Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Since westwards expansion and the Gold Rush, all anyone in the United States could think about were the promises that seemed to lie buried within the jungled streets of chaos in California. It was where everyone wanted to be—the ocean was beautiful, Hollywood was booming, the mountains up north were to die for, and the music scene was evolving before the world’s eyes. It seemed like the perfect place for anyone with a dream and the will-power to achieve it; however, for Wren Ledden, California was a cage that, since a young age, she promised herself she'd find her way out of.

Wren was smart, driven, and talented, but she never seemed to be in the right place at the right time, and as everyone knows, timing is everything. School was all too easy for her, and she even managed to complete her gen-ed courses for college while she was still a junior in high school. By the time she graduated with her high school diploma, she had her associate's degree and a 'the sky's-the-limit' attitude towards the rest of her life. Sure, she didn't have the money she needed to attend  a fancy university, she didn't know what the hell she wanted to study, and she'd been kicked out of her house so many times she practically lived at the school, but Wren knew two things about her future: first of all, she would never again have to face the people who she was forced into life by, and second, she was free to get the hell out of California the second she found a way out.

As she flipped through the pages of a Rolling Stone magazine, Wren could hear her one and only friend from high school grumble, "Why they hell do you study so much?" With a look of confusion and annoyance on her face, Wren rose from where she had been laying on her friend's bed and threw the magazine at the lanky boy's face.

"Do you even know what the hell I'm reading?" she asked with her eyebrows raised as he stole a glance away from his reflection to peer down at the cover page.

"Rolling Stone," he commented in an airy tone as he returned his attention to the mirror. "Cool. I just assumed you were being a nerd." The all too familiar, snarky laugh Wren had heard resonate through her friend's lungs since middle school echoed against the walls of his room.

"Shut up, asshole." Wren's lips curled up into a smirk as she flipped over from her resting position on his bed to sitting cross-legged and watching her friend primp for his date tonight. “I still can’t believe you’re going to this concert with what’s her nuts and not me,” Wren sighed in exuberant frustration as her eyes drifted from her friend to the posters that littered the walls of his room.

"Oh come on, Wren, give her a chance. I bet you'd like her! She's really cool," Tommy whined as he turned around from staring at his reflection and turned down the tape that played over the stereo speakers.

"I bet," Wren said dryly as her mind drifted from her best friend's new girlfriend to the band he was taking some bimbo to see tonight. "I'm just pissed because I turned you on to London in the first place, Tommy."

"And I know we always said we would go together, but I'm trying to get her to give them a chance!"

"So you're taking someone who might not even like the show over me? You're best friend and musical connoisseur?" Wren shot Tommy a pained look and pretended to clutch her heart as she fell backwards onto his bed in defeat.

"If it means that much to you, I can cancel tonight and we can go together." Tommy's big heart was something that had drawn Wren to him in the first place. Throughout school, she was an outcast; Wren had a different upbringing from her classmates, especially Tommy, which led to her inability to trust others. Middle school band brought Wren the only friend she'd ever needed, someone to share her interests, who was able to break down her walls, and whose family gave her what parents are supposed to give their children: unconditional love and support, whereas her own familial life was based around manipulation, deceit, and vicariousness. 

Tommy's chaotic extraversion had saved Wren's dry-humored introverted ass time and time again in social situations. Truth be told, Tommy had always been fond of Wren, and he even found her cynicism to be humorous; albeit, he was at first only interested in dating her, but as they grew closer as friends, the pair realized they were bonded for life in a perpetually platonic fashion.

"Go on your date, Tommy," Wren said softly as she watched the slightest hint of disappointment cross her best friend's eyes.

"Meet me at the diner afterwards?" his big brown eyes begged. "I want you to meet her." Wren considered her options carefully: spend another night feeling shameful about Tommy's family willfully allowing her to stay at their place and eat their food without a second thought, or meet what would probably be another week-long fling her best friend had fallen head-over-heels for.

"Sure," she sighed only to catch his infectious smile growing onto her lips, "but that's only if I don't decide to sneak into the show behind you like we did with that punk band last month."

"Why the fuck don't you just come with us?" Tommy asked as he jumped up from where he was sitting on the floor and spun around to where Wren was still perched on his bed.

“I’m not dressed for the strip,” she said as she tossed her arms out to the side and examined her attire. A black leather jacket hung from Wren’s shoulders as a hand-made cropped black shirt dangled around her torso, baring just a portion of her midriff as black leather pants hugged her legs and chunky boots were laced around her feet.

“Yes, you are, and if we didn’t already know this,” he said and gestured between the two “would never work, I’d even say you were hot.” Tommy said as he pulled his own black leather jacket over the mustard yellow t-shirt he wore, and then stuffed his drumsticks through the loop of his studded belt.

“These are just my normal clothes; you know the slutty shit girls wear out there,” Wren continued, trying her hardest to keep from becoming a third wheel on Tommy’s day.

"Don't trash talk the outfits of slutty girls, Wren! Some people like that," he retorted with a smirk. "Just let me pay for you to come along tonight!" Tommy continued to beg for Wren's companionship, but Wren remained hesitant.

"So you're taking both of us out tonight?" she huffed with a cocky, teasing smirk on her face. As Tommy thought through his proposition, he raised his eyebrows and pointed at his best friend with a curious, and playful look spreading over his face; however, Wren was quick to shut down his wandering thoughts. “Just sneak off for a bit once you get there and come to that janky fucking door in the men’s room to let me in.”

“I can do that!” Tommy said as he opened his bedroom door and ushered for Wren to come with him down the hall and into the kitchen. She followed him hesitantly through the halls of a home she'd come to know all too well, and she tried to advert her eyes from the signs that she lived there as well. Wren hated having to rely on anyone besides herself. From a young age, she was proud of her ability to provide for herself, and realized that that was all she really needed. Even when she still lived at home, her parents were too self-indulged or too busy fighting with one another to notice their only child. At eighteen they'd thrown her to the wolves, ready to be rid of the thin that, in their eyes, kept them from having the life they always wanted. They claimed she'd never make anything of herself and promised her they wouldn't be there if she ever tried to come back.

Thankfully, upon hearing of her misfortune nearly ten months after the fact, Tommy called bullshit on Wren's parents, and his family opened their home to her. Wren was beyond grateful for their generosity, but overwhelmingly shameful for finding herself in the position to put someone out in such a damning way.

"You're not a burden to my folks," Tommy would always whenever he noticed Wren's discomfort. "They love you like the daughter they never had, because their real daughter is nice and sweet, and not anywhere near as fucking badass as you." Wren tried to offer him any indication that his words made her feel better; his affirmation of her worth and his parents' graciousness meant the world to her, but it didn't change the fact that she felt shameful and guilty for becoming a burden they have to carry. Every night she ate their food and took up space in their home weighed on her heart until she found it hard to breathe. Getting out of the house and going to see London with Tommy, even if they wouldn't be together during the show, could be exactly what Wren needs to get out of the mental funk she'd been finding herself returning to for months now.

Tommy and Wren’s friendship was an odd one; everyone who saw the pair together could see that much. He was a colorful person who expressed everything outwardly, whereas Wren was often described as dark and introspective. At shows, Tommy would be flailing his limbs around, letting the music speak to his body while Wren let the rhythm and lyrics fill her soul. She’d tap her foot and bang her head on occasion, but would never lunge herself into the mosh pit or crowd-surf among other fans as Tommy had on more than one occasion. However unlikely the friendship maybe, it was strong, and on many occasions, too strong for Tommy’s dates to handle. Girls who dated Tommy never understood how he could be so close to Wren without wanting to fuck her, and their suspicion always got the best of them. This always led to an end in the relationship after a huge fight over an ultimatum between Wren or whatever flavor of the week he was tasting.

Wren was fine with the ridiculous plots Tommy would find himself concocting in order to avoid "The Wren Issue" with his dates, while also making sure he'd have a good time if his date abandoned the show. It wasn’t uncommon for many of the girls Tommy brought around to cower away from the rock and punk scenes, and despite being an extraverted, people person, Tommy hated being at shows alone. Tonight wouldn’t be the first time Wren hung around at a concert waiting for her best friend’s date to bail at the sight of a fight, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. Overall, she had fun: it was fun to sneak into clubs to watch her favorite bands, it was fun knowing that she was Tommy’s ride or die—the one who he knew would always be there to keep him company—and it was a hell of a lot more fun when the stuck up bitches bailed and she got to break out of her shell a tiny bit and join Tommy in the mosh pit for a song or two. Deep down, in the pit of her stomach, she knew tonight was going to be fun too.

