Better Man

Although everything was black, somewhere in the distance, a voice could be heard.

"Mr. Pritchard, can you hear me?"

It was an unfamiliar, male voice. And it seemed to be getting closer as Mike's heavy eyelids slowly began to open. Light began to enter into his sight, albeit blurry. He groaned slightly, but not forming any sort of audible words. He felt groggy and his chest felt a little heavy, but that pain was gone.

"Mr. Pritchard, how are you feeling?" the voice questioned.

"My mouth is dry," Mike whispered, hoarsely; his eyes still not completely open.

"That's to be expected. You've been unconscious for some time now."

"Unconscious?"

Mike's blue eyes finally showed themselves but he winced at the bright lights. The man beside him took notice and dimmed the lights before moving back to the bassist's side, pulling up a chair while looking over a clipboard with some papers attached to it.

"Yes, unconscious. When the paramedics arrived to your house you had already passed out."

"Why?" Mike wondered. "Why'd I pass out? What happened to me? Why...why was I in so much pain?"

"You had a moderate heart attack, Mr. Pritchard."

"I had a--what? How can I have a heart attack?" Mike furrowed his brow. "And who are you anyway?" he demanded.

"Take it easy there, son. I'm Dr. Steve Michaels. I was the doctor who took care of you. And there's many reasons why this has happened," Dr. Michaels informed. "The obvious one, would be stress. Now, your friends said that you've been going through a bit of emotional stress lately, especially yesterday. Apparently you and your friend got into an argument, and, speaking of which, you're nursing some pretty bad bruises on your jaw and nose."

The doctor smirked knowingly as he flipped a piece of paper over.

"According to that 'friend,' we're not anymore," Mike muttered.

"That's not what he said. He came running into the hospital wondering if his friend was okay," Dr. Michaels replied. "And your charts say you've had a history with heart problems; that you were born with them. With a heart murmur...palpitations. And it says you were born addicted to drugs, so that plays into it as well."

Mike looked away, not wanting to think about how he came into the world. All that mattered was that he was in it now. He didn't want to think of the bitch that brought him into it.

"Also, I understand you're a heavy coffee drinker and you smoke---"

"Occasionally smoke," Mike corrected.

"All the same. Those are things you need to cut out of your life or at least cut back on if you want to remain healthy and, more importantly, alive."

Mike shifted his eyes to the doctor as he brought his right hand to his chest. "How long was I out for?"

"Fourteen hours."

"Holy shit," the bassist cursed. "What time is it now?"

"A little after seven-thirty in the morning. Normally, survivors of a medium heart attack wake up after about three hours, but your body and mind were both obviously exhausted. Physically and mentally," Dr. Michaels spoke. "Now, I treated you with anti-platelet and anticoagulant medications to prevent growth and formation of blood clots in your arteries, as well as clot-dissolving medications to open up the arteries. And, well, I had you on supplemental oxygen to increase the supply of oxygen to your heart."

"When can I get out of here?"

"In a few days. We still need to keep you here at the hospital for further observation."

"I don't want to stay here," Mike commented.

"No one ever does, but unless you want to die again, then I suggest you not push the subject any further, Mr. Pritchard," Dr. Michaels said as he stood up.

"What do you mean 'again?'"

Dr. Michaels stopped as he reached the door to Mike's private hospital room. "You were legally dead for two minutes."

"I was? When?"

"After the paramedics brought you in," Dr. Michaels answered. "You were in one of the emergency rooms when you flatlined. I had to use the paddles on you several times. The nurses suggested I should call your time of death, but you're very lucky that last try brought you back to the land of the living." The doctor looked grimly at the punk rocker. "Now get some rest. I know you'll have visitors sooner than you can snap your fingers."

Mike nodded as the doctor shut the door, leaving him alone in his private recovery room. All his thoughts began to mosh in his head, making him feel slightly scared.

He'd died.

For two minutes or not, he still died. He'd been dead.

If he had stayed that way, he would never be able to see Estelle, his precious daughter, grow up. He'd never see her become a teenager, never see her start high school or go on her first date. Never see her prom or graduation, going off to college. And he'd never be there to walk her down the aisle when she got married one day.

And if he died, what would happen with Billie Joe and Tre? Would they continue as Green Day and hire a new bassist down the line? Would they call it quits and join other bands or do solo projects?

