soul and being. The drummer's wife had not noticed the likes of Mike acting like he still had an interest in her. Although there still was always an awkward tension between the two. Flipping her hair from being tucked behind one ear; she couldn't help but hide a smile behind it like it were the curtain over a Broadway stage whilst actors were taking their places.

It was those feelings of jealousy she'd been having ever since she found out Mike was going steady with this woman named Holly.

It was now feelings of knowing; Mr. Mike Dirnt still had and would not yield for her affection.

"What do you mean, 'the way he looks at me'?" Rose spoke loudly this time and with more confidence.

"I don't know," Tre answered as he shook his head. "All I know is that, whatever it is...it creeps me out."

Rose nodded her head as she thought up a swift response. "Well, you know. I just don't hang around Mike that much because he's a guy and I know most guys don't like their wives around other men. Even Mike."

"Even Mike." Tre nodded and he wasn't sure why, but when he put thought into what Rose had just said, it sounded very awkward. "Ah, there's our Bay Bridge," the drummer cheered with a change of subject as he rolled down his power window to drive up to the toll machine. Dropping in fifty cents, the family began their ways back to the infamous Oakland.

"I'm tired," Rose yawned, making her words come out distorted and deep.

"We're only twenty minutes from home now, hon," the drummer informed her, although aware she was already aware. "You can use my arm as a pillow," he offered, shrugging his shoulder slightly in her direction to urge her into doing so.

Rose had no problems complying and for the rest of the way home, she slept with expensive musky cologne in her nostrils and her head rested on the upper sleeve of Tre's black Versace dress shirt.

* * *

Pulling up outside of the gate to their prestigious home in the Claremont Hills of Oakland California, the reclusive road was dark and lit by few lamp posts. Rose stirred just barely in her sleep as Tre moved her to rest against her side of the vehicle. Jumping out into the December mist to bring himself around to where his mailbox sat a plaque against the gate, Tre reached, grabbed up a two-hand stack of mail and bolted back for the car.

"Brrr..." The blue-eyed man chattered his teeth together unintentionally as it became quite obvious they were further north than they had been earlier in the day. The air was not humid nor heavy. It was just soft and cold.

Rose clammed up in her seat as a draft washed over her skin; like laying in a bed whilst someone is putting the top sheet on.

High beaming it and passing through the gate at the end of their long oak treed driveway, Tre parked in a spot just outside of the garage. At this moment, he was mentally kicking himself for not bringing the remote to the garage door.

"Shit..." he muttered under his breath.

"We dere?" a soft voice spoke from the back seat.

Tre clambered out of the car and quietly opened the back door. "Yeah hon. We're home," the drummer replied in a whisper and he began to unbuckle Michelle from her car seat. "Come on hon." Lifting his four year old daughter up, he kicked his foot up to close the back door of his SUV and made towards the entrance of his home. "You tired sweetie?"

"Mmhmm," Michelle murmured as she rested her sleepy head on her father's shoulder.

Tre began to scrounge for the house key with the one hand that wasn't attached to the arm he was holding his daughter in. "Ah, there we go." The drummer took a quick glance back at the SUV to ensure his wife was still safe and sound.

After having taken his daughter up to bed, Tre returned to the downstairs and a now half-lit house. It smelled like home and felt like home. He almost became entranced by it, but was reminded his wife was still outside in the car, curled up in a frozen ball waiting for him to come sweep her up and take her to bed.

In nothing more than his dress shirt and matching pants, Tre derived back out into the cool autumn. To the outside of the garage, he opened his wife's side of the vehicle and she practically fell against him. Tre caught her and threw her into his arms like cradling a newborn baby. She stirred only subtly and stopped as she felt the warmth of the inside of the house hit her skin.

The upstairs bedroom was also inviting. The bed was made; the sheets soft, the duvét plush. With one arm and pulling back the comforters; her husband placed her down on top of it and tucked her in lovingly. "Night Rosie..." he whispered.

"Nnn ni' Fwank," she muttered almost inaudibly. The tired woman fell directly into slumber as her spouse's dry lips touched her upper cheekbone in a manner so soft that not even a smooching sound was made.

Tre stood back up from the bed and looked down upon his wife's sleeping form. She was so majestic and delicate looking.

Just like a rose.

The fatigued middle aged man let out a long yawn before heading back in the way of the bedroom door; shutting off the light as he sauntered out into the upstairs hallway. He sighed to himself, "It's good to be home."

Returning to the downstairs, Tre had a vague memory of leaving his car door open outside. And the thought of going back out into the cold chilled his bones before even doing it. Opening the foyer closet; this time, he thought he would be half smart and wear something warm.

Carelessly throwing on whatever he found first - which apparently happened to be an old larger sized sweater of his wifes - he jolted through the front door and back out into the lonely evening. The humid day had turned into a chillful night, the skies showed to be overcast and looked as though they were ready to drop a fountain of rain onto the head of Green Day's drummer if he should linger outside any longer. Leaning into the car, Tre picked the mail up from the center console, shut the door and made back for the house swiftly.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" he yell whispered abruptly. "You call yourself California?"