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Wren held her arms close to her body across her chest and tried to ignore the subtly cool breeze that floated through the Los Angeles streets. She leaned back against the brick wall and kicked the bathroom door with the heel of her boot impatiently as she let out an aggravated sigh, "Fuck, Tommy, where are you?" She had accounted for the five-minute drive to his girlfriend's house and the five minute drive back, but after standing in the dank and grimy alley-way for over twenty minutes, she allowed herself to grow angrily impatient at Tommy's tardiness. She knew logically that he was probably still waiting in the long-ass line out front, so she tried to suppress the temper that usual came with her impatience. As Wren tilted her head up and gazed at the sliver of sky visible from between the buildings surrounding her, she let the cool air flow over her hot cheeks. As she was about to step away from the wall and peer around the corner to see if she could spot Tommy's leopard printed ass in the sea of people waiting to get in, she heard the rusty creak of the door and poked her head inside.

"Finally," she sighed as she made the small jump from the ground up to the slightly elevated bathroom floor. "I thought you for got about me Tomm--you're not Tommy."

The bar was always dark and dingy, and the bathrooms were even more so than the rest of the establishment, however Wren was always able to easily distinguish her friend from other men. A tall man, no more than three or four years older than her stood before Wren with a cigarette between his lips, a lighter in his left hand, and what appeared to be a glass of whiskey or bourbon on the rocks in the other. He wore a dark leather jacket with some sort of dark colored shirt beneath it, and black leather pants stretched over his legs. His overall demeanor seemed to be in stark contrast of Wren's best friend, and so she straightened her posture from being hunched over, and adjusted her tone from the joking banter she had used to straight-line intimidation.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The man asked once the alley door had closed. He assumed that she wouldn't want to deal with any form of confrontation and that she would retreat from the venue out of submission or intimidation, but Wren's eyebrows quickly stitched into a skeptical glare as she stood her ground. The man before her still had his lighter flicked open and a small flame burned in his hand while his hazel eyes peered down at the young woman. He tried to stand up straighter in order to intimidate her into explaining herself or leaving, but he got the sense nothing would make her stand down. She had fierce, cold eyes that seemed to cut right through him, and in an instant of impatience, he opened his mouth to repeat himself, only to have her speak over him.

“What does it look like?” she scoffed and folded her arms over her chest. The man’s narrowed eyes, tense jaw, and teased, long black hair was nothing more than an obstacle keeping her from having a good time at a show she’d been dying to see.

“Looks like you’re sneaking in,” the man said with an arrogant smirk as he cocked his head to the left and took in the woman’s appearance.

“Congratu-fucking-lations,” Wren smirked, “you regular Sherlock Holmes.” Dropping her arms to her side, Wren took a long step forward to side-step the man in front of her only for him to take a quick step to his left and puff out his chest. “Come on, man,” she sighed. “You can’t be that much of a dick!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart,” he smirked devilishly. He was certain the woman would crack and turn away to save herself the humiliation of continuing to linger in a men’s room, but the self-assured grin that traveled onto her face only caused his eyebrows to furrow in curiosity.

“You may be a dick, but you’re nothing but talk,” Wren stated and placed her hands gently on her hips, allowing herself to be in as vulnerable of a position as she could be in a situation like this in order to show how unafraid she was of the man before her. “I, on the other hand, have the balls to follow through. So, thanks for the, whatever the fuck public decency lecture that was, but I’m going to step around you now and watch what I expect to be a kick ass show that I’m, frankly, too damn broke to afford to see the ‘appropriate’ way,” Wren stated while using air quotes. “I’m also too damn broke to afford a drink, even in a hole like this, so,” without any warning, she slipped her fingers around the glass the man was holding, plucked it from his hand, and sent the burning, icy liquor down her throat in one large gulp, “thanks for the Jack, even if it is a pansy-ass whiskey if you ask me.” With nothing more than a light shoulder check, Wren took a long stride past the man standing in her way, and carried herself high as she paced past the line of men at the urinals watching the scene unfold, before she emerged into the bar.

It only took her about ten minutes to find Tommy in the masses of concert goers, and throughout the night, she managed to keep him in her sights just in case his date bailed; although at the end of the night, she was still pressed against the back of the venue, being forced to squint in order to make out which band was playing, while Miss Blondie hung close to Tommy. Wren had to hand it to the girl, she wasn’t like the other chicks Tommy brought to shows in hopes of turning them on to the rock scene. Even when the bassist of London threw a heavy hitting punch at the band’s lead singer, she didn’t run off like Wren had expected. Sure, she jumped back in awe as the rest of the crowd shouted either obscenities of shock or encouragement, but she didn’t run, and Wren decided that deserved at least a little respect.

As bouncers rushed toward the stage to separate the two band members, other employees of the bar acted as ushers to escort the numerous patrons of various stages of intoxication out of the venue and into the streets to have a better chance of breaking up the fight without a brawl. Wren tried to call out for Tommy’s attention, but a slight panic came over her as she noticed a cop picking out another sleazy freeloader who had snuck in through one of the other weak points in security. Wren retreated the way she had come in—through the dank and abysmal restroom, leading into a dingy alley—and then disappeared into the crowd that dispersed along the sidewalk of the Sunset Strip.

Blending into the night, Wren took advantage of her freedom for a moment longer. Before Tommy, her parents had a short leash around her neck, so in moments like this, where the night was young, the air fresh, and her body buzzing off the vibration and electricity that was rock and roll, she relished in her momentary oasis. Strolling through the streets at night was dangerous—she knew that all too well from living on her own for nearly a year—but it was always something that calmed her. Even with her parents keeping their overbearing and controlling hands over her, they never quite seemed to notice whenever she was gone. Often times they were too busy fighting each other to notice where Wren was, and she would frequently leave home and wander aimlessly through the streets until she noticed a car or stranger tailing her.

It was in this relaxing sense of freedom that kept her troubles at bay, well, that and the whiskey she'd consumed. She was far from being intoxicated in any sense, but even a drop of alcohol was enough to boost her confidence to new levels. As she approached the she promised Tommy they would rendezvous at, Wren noticed a sense of pride had washed over her as she thought back to her previous encounter. A year ago, she would have let that cocky asshole stand in her way—her parents didn’t believe in raising her to be strong or self-sufficient, just smart and submissive enough to find a good man willing to take her from them. She let a lot of people do things to hurt her in ways she still couldn’t fully come to terms with—things that made her question her own strength and self-worth almost daily—but tonight just showed how far she’d come. Tonight, she saw the badass Tommy always claimed she was, and damn did she feel hot because of it.

Through the grimy windows of the all-night diner, Wren could make out the appearance of the blonde Tommy had hanging on his arm throughout the entirety of the concert. The girl sat alone at a booth with a frustrated grimace plastered across her face that seemed to stretch even further upon Wren's arrival to the scene.

"Is Tommy around?" Wren asked as emotionlessly as she could, only for the blonde to flick her eyes to a booth three tables down. "Thanks," Wren said. Part of her felt sorry for the girl, yet she remained curious as to why Tommy would abandon a dim looking girl more than willing to give it to him. With assurance in her steps, she called out his name and let her voice ring across the diner. "Hey, Tommy." Her friend's deep brown hair flipped over his shoulder as he turned to meet Wren's turned up eyes. He hurriedly waved her over and then turned his attention back to his newly chosen company.

"You've got another chick waiting on you?" the man who sat across from Tommy said in an aghast tone.

"Hell no, that's just Wren." As Tommy’s ears tuned into the crescendo of heavy steps taken by Wren in her favorite boots, he turned around, stood up, grasped her shoulders, and screamed in a whisper, “it’s Nikki fucking Sixx!” With excitement overcoming his body, Tommy dropped back into the booth and dragged Wren in beside him. “Did you hear me? It’s Nikki Sixx! From London,” Tommy excitedly repeated. “Fuck! I’m sorry—I forgot to get you in. Don’t be pissed,” he quickly apologized and fell from the high of meeting one of his musical heroes.

“Oh, she got in, alright,” the man on the opposite side of the booth smirked. “How ‘kick ass’ was the show, freeloader?” Nikki mocked with the same arrogant smirk he’d worn merely hours ago.