And what about Caroline? How would she grieve? Would she move on without missing a beat, go back to Tre and marry him? Would she put both men behind her and find someone new as time went along? Would she always remember the time she'd had with him?

Letting his head rest back against the hospital bed pillow, Mike, let out a tired sigh, trying not to cry.

He had so much to lose and there was no way he'd give up this life that easily.

* * *

About two hours later, Mike had stirred awake -- not realizing he'd fallen asleep -- only because the noise of a chair skidding on the linoleum floor startled him.

He opened his once again groggy eyes, wiping them with his right hand, and gradually taking in the sight of a heavyset black woman in her mid to late 40s, dressed in a nurse's pink, hospital scrubs. Kinda like that black nurse from the earlier seasons of 'ER.'

"So the handsome prince wakes up," she commented with an affectionate smirk.

"I heard a chair," he muttered, licking his dry lips.

"That's what woke you up?" she questioned, looking at him like he were stupid. "I woulda thought me giving you a sponge bath while you were off in La La Land woulda done the trick."

Mike eyes went wide, which caused the nurse to laugh.

"I'm just messin' with ya," she snickered. "I haven't sponge-bathed ya...yet."

"I have to get sponge bathed? I mean, I'm--"

"I'm still jokin'. Don't go havin' another heart attack." She was straightening out his room a bit and checking that his blanket was tucked neatly around his legs and waist as he watched her move about. "Just because you had yourself a heart attack don't mean you ain't completely fit to take a shower. And you've only been here not even a day. And you don't stink yet, so you're doin' fine."

Mike smiled. "Well, as long as you think I'm doing fine, then I guess all is right with the world."

"Mmhmm, see, that's what I'm sayin'. I say you're fine, you're fine. Nothing to worry about." She flashed him a hearty smile and then patted his left leg. "I know you just woke up and all, but are you up for any visitors? You got quite a few people worried about you, sittin' out in the waiting room. And they won't stop bothering me, asking, 'Is he alright?,' 'Is he up yet?,' 'What's goin' on?,' 'Where's the cafeteria?' I mean, damn. My shift just started an hour ago. Like I know everything going on with some rockstar, laid up in my hospital with a literal broken heart." She flashed him yet another grin, letting him know she wasn't actually serious about everyone asking her questions.

Nodding his head slightly, Mike shrugged. "Sure, I'm up for guests."

"Alright, well, doctor's orders say that you're only allowed one visitor at a time, so I'll go out and let the first person in, okay?"

Mike nodded again. "Okay."

She disappeared from the room, and for about one minute, Mike was alone, trying to wake up a little better, yawning once or twice. And then, the door opened. Mike lifted his eyes just as Tre walked in, his hands shoved in his pockets and his eyes lowered semi-sheepishly.

Mike was pretty surprised that Tre was the first one in, after the fight they'd had the evening before. But then again, Dr. Michaels had said something about the drummer being the one who ran into the hospital asking what had happened to his friend.

"Hey," Tre muttered, standing at the end of Mike's hospital bed.

"Hey," Mike repeated.

"How you feeling?"

"Like I had a heart attack. Oh, wait. That's what actually happened." The bassist wasn't sure whether or not he'd meant that comment to be serious, sarcastic, or lightheartedly joking. "What's up?"

"Just wanted to see that you were, um...doing better."

"Well, I'm going to live to see another day," Mike replied. "I just need to cut back on coffee, smoking, and stress."

Tre swallowed back a lump in his throat as he pulled a chair over to Mike's bedside. "Mike," he began as he sat down. "I want to apologize for coming over like I did last night. For hitting you...multiple times. I didn't think you'd go and have a heart attack ten minutes after I left."

"Well, it's not like I planned on having one."

"I know. But...but I'm not sorry for my motive. I wanted to punch you. To hurt you. I was angry and I wanted you to know how I felt. But I guess the punishment wasn't equal to the crime."

"And what would be the proper punishment for sleeping with your girlfriend, Tre?" Mike queried. "A slap on the wrist? A time out? No dessert after dinner?" Mike looked off toward the door and then looked down toward his feet. "You had every right to beat on me. I woulda done the same thing if I were in your shoes. But I want you to know I didn't do it to hurt you. I did it..." Mike trailed, trying hard to keep it straight. "I did it because I love Caroline more than you'll ever know. I stood back for the longest time, watching as you got her first. She was like the finish line and you crossed it before I did. You got the glory of knowing you'd won her heart, her body, her mind and soul. I just became the spectator. As if I was disqualified from the race because I was too chicken shit."