Stepping back into the foyer; dimlit and welcoming feeling by the chandelier that hung high above the floor, Tre shivered as his nerves began to wake up. Kicking off his shoes, he started for the kitchen with the mail in hand and began flicking on lights as he walked through the living room and then into the nook between the dining room and kitchen.

The lazy drummer found himself a spot at the kitchen table right away and threw the assortment of junk mail and other paper crap down in front of him. Resting his elbows on the tabletop, Tre flopped his drowsy head into his hands and yawned once again.

It had been a long day and right now he felt like he could almost fall asleep right then, right there. Glancing up, he looked about the kitchen and was flooded with memories of life in this house. His son Frankito when he was young, his daughter Ramona visiting from New York. And now his four year old daughter who was very much the same in the respect of her older siblings. Feeling slightly older and more worn, Tre was beginning to feel like his reproductive cycle was coming to an unfortunate end. Like he may have already had the last of his children whilst he'd be alive and walking the earth.

Turning back to look at the table, Tre glanced down at the pile of mail set in front of him. On the top, an envelope that had been machine printed with the words Office of the Attorney General, State of California, Dept. of Justice. The letter was addressed to Mr. T. Cool and apparently had been sent a few weeks prior.

Picking the envelope up and eying it curiously, Tre began to wonder what it was the letter could possibly say. Turning it to its backside, he began to pick at the paper flap which held it closed. Like any musician whom sometimes plays guitar, the drummer had short fingernails and an even tougher time trying to open the letter. Forgetting his fatigue, the sapphire-eyed man ran to the utensil drawer to draw out a sharp knife. Slipping it's blade under the envelope's flap, a letter fell out and onto the floor before his socked feet. Swallowing back a lump in his dry throat, Tre came to a realization that this was perhaps a letter he'd been waiting on for a very long time.

Although cold, Tre had apparently broken a sweat and gasped slightly before he leant down to pick it up. He turned it around and began to part the folds which had been done proper and with care. Closing his eyes and knowing very well if he should open them he'd see a block of words deciding the future; his heart began to race.

With bravery, the still buff drummer looked down upon the letter and began to read.

November 5th, 2013,

Dear Mr. T. Cool,

This letter has been prepared in part by: your lawyer, Sister Sarah's lawyer and myself, the Attorney General. As you know, Sister Sarah served out a short sentence and faced criminal charges for her partaking in drug trafficking shortly after you were instated to North Kern. State Prison on February 28th, 2009. Both the plantiff and defendant's lawyers and I have had lengtly discussions and we feel that we can only reach an agreement and a settlement in this case that now spans back many years.
Sister Sarah now willingly admits that she has caused you wrongdoing in the past and that this is not a completely one-sided case. Although I as one that takes in much information in cases like these; I am already aware of this. This was a statement Sister Sarah had made right before the Supreme Court. The judge reached a final decision on Monday, seeing Sister Sarah as a religious woman wanting to make amends with her past. So a settlement has been reached and all shall be forfeit.

You, Mr. T. Cool are to stay within two square miles of Sister Sarah at all times.

You, Mr. T. Cool are to drop previous charges you had filed against Sister Sarah.

You, Mr. T. Cool are to pay Sister Sarah in the amount sum of 3.6 million dollars, for outstanding medical fees and administered trauma.

I have discussed your countersuit with both Sister Sarah's lawyer and your lawyer. You claim Sister Sarah was blackmailing you and sexually molesting you for thrills and for money. While we can't find anything to prove this or otherwise, this charge has been dropped.

Although everything seems astray and in Sister Sarah's favour; this is not a sad day for you either Mr. T. Cool. As of you read this letter and speak with your lawyer's office, you will no longer serve your six year probation sentence. The judge wavered it accordingly. You are now a free man to travel where you will, anywhere in the world, anytime you wish.

I understand you've been in Hollywood recording with your band and you won't likely read this letter until you return home with your family for the holidays. But I hope this is the Christmas gift you've been waiting for, a lot of dispute had gone on as an account of it for a very long time.

Merry Christmas Mr. T. Cool, and a happy New Year.

-Bill Lockyer (Attorney General)

Tre stood up quickly and gasped. He felt disoriented and overjoyed as he backed into the counter and placed one hand over his mouth, disguising his smile and still looking at the letter clutched in his other hand. "Oh my God...the tour-"

"Frank? You coming to bed?"

Tre shot his eyes up and took sight of his wife standing in the nook between the dining room and kitchen. She looked drowsy and confused by the look on his face and stood there still and in wonder.

"Germanic Roses, Rose..."

"Wha'?"

The drummer's eyes turned mischievous and wide. And without warning, Tre ran over to his overtired wife and grabbed her up over his shoulder. "Germanic-fucking-Roses! Woot! We're going on fucking tour Rosie! God, you awesome little sex Goddess you! Booyah!"