Wren knew a lot about a lot of things, but she had no fucking clue how she had over looked the fact that the man who was trying to bounce her from the club, the man she had stumbled into in the men’s room, the man who she stole shitty liquor from, was Nikki Sixx. It wasn’t her fault really—not recognizing a minor league performer—but she knew Tommy would never let her live it down. Wren had introduced him to London, loaned him her cassettes, and even bought him the poster hanging on his bedroom wall for his birthday. They’d constantly argued over who had the better taste in music and who introduced who to the best bands, and there she was, unable to identify the bassist of the band they’d both been obsessing over for just over a year now.

“You’re welcome,” was all she had to say to his snarky comment.

“Excuse me?” Nikki asked with an eyebrow cocked in Wren’s direction.

“You’d come out of that fight looking even more like shit it I didn’t steal that drink from you, so you’re welcome.” Tommy let out a tight and muffled laugh as he stared between Nikki and Wren with his jaw dropped. The arrogant smirk Nikki wore upon seeing Wren appear at the entrance of the diner only grew as she sat down across from him, but now, it had subsided to an almost welcoming smile.

“You’re not too bad,” he sighed, his hazel eyes refusing to leave Wren’s determined stare. “And you’re…what? A side piece for Ringo Starr over here?”

“Fuck no!” Both Wren and Tommy gasped, earning the attention of half of the diner’s occupants. Immediately, Wren noticed Tommy reaching for one of his drumsticks. She rolled her eyes as he subconsciously began to twirl it relentlessly between his middle three fingers entirely too close to her face for her liking. As irritating as it had become to Wren, Nikki found it fascinating.

“Do you carry those everywhere you go?” he asked inquisitively as Wren held her hand up to protect her face.

“Yeah.” She had never known Tommy to not have his drumsticks on him at any given moment of the day. Back in high school, Tommy would annoy the living hell out of teachers by beating them against the desks’ legs and text books; now that he doesn’t have anything to beat on relentlessly besides the trap set at his house, he’s taken to spinning the sticks between his fingers.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Nikki’s head tilted once more, this time away from his fixed position on Wren to tune his attention entirely to Tommy’s twirling.

“Marching band,” Wren’s voice rang through the boys’ moment as she smeared a package of strawberry jam over a piece of toast.

“But hey, I rock too!” Tommy was quick to assure Nikki.

“And her?” he asked without even bringing himself to look at Wren again. He couldn’t. There was something about her that seemed untouchable, even for him. He didn’t like relinquishing control, and he had a strong sense that Wren was similar, so he found it easier to ignore her presence at the moment.

“Wren? I mean look at her,” Tommy huffed arrogantly, more than confident in Wren’s ability and attitude to resonate without even needing an explanation. Tommy never let her forget how highly he thought of her. Ever since they grew close in high school, anytime someone would question Wren’s capability or talents, he would gawk at them and yell, “Don’t you know this is Wren fucking Ledden?!” In his own, silent way, Tommy was telling Nikki all he would need to know about the girl sitting across from him. Even if Tommy didn’t know it, Nikki had already taken a good look at Wren. Her bark seemed to match her bite when it came to standing her ground, she had confidence and attitude, the body of a vice, and an allure that clearly caught him off guard.

“I play sax; it’s how I met Tommy,” she explained in between bites of her overly dried toast.

“Not much use for saxophone in a rock band,” Nikki said smugly at Wren’s words. She merely shrugged, as if completely uninterested in bantering her way into a spot with whatever band Nikki seemed to be trying to recruit for.

“She sings too! I mean, she’s never let me listen, but she does. She’s also wicked smart and knows music better than anyone I’ve ever known!” As Tommy finally admitted his defeat to their age-old debates, Wren found herself haughtily smirking down at her toast.

“But you’ve met me.” Nikki’s aloof and airy tone passed through Tommy’s ears with no avail.

“I’m sticking with what I said.” At her friend’s words, Wren raised her now overzealously conceited smirk to meet Nikki’s gaze. “So, you’re forming a new band?”

“Well after the shitshow that went down tonight, it’s safe to say London’s over,” Wren muttered as she kicked her feet up, rested them in the seat beside Nikki, and lounged back in the booth. “Look, Tommy’s got enough rhythm and energy to keep a rocket fueled for nearly a decade, so don’t worry about that. You’re a kick-ass bassist, and you’re going to need a guitarist who can keep up. If your next band is going to be worth a shit to listen to, don’t get someone who’s even in the least bit self-conscious in their abilities. If the guy is as arrogant of a prick as you are, that means you’re on the right track to finding your left-stage man.” Nikki raised his eyebrows and nodded along as Wren offered her advice.

“You mind looking, Wren?” Tommy asked as his drumstick landed on the newspaper that had been laying in front of Nikki since before either Tommy or Wren entered the diner. Tommy’s wide eyes looked over to Wren, searching for guidance as she reached for the paper and scanned the ads. She extended her hand to Nikki and waited until she felt the pen fall against her palm.

“This guy seems straightforward enough to know he’s not going to hide his opinions when shit hits the fan,” she stated as she drew a large circle around a particular ad, “but right now you have a rhythm section and nothing else, so you’ll need to act fast.” Wren’s eyes scanned the newspaper one more time for any other viable contestants, but she came up short. Upon passing the paper back to Nikki, she assumed her judgement was accepted based on the goofy grin that grew on Tommy’s face and the moderately shocked expression that lingered over Nikki’s as he read the circled ad, mentally kicking himself for not noticing it before.

“How do you know so much about this kind of shit?” Wren half expected Nikki’s question to be met with a hesitant glare that betrayed his uncertainty in trusting her judgement calls, but instead, he looked to her as if she were a hidden asset.

“My grandfather owned a radio station back in the day,” she stated ambiguously.

“Dude knew a lot of the greats,” Tommy’s loud mouth took over and began to blab. “Wren’s parents don’t listen to music. They wouldn’t even come to our marching or concert performances in high school.” With Tommy’s words, Wren loosened her jaw and tried to relax the tense muscles constricting her throat in order to give off the illusion of apathy when it came to the topic of her parents. The look slipped under Tommy’s radar, but Nikki was all too familiar with the front Wren was trying to put up.  “Anyways, what I’m trying to say is that Wren here is not some basic groupie type. She knows the scene better than me, hell maybe even better than you.” Tommy ended his monologue with a portion of it being completely tuned out from Nikki’s ears as he examined the mask Wren was quick to cover herself in.

“And you sing?” Nikki asked curiously, his intrigue piqued at Tommy’s earlier comment.

Wren sat up, leaned over the table, lowered her tone to a half-decibel above a whisper, and huffed, “Not to spin cheap tricks like you.” To Nikki, Wren’s voice was Tennessee Honey: smooth going down, but left a burning ache in his stomach once he fully digested her words. “Besides, you don’t want a girl singing in your little boy band” Again, the sweet nectar of her voice covered the underlying tinge of her words.

“It’s a rock band, Wren,” Tommy quickly corrected his friend with a giddy smirk flashing his teeth to everyone at the table as he nudged Wren with his elbow. Halfheartedly, she rolled her eyes, knowing her statement to be true. Wren pulled herself from the booth, looked both of her counterparts in the eyes, and pointed at the newspaper.

“It’s not anything if you boys don’t call him,” she said, as she swung her hips away from the table after pushing the newspaper ad back under Nikki’s nose and then sauntering toward the bathrooms. When Wren was out of earshot, Tommy quickly turned his full attention to Nikki and offered up an apologetic glance.

“Fuck,” Nikki muttered to himself, careful to resist the overwhelming urge to add ‘me’ at the end of his statement as his eyes continued to trail over Wren’s path until she disappeared behind the doors leading to the bathroom.

“I know,” Tommy sighed apprehensively as he thought about how to bring up his friend’s general attitude to Nikki. “Wren’s not everyone’s favorite, but you just have to give her a chance. I mean, she only messes with people she li—” Tommy tried to explain, but as he tripped over his words, Nikki cut the kid off mid-sentence.

“No, I mean ‘fuck, why do you mess around with Malibu Barbie over there when you could have the goddess of rock herself?’” Tommy wrinkled his nose at Nikki’s comment, obviously repulsed at his suggestion, but also amused at the fact that Nikki—a fixture on the sunset strip whom both Tommy and Wren frequented conversations about—seemed to be interested in his best friend.

“Wren and I don’t work that way,” Tommy stated in a rather direct tone. “I mean, we’ve made out and shit, but just to make sure we were right about us not being more than friends.”

“Well she’s not—” Nikki let his words linger in the air around them and hoped Tommy would catch their meaning.