Tre watched Mike's face as he spoke, knitting his brow as he listened. "I never knew that's how you felt."

"I couldn't let anyone know. It would've changed things, and I didn't want to put a wedge between anyone. Between me and you, you and Caroline, Caroline and me," Mike explained. "So I chose to spend every day fueling my crush for her, my secret love for her. Pining is what Giselle called it."

"Giselle knew?"

"She pinpointed it after her and I slept together. She said...she said 'I'm not her.' And I didn't know what she meant. But then she explained it, maybe not outright, but she implied what she meant. That Giselle was like a substitute for Caroline. That if I couldn't have one sister, the closest thing I could have would be the other. Perhaps I was picturing Caroline beneath me the entire time. I dunno. If not in my mind, then in my heart." Mike looked over at Tre. "I wanted Caroline so badly. You have no idea."

Tre sighed a heavy sigh as he took this all in. But then, finally finding some backbone to ask, "When did it start between the two of you? I don't believe New Years was the actual start date."

"Technically it was. Although, admittedly, it wasn't the first time we shared something intimate."

"Go on," Tre pestered.

"Toward the end of The Sinners' recording, I was alone in the studio. Everyone had left and Care had gone out to get coffee. When she got back, I had opened the door to go out for a walk as she walked in. She spilled the coffee all over me and the floor."

"Yeah, she told me about that."

"Yeah, but she didn't tell you everything, did she? Otherwise you wouldn't want to know when the wheels were set in motion." After a beat, Mike continued. "She went into the bathroom to get some wet paper towels and I took my shirt off because it was pretty much soaked. And when she came back, she ended up helping wipe everything up. Including my chest." Mike paused, letting that sink in for Tre. "I'm not sure how it happened, but we kissed, and I'd never felt so happy to be that close with her. I backed her against the wall and we kissed some more but then she pulled away, got panicky, and left."

"She felt guilty."

"Yeah. Pretty much," Mike agreed. "She was thinking of you."

"Maybe." Tre hunched forward, folding his hands between his knees. "What happened on New Years?"

"I had to piss," Mike began. "So I went into the downstairs bathroom, not realizing Caroline was standing at the sink, with a drink in her hand." Mike bit his bottom lip, looking at his friend briefly and then looking back at his blanketed feet. "She was a bit under the influence, and not feeling all that happy. And she told me to go ahead and piss, with her in the room and everything. So I did. But she turned around to give me at least that privacy and I made conversation so I didn't have to focus on pissing a few feet away from her. Afterward I washed my hands and then I noticed a bruise on her arm that you gave her, unintentionally."

"We'd had an argument that night, before we went to Billie's."

"She explained it all. Don't worry," Mike insisted.

"What happened next?"

"She told me that Giselle had blabbed about how I felt about her and she wanted the hear the truth from me personally. And, well...I did. I admitted having loved her since I met her and all that. And...and then she told me to kiss her."

"And you did."

"Of course I did," Mike admitted, honestly, meeting Tre's gaze. "And we started to make out...and she told me she wanted me to make love to her. And I did. And I felt like I'd come alive. I had her right against the door and afterward, we laid on the bathroom floor, talking. She said she wasn't sure how she felt about anything anymore and she wouldn't commit to just me because she still loved you."

"But she kept coming to you since that night."

Mike dipped his head guiltily. "Yes."

"Listen, Mike..." Tre trailed off. "I'm glad you're being honest with me now, and I'm more than glad you didn't die. And...and I didn't mean it when I said we weren't friends anymore. I was just...so angry at her. At you. At myself for letting another relationship get so fucked up."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I wasn't blaming myself. But I had all night to think it over, and I spent a lot of it talking with Caroline. And I decided that I don't blame anyone for what happened. I suppose some things are meant to happen for reason. What that reason is, though, I have no fucking clue."

Mike and Tre sat in silence for a few moments until the shorter man stood up, pushing the chair back.

"You leaving?" Mike wondered.

"Yeah. I'm not the only one who wants to see you, so I don't want to hog all the visitor hours."

Mike nodded. "Okay," he replied. "Thanks, Tre."

"Thank you, too." Tre leaned forward and patted Mike's shoulder as he gave his friend a platonic kiss on the temple. "Get better, buddy."

"I plan on it."