“What? Into chicks? Nah,” Tommy said as the waitress appeared with an order of pancakes for the lanky teen and a stashed mini-bottle of Jack for the angsty man in his early twenties. “She’s always been one of the guys, man. She only shit talks the people she likes, so don’t take anything she says as offensive—that’s just Wren.” A small smirk fell over Nikki’s lips as he remembered how the brunette had straightened her posture, told him to back down, and then threw two shots of Jack straight down the hatch. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Wren’s leather clad legs pacing toward his booth as she hugged her matching leather jacket around her torso. Daggers of death flew from her eyes at a booth of thirty-something year old men ogling her as she made her way back towards her friends, and Nikki tensed, both in anticipation to jump up with Tommy to defend this girl he’d just met, but also in fear of what she could do to the guys if they tried to fuck with her.

“What do you say then?” Nikki’s asked as both he and Tommy kept a watchful eye on Wren.

“To what?”

“The band? You want to come by and practice sometime this week. If we sound good together, we can look into the guy who posted the ad.” Tommy noticed Nikki’s eyes hadn’t left Wren, and he made sure to note that Nikki too held a protective demeanor in his clenched jaw as he watched Wren’s fiery temper snap at one of the men.

“One condition,” Tommy’s cheery voice had faded and Nikki took heed of the sudden seriousness of his new friend’s tone. Turning his attention away from the girl who was slowly making her way back to join them, Nikki focused on the rather rushed words coming out of Tommy’s mouth. “Wren’s a deal breaker. If you want this band to be as great as you say you do, we need her.” Even if Nikki had been hesitant in the least bit about agreeing to a constant female presence when it came to his heavy metal band, all reluctance disappeared as he turned back to where Wren stood, smirking her pretty little deviously arrogant grin at the pricks who had extended their hands towards her hips. She took a calm and collected step back, her arms still folded over her chest, and not an inkling of discomfort crossed her face regarding her current situation. Instead of making a scene, as Nikki expected someone of her spunk to do, she turned on the heel of her thick, black boots and walked away. Tommy winced at the words the drunken men were slurring at his friend, but Nikki stifled a laugh as Wren held her middle finger to the air above her head as she continued to walk his way.

“Done,” he stated firmly just before her arrival at the table. Nikki wouldn’t know what exactly he had either doomed or destined himself to in that single word for a matter of years. He only knew that tonight he’d been punched in the face, broke up the band he helped form, happened across the path of a prodigy-type kid drummer, and met, not once but twice, a girl with as much drive, ambition, and musical passion as he did. Even if she was a chick, she’d more than proven herself to be badass enough to hang with him.

Chapter Text

Tommy and Nikki had been meeting up more and more, and growing closer with each passing day. At first Wren found it odd that Nikki was even interested in what two recent high school graduates could offer, but after a week of accompanying Tommy on his trips to Nikki’s apartment, she eased up on her skepticism. Tommy hadn’t touched his drums since leaving Suite 19, and she knew it killed him; besides, she really enjoyed hearing them together. Even if their band was just a rhythm section at this point, it was really impressive to Wren how Tommy filled in the gaps of the straight bass line Nikki played. Their personalities, not only as people but as musicians, meshed like the teeth of a zipper. At first, it made Wren jealous to think Tommy had a new best friend besides her, but as she continued to join them, she grew to feel more included in the formation of this new band.

"Just sing for us today," Tommy whined as Wren pulled up to the curb outside Nikki's apartment.

"No," Wren sighed as she switched off the Blue Öyster Cult cassette as well as the car’s engine. She pushed the heavy door of the van open and then allowed it to slam shut behind her as Tommy sprang from his seat, eager for today's rehearsal. Tommy and Nikki had spread the word around the scene that they were looking for a guitarist for their new band, and had been practicing with some guy in his late twenties named Rick. Since his first appearance at the apartment, Wren knew he wouldn't last longer than a few weeks to a month. It was clear to her that the guy was rather new to his instrument and had spent most of his time practicing rhythm lines. He wasn't anywhere close to being what Nikki and Tommy needed from a guitarist, but Tommy continued to be all too reassuring towards him.

“Why won't you sing even a little bit?” he continued to pester her as they climbed the stairs to where Nikki sat smoking on the balcony of his apartment building. A smirk was fastened to his face as he watched the two nineteen-year-olds make their way towards him, Wren with an irritated sneer on her face and Tommy with a grin spreading ear to ear as he continued to poke Wren’s sides with each step they took.

"Give up, man," Nikki sighed through an exhale of cigarette smoke. "You've been on her ass for how long about singing and she's yet to even hum two fucking notes." As he reached the butt of his cigarette, Nikki lowered his eyes to Wren and leaned against the railing with that damned smirk on his face as he said, “I’m starting to believe she can’t sing.” Once again, his attempt to get under Wren's skin and illicit a response was fruitlessly met with a shrug of her shoulders and the roll of her eyes.

“I guess no one will ever know,” she sighed and took a step inside the apartment she desperately tried to keep clean. Dirt and grime never bothered her, but after living on the streets for nearly a year, Wren came to appreciate a clean home, so when Tommy and Nikki practiced, if she wasn’t reading or playing music of her own, she would clean as much as she could. At first it bothered Nikki to have someone going through his home, but he quickly came to appreciate Wren’s habit, especially one night when he got out of the shower to a fluffed towel instead of the rough, unwashed one he’d been using.

“Hey, before Rick shows up, I’ve got something to ask you two,” Nikki said as he looked up and down the street cautiously before closing the door behind him. As the trio stood in the apartment’s living room, Wren got the feeling that Nikki didn’t like the band’s current, yet most likely temporary guitarist, any more than she did. Hell, it was more than obvious that the pair didn’t care for him very much. Often, Wren would hear Nikki complaining about Rick’s playing and she would try to give Rick a few pointers before ultimately bugging Nikki and Tommy once again about the guy from the newspaper ad. Even now as stood with his back to the closed door, Wren could tell Nikki was hesitant to speak in fear of Rick showing up and feeling as though he was included in whatever conversation the three were about to have. “I’ve been cutting it close in rent lately and was wondering if you two would want to move in. Even if you say ‘no’ I’m going to have to find roommates, so please don’t make me put an ad out for some fuckers I’m probably going to hate.”

That was about as nice as Nikki could put his proposition. Was it true? Partially. He did have problems meeting rent, but that was nothing new, and it certainly wasn’t something he was going fix by finding some random people to live with him. Big, blabby mouthed Tommy Lee Bass had let it slip to Nikki one night that Wren was technically homeless after Nikki had asked why the pair always traveled with one another. Tommy explained how she had been living with him and his parents for roughly half a year and how they’d been trying to save up to get an apartment together when Nikki extended the offer for the three of them to live together to Tommy a matter of days ago.

Tommy looked over Wren’s shoulder, past the back of her head and muttered a thank you to his newest friend and placed his hands together in a prayer-like fashion before his eyes fell back to Wren as she turned to face him. Nikki took this opportunity to shrug, as if to tell Tommy it was nothing, but deep down, something inside him was terrified of hearing Wren’s answer.

“What do you say?” Tommy asked with a wide grin on his face. “I mean, we’re here all the time anyway.” Wren turned back to Nikki and noticed Rick’s heavy breathing as he hurried up the steps towards the apartment door.

“Fuck it,” she sighed with probably the first genuine smile Nikki had ever seen cross her face. “I’m already cleaning this sty.”

Nikki knew that was about as nice as Wren could put her acceptance, and he tried to hide the smile that threatened to form on his face. Of course, she knew Tommy had opened his big mouth about how she had been living with him; Nikki had been casting awful glances of pity her way for about two weeks now, and she was too intuitive to allow this mannerism to go unnoticed. However, she was thankful that Nikki’s stubborn pride rivaled her own. He would never admit to having any other motive behind inviting her and Tommy to live with him other than the one he stated, which meant there was no shame necessary to be felt on her end for him extending this invitation.

For once, Nikki found himself thankful for Rick’s presence, because just as he thought he saw a hint of a heart-felt smile forming on Wren’s lips, the large, strawberry blonde excuse of a guitar player opened the door with his case in tow behind him. “Quit ogling Tommy’s girlfriend and help me, Nikki,” Rick complained as he embarked on his recurring struggle to connect his guitar to the amp that lived in Nikki’s living room. Wren rolled her eyes at Rick’s comment and Tommy sprang into action—it was always like him and his kind heart to help whatever sorry soul was in need. Nikki too rolled his eyes, but he reluctantly made his way over to Rick, who was trying to tune his guitar while Tommy and Nikki set up the amplifier.

Wren pursed her lips in slight aggravation. Tommy’s generosity coupled with Nikki’s animosity and her own tolerance toward the man was sure to cause a riff in the band if Rick became more long-term than any of the three initially presumed. In an attempt to ignore the arguing that was destined to ensure, Wren began to unpack and piece together her saxophone. It had become a habit of hers to distract herself with her own music, so she frequently practiced various jazz and concert solos she bought from second-hand music stores. Only Tommy had ever heard her play; Wren had a deep-seated fear of judgement thanks to her parents, and even deeper trust issues that manifested through standoffs whenever someone tried to listen to her play or sing without her permission. The other reason as to why she’d been seeking refuge through her instrument was to keep from subjecting her voice to ridicule. Nikki and Tommy were amazing musicians, even if Rick slowed them down, and Wren often lost herself in their sound. She’d heard Nikki sing along to his own lyrics so many times she knew them by heart, and she constantly found herself being restrained by her own crippling anxiety. She wanted so much to be able to throw her concerns into the air and jump in to join her friends as a temporary lead vocalist, but she feared being told she wasn’t good enough—one of the many negative side effects that came from her narcissistic parents who were obsessed with living through her vicariously.

As Rick began to practice the same progression Nikki had demonstrated three times in the past week, Wren slung her neck strap over her head and allowed her reed to dangle between her lips. With one last glance toward the band before she disappeared from their sight, she noticed an energetic thumbs up from Tommy and a desperately pained look in Nikki’s eyes once the room filled with Rick’s attempt to play a riff Nikki wrote. In his own plea for relief, Nikki locked eyes with Wren and made a bold couple of strides toward where she stood with her golden instrument hanging just below her chest.

“Do me a favor,” he said as his chin dipped down so he could whisper into her ear, “kill me.”

“Just when you’re starting to really come together as a band?” she asked as what Nikki learned to be Wren’s taunting grin spread across her cheeks.

“Better yet, call that number we found in the diner and have him get his ass over here now.” Wren could feel Nikki’s frustration against her neck in the form of choppy, hot breaths.

“Now, now?” she questioned as Nikki brought his hazel eyes to meet her perpetually stormy grey ones.

“Before I blow my brains out would be great,” he huffed before he stalked off to grab his bass, making sure to give Wren the up and down before pulling his eyes away from her. That was something Wren had gotten used to: Nikki’s quick intake of her appearance. It became almost like a joke to her; Nikki would look her over really quick, maybe even wiggle his eyebrows at her, and she would roll her eyes and swat his arm. She’d been through the same thing with Tommy, so she knew that sooner or later Nikki would come to the same conclusion Tommy had: she was one of the guys and nothing more.

“Oh, so someone is finally ready to listen to me?” she huffed arrogantly and turned her back to the living room, as if to walk off without another thought towards Nikki’s request.

“Please, Wren.” His voice was low as he tried to keep a hushed tone so Tommy and Rick wouldn’t hear him pleading with her, and Wren turned back to face Nikki with a confident and victorious smirk on her lips.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Wren said softly in reply before she disappeared into the kitchen and pulled the phone from its receiver. The ad had been hanging on Nikki’s fridge under a Bowie magnet ever since the night she found it, so Wren was able to punch in the number quickly as Nikki and Tommy launched into one of their songs.

“Huh?” A man’s voice grunted over the line.

“I’m looking for a loud, rude, guitar player,” she said under the rumbling of Nikki’s bass and the thumping of Tommy’s drums as they rattled the small apartment’s thin walls. “Know where I can find one?”

“I just might,” the voice responded. “Mick Mars.”

“Wren Ledden,” she responded quickly to use Tommy’s drum solo to hide the rest of her conversation from Rick’s potentially prying ears. “Can you be here in fifteen?”

“Make it ten,” Mick responded before he added a curt ‘goodbye’ and hung up. As Wren hung up the phone, she could hear Nikki grumbling as he wailed the proper progression of chords on Rick’s guitar for the umpteenth time that week. Wren laughed at her best friend’s awestruck face; she thought that after hanging around Nikki for this long Tommy would at least be a little immune to the star-struck gleam he currently wore, however she continued to be proven wrong.

Nikki’s face perked up in curious anticipation when Wren entered the room, and Tommy’s expression quickly mimicked that of their new friend. Nikki had already familiarized himself with the fact that Wren was wearing a pair of tight blue jeans with a Rolling Stones t-shirt tucked into the waistband, yet he still had to fight his instinct to let his eyes trail over her chest and hips. She approached him with a few gingerly strides before she raised up onto her toes to whisper in his ear, “Your boy will be here in ten,” and then sank away into the guest bedroom of the apartment, leaving only hope and a fraction of an old marching band solo lingering with the boys in the living room.

Wren’s parting notes hung in an air of mystery around Nikki’s ears as Tommy nostalgically began to play his accompanying part from the show on the trap set’s snare drum. He chuckled as his mind traveled back to memories of him and Wren goofing around on their instruments, and Nikki felt a wave of yearning nostalgia wash over him as he imagined being a part of their world.

Nikki’s eyes had followed Wren as she walked away, his mind distracted with thoughts of what they could be if it was him who had grown to know every part of her over the past six years, and not Tommy. He’d almost forgotten about everyone else’s presence, but he didn’t care; if simply having Wren around was enough to curb his frustration and temper, everyone else could wait on him to decompress with the imaginary ‘what ifs’ circling his head.

“What the fuck do you think you’re looking at?” Tommy’s gasp sent Nikki’s stomach spinning and he quickly pulled his attention to the people he’d been ignoring. As his eyes flicked over to where Tommy sat at his drum kit, he noticed that he wasn’t the subject of the teen’s outburst. “Yo, Earth to Rick!” Ease fell over Nikki’s muscles, and he felt safe enough to loosen his grip on the fret of his bass. Normally Rick avoided Wren at all costs—both Tommy and Nikki found it hilarious how clammy he became whenever Wren entered the room—but neither knew if it was due to an obviously unrequited sexual tension or a genuine fear of her.

“Nikki looks at your girl all the time, and you don’t say shit to him,” Rick retorted in his own defense.

“She’s not—ugh!” Tommy jumped from his seat at the trap set and wandered into the kitchen in search of a beer while Nikki let out a small sigh of relief over the fact that Tommy was more concerned in making sure Rick knew he wasn’t dating Wren than to address the looks Nikki often exchanged with her. However, with Tommy gone, Rick lowered his voice and moved closer to Nikki.

“Do you both hit that?” he asked softly.

“What the fuck, man?” Tommy again gasped in shock at Rick’s words, only this time he retaliated by throwing one of his drumsticks at the pudgy guitarist.

“You and Nikki,” Rick restated as he thought of a way to rephrase his question to appeal to his slightly younger counterparts. “You’re both sticking it in her, right? Like all three of you are a ‘couple’.” The man again paused as he took in the look his bandmates were giving him. Tommy’s body was more still than it had ever been as his mind tried to process how Rick had come to that conclusion. Nikki on the other hand had a cross between a look of perversion as well as a smug grimace. “I mean, I’m not judging or anything if that’s what you’re all into, but how do I—?”

“Don’t even finish that question, or we’ll have to kick your ass,” Nikki grunted low enough to keep Wren from hearing him in the other room.

“Better yet,” Tommy interjected with a smirk, “we could let her kick his ass.” He chuckled as his words sent a wave of crimson flowing through Rick’s cheeks.

“He’ll probably get off on it, fucking pervert,” Nikki scoffed as he watched Rick’s moderately confrontational behavior subside into total submission. Nikki’s smirk widened as he noticed the embarrassment coursing through Rick’s body. “Fuck, he’s getting a semi just thinking about it!” Tommy laughed along at Nikki’s insults until Rick rolled his eyes and made yet another attempt at the intro to ‘Live Wire.’ The other two band members stifled their laughter and rushed to hit their opening notes; all the while, Nikki toted his bass across his body in a way to block his own slowly growing erection as his mind went down the dangerous path that was Wren Ledden.

Within seconds of the song’s opening notes, or rather Nikki and Tommy’s opening notes, since Wren could hardly hear Rick over them, she reappeared, curious to see if Rick could nail the proper chords, but also interested in watching the pure look of ecstasy overwhelm her best friend whenever he performed, and the grimace of irritation that always flooded Nikki’s face during Rick’s performance of ‘Live Wire’. Not even fifteen seconds into the song, Nikki had his hand held up in an attempt to silence Tommy and Rick’s instruments.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” he called out, his eyes fixed on Rick. “What the fuck, dude? That’s not what I showed you, man!”

“Yeah, I know but,” Rick took a small pause as if evaluating his tone before he continued, “it’s not like anything I’ve ever played before.”

Nikki’s eyes widened as he looked past Rick to Wren with disbelief radiating from his posture. In an exasperated sigh, both Nikki and Wren muttered, “That’s the point,” in response to the sad excuse Rick had offered, subsequently forcing him to hear their complaint in surround sound. “Let’s just take a break,” Nikki sighed as Wren walked past the band. She pinched the bridge of her nose and quickly exited the apartment with Nikki at her heels and Tommy following him.

“You’re overpowering him,” Wren muttered as she sipped on a fresh, cold bottle of beer.

“I’m hardly playing,” Nikki snapped back, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned against the outside wall of the apartment. Wren offered him a sip her drink and he took the bottle eagerly. As he pressed the cool glass to his mouth, the taste of peppermint lingered on his lips from the residue of her Chapstick, and suddenly the anxious ache that manifested in the pit of his stomach when he initially thought Tommy was snapping at him for staring at Wren was back.

“Come on, he’s trying,” Tommy said in an attempt to ease tension.

“It just doesn’t feel right,” Nikki murmured to no one in particular as he handed Wren her drink, careful to not graze her fingers in the process.

“He’s a rhythm guy, anyway. We’ll sound better when we find a lead.” Tommy lit a smoke and they both watched as Wren took three large gulps in an attempt to quickly finish her drink.

“You don’t need another ‘rhythm guy,’” Wren huffed as she pulled the bottle away from her lips. “You need a guitarist.” As her words hung in the air around the trio, Wren, Nikki, and Tommy watched as a faded orange piece of shit pulled up to the curb in front of what was now their apartment.

“Holy shit,” Nikki said through a laugh as Wren shoved the beer bottle into his hands.

“Check this dude out,” Tommy commented as he made his way to help the man unload his car with Wren not far behind him.

“Ask and you shall receive,” she teased as she glanced upward at Nikki from where she stood below him on the stairs. He couldn’t help the thin smile that overcame his face as he watched her bound down the steps, and he again tried to suppress the feelings that overcame him as he watched Wren’s fingers comb through her long brown hair as it fell down her back.

At the bottom of the steps, Tommy grabbed hold of the stranger’s amplifier as Wren helped him ease it out of the trunk. Nikki maintained eye contact with the man who had pulled himself from the driver’s seat, and began to make his way down the steps as well with a slow saunter in his step.

“I got a call from Wren,” the man who had introduced himself on the phone as Mick said as what appeared as two teenagers—a tall gangly boy and a plainly dressed girl—immediately heaved his amp from the trunk of his car.

“That’s Wren,” Tommy stated as he took one of his hands off the amp to point at the girl across from him, only to receive a grunt of irritation from her followed by swift chastisement.

“Both hands, Tommy,” Wren huffed as she heaved the amp up onto her hip during Tommy’s lackadaisical assistance. “Even though I’m already carrying most of the damn thing.” Her comment earned a small chuckle from Mick, which was probably the first facial expression besides the foreboding scowl that seemed to permanently rest over his face. Wren brought her eyes to the man again. He was older, not old by any means, but significantly older than she and Tommy were, and at least four or five few years older than Nikki. Mick had pale skin with frown lines framing his lips, dark, overly teased hair that seemed to match Nikki’s, and he wore smudged eyeliner around his pale blue eyes.

“I’m Tommy, the drummer,” he introduced himself, only to receive a grunted comment from the newcomer.

“You’re a little scrawny for a drummer,” Mick stated, his voice dry and outwardly indifferent. A laughing smirk rose to the girl’s face as she continued to listen to Mick drag her friend about his size and previous performing acts as Tommy shared his Suite 19 background with Mick. Anyone who could shoot the shit with Tommy and get him as riled up as she could was a solid character in her book, so she gave him a kind smile once she, Tommy, and Mick reached the top of the stairs and Mick tenderly took over the tedious task of carrying the amp indoors and setting it up.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this guy,” Wren stated over the sound of Nikki’s boots thumping against the stairs as he grew closer to her position in front of the apartment.

“I bet you do,” Nikki said in a sultry voice as he bit his lower lip, gently thrusted his hips against the air, and then moaned. Wren rolled her eyes shoved her palms against the portion of Nikki’s chest that was covered up by his tucked in, black button up shirt.

“Shut the fuck up, Sixx,” Wren laughed as she pulled the bottle from his hands, tipped her head back, and finished off the beer.

“Is that why you and Tommy aren’t a thing?” he pestered as Wren scoffed at his comment. “You like ‘em old?” Again, Wren slapped his chest and narrowed her eyes at him.

“-er. Old-er,” she specified.

Boys her own age weren’t interesting and had little to offer in any respect: financial, worldly experience, emotional support, sexual prowess, you name it. Not that her sexual or dating preference mattered in the least, considering no one was ever interested in her. She’d spent her life as one of the guys—a bro with boobs, Tommy with tits. Romantic relationships weren’t a strong suit for Wren so she avoided them as much as she could, leading to most of her relationships with guys to become what she has with Tommy, except on a much smaller scale. Tommy was a brother to her, and she could never imagine getting as close with anyone else. He knew her at her ups and downs, he stayed by her side through the good and the bad, and she had done the same for him. Nothing could separate them, and she’d be damned if anyone ever tried to. But Nikki would never understand Tommy’s ability to be so emotionally and physically close to Wren and not feel something for her sexually. Even now, standing outside of what is technically their apartment, Nikki couldn’t fathom how Tommy has woken up to see Wren in his home and fallen asleep knowing she was a two second walk away, and not want to at least know what it’s like to kiss her. Hell, he’d wanted to lean down and figure that out the moment she wised up to him in the men’s room, and if he didn’t have a semblance of self-control, he’d do it now; but Tommy was watching them, Mick was waiting, and Rick had been suspicious of Nikki from the second he noticed the way Nikki’s eyes lingered on Wren whenever she wasn’t looking.

“Not old,” she recapped as Nikki generously took the empty bottle away from where Wren’s nervous fingers were spinning it.

“I’m older, y’know,” Nikki said as he puffed out his chest, arranging himself into the same upright posture he’d stood over her in during their meeting in the bathroom. Wren took notice of Nikki’s change in demeanor and pretended to give Mick the same up and down examination she knew Nikki gave her.

“I do know, but Mick’s not old, just older,” she said as an addendum to her previous comment. The arrogant smile over Nikki’s face fell as a small chuckle escaped his lips; it was the first true laugh Wren had heard from the man since meeting him, and she couldn’t help but smile upon realizing she was the reason such a kind and gentle noise came from such a dark and brooding man.

With a cocky smirk, Nikki turned around, slung his arm over Wren’s shoulders, and took a step toward the open apartment door. It took a week for Wren to grow accustom to Nikki’s protective gestures, and another week afterwards when she discovered he only acted this way whenever he felt threatened in some way. Wren had come to the realization very early on that Tommy only acted protective over her when he felt she’d gotten herself into a dangerous situation or if some creep was trying to cop a feel. Nikki was different. Whenever someone passed him a sideways glare, commented on his outward appearance or attitude, or did something that would make Wren feel like shit had she been on the receiving end, Nikki would slip an arm around her or look into her eyes for a moment longer than he normally would. It was almost as if he found confidence in being around her or associated with her, and it made Wren feel both powerful and weak.

She was certain Nikki didn’t know she knew about this, and in all honesty, she wasn’t sure he knew why he felt drawn to her in the moments that he did. When she first figured out what he was doing, she felt strange; it was awkward for her to even consider she was a lightning rod for someone. How could she, of all people, be the person another human being felt safe enough around and had enough trust in to ground them in moments of stress? Regardless of her disbelief, in this moment, as they entered the apartment together, his arm draped across her shoulders, both laughing at some hidden joke between the pair, a gnawing thought entered her mind. He’s insecure. He’s holding you because he’s insecure. He’s insecure because of the conversation…because of the joke about Mick.

As they crossed into the threshold of the apartment, Wren slipped from Nikki’s embrace and leaned her shoulder against the doorframe. Through the light raucous inside, she could hear Nikki’s now flat voice asking Mick if he’s looked over the music yet and if he was ready to start. The man hardly skimmed the page before he plugged in his guitar and let out a low and gravely command, “Let’s just fucking play.”

From the second Mick strummed the song’s first note, Nikki’s face was flushed with awe. This is what he’d been waiting for; this is who he’d been waiting for. The song was almost too easy for Mick, and Wren noticed the older man’s eyes flicker toward poor Rick, who struggled to keep up with the ever-rushing tempo that was an excited Tommy Lee hammering away at the snare and cymbals. Her eyebrows furrowed in anticipation of what would happen next, and she took in Mick’s bitter eye roll. Without a second thought, Mick stomped on his loop pedal, and jumped into his own, improvised solo. Upon hearing what Mick was truly capable, Nikki’s eyes widened to reveal the full beauty of his hazel orbs, Tommy’s jaw dropped and he let out a loud ‘Hell yeah!’ as he became entranced in the scene unfolding before him, and Wren bit down on her lower lip while her eyes narrowed over the man standing in the center of the living room. She didn’t notice Nikki or Tommy’s faces flash her way, not so secretly seeking her judgement and approval, she didn’t even notice Rick was still in the room, all she could focus on was the ease with which Mick Mars played and the fact that, with him, the band would be a perfect balance of sound inside the confines of organized chaos which Nikki was seeking to create.

“Hey, whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up!” Suddenly Wren’s eyes were widened, her body no longer moving along to the rhythm produced by the drums and bass, but tense and evaluating the need of fight or flight. “D’you mind turning it down a bit, old timer?” Rick sneered toward the newest face in the room. “I can’t hear myself.”

“Would that really be the worst thing?” Wren snorted as she smugly peeled herself from the wall and made her way to stand beside Tommy.

“Nobody asked for your opinion, Wren,” Rick snapped before he turned back to his guitar to practice the same series of notes Mick perfected with one glance at the sheet.

“Hey, man,” Tommy interjected, distracted enough by Rick’s comment to stop twirling his drumstick for a split second.

“In case you haven’t noticed, Tommy and I ask for her opinion on shit every damn day,” Nikki spat as he pointed a stiff finger in Rick’s direction while his other fingers still clenched his pick.

In an acrimonious whisper, Mick turned to Nikki and said, “The fucking hippie ain’t gonna make it.” Wren’s lips curled into an obvious sneer and she raised her eyebrows sardonically. Catching a glance at the look that crossed Wren’s face when listening to Mick, as well as the expression she currently wore, Nikki turned back to Mick and whispered something just out of earshot of both Tommy and Wren. Before either of the younger two knew it, Mick turned briskly on his heel and spoke in that short, dry tone that Wren nearly immediately respected. “Listen to me, there’s only room for one guitar player in this band and it’s me, so why don’t you go pack up your toys and go home.” The room froze as the words leaving Mick’s mouth hovered in the air around them. If Mick was successful in getting Rick to leave, Wren was certain they’d have their band exactly as they wanted it; Rick being gone was simply an added bonus.

“I was here first,” Rick stated, clearly aghast as to whether or not the others would allow some random man from a newspaper ad to come in off the street and start changing the band’s lineup. “Tommy, tell him.” As his name left Rick’s lips, Tommy dropped his sticks to the floor in a desperate attempt to avoid eye contact and an impending confrontation with the man he felt they had misled.

“Smooth,” Wren said so low under her breath that only Tommy had caught on.

“Nikki?” Clearly Rick was desperate if he was about to plead to Nikki to keep him in the band. He didn’t have to look at Wren to know it was right to let Rick go, but damn he wanted to if only to see how her strong jaw sat firmly, her lips either pursed together or pulled into a tight smirk, her eyes fiercely staring down whatever obstacle that stood in her way. “Come on.” His voice had lost the faux confidence he was trying to pass off and he quickly grew aggravated at everyone in the room. “Really? You’re going to side with this old dude over me?”

“Look, Rick,” Wren sighed as she shifted her weight from one foot to another and her hands rested gingerly on her hips. “Don’t take it personally. Mick’s got the sound we’re looking for and you—well, you’re struggling.”

“Fuck you, Wren,” Rick huffed before turning his eyes to the others, “and fuck you guys too! You’d rather have some old dude in the band to pass her around to fu—”

“Wait, what?” Wren snapped as her arms fell to her sides and her eyes narrowed in a fierce anger as she took a step towards the band’s set up.

“Get the fuck out,” Nikki and Tommy snapped at the same time, each of them pointing toward the door with their eyes fixated on their now ex-guitarist. Wren’s eyes danced between the two before she shook her head decided to pester Tommy about it later.

“Dude’s a piece of work,” Mick murmured to himself as he turned his attention to his instrument and studied his fret as if it was the first time he’d seen a guitar. There wasn’t a doubt in Wren’s mind he was doing this to avoid meeting the awkward gaze of the obviously temperamental eyes of either of his new bandmates.

“You can say that again,” Wren muttered as she gently placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder to try and calm her best friend’s anger and make the room a bit more hospitable for the band’s newest member.

“Hey, how old are you anyway, Mick?” Tommy then asked as genuine curiosity piqued his interest. His eyes had fallen over the man and lingered, allowing him to get a better look at Mick than he had before.

“Shut the fuck up, you fucking teenager,” Mick grunted without even looking Tommy in the eye, which earned a smug laugh from both Nikki and Wren. Out of instinct, she rested a reassuring hand on her friend’s back and pulled him into a light hug upon seeing the look of confused shock cross over his usually jubilant face. “If you really need to know though,” Mick continued as he turned to face the rest of the band, “I’m old enough to know better than to waste my time fucking around with a bunch of rug monkeys. I’m paying child support and sleeping on park benches, so I need to know that you’re not pulling dick here, because I’m looking to go the distance.” As Nikki and Tommy internalized the words Mick had spoken, their eyes took in the man’s blasé and upfront disclosure, and perhaps, for the first time they came to the realization that they could be as good as they dreamed they’d be. “If that’s not you guys, don’t waste my fucking time.” Mick’s small, icy eyes locked onto Nikki’s before turning toward Tommy.

In usual Nikki fashion, completely unintimidated by anything or anyone, his momentarily somber face flicked up into a chuckle as he sighed, “I fucking love this weird little guy.” His comment earned an agreeing laugh from Tommy, but Wren remained still and silent. She stood between Tommy and Nikki, the full weight of Mick’s words stretching over her chest as she let her own cold eyes linger over Mick’s posture. At first, the elder of the group had rolled his eyes, most likely coming to the conclusion that the men before him were a bunch of naïve shits when it came to the difficulty of the industry, but upon seeing the determined and focused young woman hidden behind the two terrors, his gut wretched in realization that this—whatever this group would become—would only make it if they had her.

“What is it that you do here, sweetheart?” Mick asked as his eyes continued to look past the two boys before him.

“Keep these two in check, make adjustments to their sound, odds and ends shit, you know?” Wren tried to keep her voice flat and uninterested in the conversation, because it was a question that made her uncomfortable. She wanted to be more important than she made herself out to be, and whenever Tommy spoke about her, she seemed to be important to the forming band, but she had her doubts. After all, what would happen to her when they made it big and had a real manager?

“So, no instrument skills, vocals, nothing?” Mick asked, his voice still straightforward and curt, but Wren didn’t take it to be as harsh as Tommy seemed to.

“I play the saxophone,” Wren admitted in an easy tone while Nikki and Tommy’s energy tapered down and they slowly began to pass beers out to both Mick and Wren.

“Are you into the blues?” In his question, Wren detected the first change in tone Mick had expressed since she called him on the phone. He seemed intrigued at the idea of the blues, and Wren decided to lighten up a bit in hopes that he would as well.

“Yeah, and jazz, but there’s not much use for that in a punk or metal band,” she responded before Tommy could cut her odd.

“She sings too,” Tommy quickly spoke in an attempt to defend Wren’s worth that he assumed she’d cut down herself. “She also has the most finely tuned ear for music and the scene.” To Wren’s eyes, Mick seemed convinced, but the boys were still hesitant to believe he thought of her as anything other than an early groupie.

“She recruited your ass,” Nikki’s voice sputtered as he took a swig of his freshly opened second bottle of beer.

“You sing for us?” Mick questioned, completely ignoring the remainder of Tommy’s comment as well as Nikki completely. “Rock? Metal?” Wren repositioned her jaw by dropping it slightly and poking her chin forward all while keeping her lips sealed.

“These two fuckheads haven’t heard me sing, and you probably won’t either,” Wren stated sharply and Mick figured he’d struck a chord. With an unspoken prompting that Wren respected on Mick’s part, she continued. “I was trained in classical from the second I could talk, I used to sing in rock and punk bands in high school, I taught Tommy how to play piano when we were fourteen, I’ve been playing sax for as long as I can remember, and the odds of anyone hearing anything from me musically are slim to fucking none.”

“May I ask why?” Mick questioned boldly, something Tommy had never tried to do—he figured Wren would come around one day—and something Nikki had never thought of doing—to him, if someone has baggage they don’t want to unpack, they should keep that shit zipped up.

“Because no one gives a fuck about what I do anyway; good or bad, no one fucking cares,” Wren huffed as she slipped her fingers around the neck of Nikki’s beer and twisted up her insides with the amber liquid. Tommy’s face fell at his friend’s words and as he filled with shame, he gnawed anxiously at the inside of his lips. Nikki could feel his heart sinking into the despair he knew as a child as he came to the same realization Wren had spoken, only he would never be bold enough to voice his fears. “But you guys have a shot,” Wren added sternly through the solemn atmosphere she’d created, “even if these two are fuck-heads”.

“Well then, if you refuse to do it, does someone mind telling me who does the singing in this band?” Mick asked as Nikki and Tommy made their way to the tattered old couch Wren always assumed Nikki had taken from the side of some road.  Mick leaned against his amplifier, his eyes looking from the boys to Wren and back, and Wren lowered herself onto the couch and waited as Tommy and Nikki joined her.

“We need someone who looks like David Lee Roth with the vibe of fucking Bowie,” Nikki commented as he popped the top off another beer since Wren had finished off the bottle he’d opened for himself moments earlier. “And I’m not about to settle for some regular looking, random fucking asshole.” She thought on his comment for a long moment and realized that Nikki had a pretty good idea of what he wanted this band to be. She figured, on his own judgement, they could survive without her and that sinking feeling of never being good enough settled in the pit of her stomach. Wren swallowed hard and then jumped to grab herself another beer, holding high hopes it would help wash away her feelings of inadequacy.

“So,” Mick sighed as he took a sip from his beer, “we’re looking for a skinny blonde fucker with moves.” Wren already had a few potential candidates in mind and had been weighing their Roth-to-Bowie factor when Mick so eloquently narrowed down the search for her.

“Tommy,” she eagerly called out while slapping her friend’s leg from where she sat, her voice full of an excitement she didn’t expect to revisit today. There was a danger in how involved she had become with this band; it gave her joy and a sense of accomplishment to help form this crew of misfits, and she loved every moment spent with them with her whole being. It killed her to think that one day, she would be obsolete to them, that no one she’d helped bring together would feel they had any use for her anymore, and drop her after using her to get a head in the game…as if she were just some early groupie.

“Wren,” he mimicked in the same tone she’d used.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Am I?” he questioned as Wren’s long strides finally made it to the couch and she wedged herself beside Tommy with almost no regards to Nikki’s presence other than the fact that she was practically sitting on his lap until he moved over.

“You’re talking about drawing a crowd—appealing to every demographic. Anyone with half a sense of rhythm will come for the music, you’ve got dark brooding talent over there to appeal to a slightly older age group,” Wren specified as she jutted a finger toward Mick, “angst, aggression, and anger over here for the anarchist,” she again said then pointed over her shoulder at Nikki, “and a kid drummer to pull in the younger crowd. Now think about it, what demographic is missing?”

“Fuck, chicks!” Tommy huffed.

“And as good looking of a bunch as you are, Nikki and Mick aren’t ones for friendly faces and you’re hiding in the back; so, what blonde fucker do we both know who pulls chicks like no one we’ve ever met?” Not even a second ticked past before Tommy’s face lit up in realization.

“Do you think he’ll do it?” Tommy questioned as both he and Wren zoned out and focused solely on their conversation, subsequently forgetting everyone else in the room.

“Who?” Nikki’s question was a muffled puff of air over Wren’s shoulder as her attention remained fixated on her best friend.

“He’s got big dreams and I’m pretty sure Rock Candy isn’t going anywhere; per Mick’s astute observation: shitty name, shitty band.” Wren continued.

“Are you okay with it?” Tommy’s next question confused Wren and he immediately recognized her muddled expression. “I mean, there’s always been competition between you two.”

“Even if I sang publicly, do you really think I’d bring in as huge of a female following as him?”

“I can think of a couple ways you might be able to,” Nikki said under his breath and the assumption they would continue to tune him out.

“Kinky, Sixx, but I’ll stick with my current type,” Wren said as she turned her face to where only Nikki would see the wink she flashed him. Suddenly, she was all too aware of their proximity to one another on the couch. She had her body positioned so that her shoulders were squared with Tommy’s, her hips were resting sideways on the couch with her legs stretched out across the floor. She tried not to think about the fact that her ass was pressed up against Nikki’s leg, but upon this realization, she couldn’t ignore even the slightest movement of his legs against her rear. “Well, if we’re thinking about the same person and you’re cool with it,” Tommy clarifies once again with Wren, “then I think we know our guy, dudes.”

Chapter Text

Mick returned home after practicing with the band for an hour or two, and Tommy and Wren decided to crash at Nikki's. It was something they'd done plenty of times before after a long day of rehearsing, only now it felt different. That night would be the first the three spent as roommates, which would become a ride crazier than any of them could imagine.

“Are you going to sleep on the floor every night then?” Nikki asked as he stood in the doorway of the guest room that would soon become either Wren or Tommy’s room. The bed was clear of everything besides Wren’s jeans and t-shirt, and Tommy laid stretched out across the dingy carpet.

“Where else is there in here?” he retorted.

“You both don’t have to sleep in here,” Nikki commented as he tried to hide some sort of ugly tone he couldn’t quite identify. “One of you can take the couch.” Tommy sat up and shrugged his shoulders.

“I’ll do that once we’re moved in and all, but I don’t mind chilling with her.”

“You’re not even going to consider making her take the couch?” Nikki asked. The question came out rude and arrogant, but he intended his tone to express the impression he got of Tommy by his answer. He didn’t know anyone who cared for their friends as much as Tommy and Wren cared for one another.

“She’s tough and strong, and doesn’t take shit from anyone, but she only got that way by having everything taken from her. She doesn’t trust easily and she sure as shit doesn’t trust open spaces or strangers. She’s like a dog in the sense that if she likes someone, you know that’s a solid dude, because her judgement isn’t something you’ll ever need to question.” Tommy had stood during this small spiel and was looking at Nikki from a downward angle.

“What happened?” Nikki asked as he glanced up at Tommy, making sure to look past the small tears that formed in his new friend’s eyes at the mere thought of his best friend’s suffering.

“That’s something she has to tell you, not me.” Tommy glanced down to Nikki’s hands and noticed the clothes he held in a wadded-up ball. “Those for her?” Nikki nodded and then shoved the black band shirt and tattered old sweat pants against Tommy’s chest. Tommy wandered into the apartment’s single bathroom and laid the clothes on the counter, because Tommy had the freedom to do so, because Tommy is the one Wren met as a kid and Tommy was the one she trusted with her life. Nikki tried to ignore the simmering resentment within his core as he reminded himself that he can’t change the fact that he hadn't met Wren sooner.

“At least you know her now,” he sighed to himself, took a step back from Tommy and Wren’s temporarily shared room, and mad his way into the living room. Tommy lingered in the living room and held an old pair of borrowed shorts from Nikki in his hand as he waited outside of the bathroom. Quickly, Wren and Tommy traded places, and before Nikki knew it, the brunette babe he’d been experiencing so many conflicting emotions toward had joined him on the couch. Her legs were covered with his old pants and he silently cursed himself for even offering them up to her. Then again, he had a respect for her that kept him from actively indulging in an attempt to violate the trust she supposedly had in him, according to Tommy.

“Look,” she sighed as she sat down on the opposite end of the couch as him and stretched her legs out across the cushions. “I know this doesn’t need to be said, and honestly knowing us, we probably don’t want this conversation to happen at all, so I’m just going to say thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” Nikki muttered, “you two spend enough time here anyway, just thought it’d be easier if you lived here.” Wren nodded her head slightly as Nikki misunderstood her thankfulness.

“I meant for including me with the band,” she said as she absent-mindedly buried her feet under Nikki’s legs, a habitual act she’d done with Tommy for years. Instead of giving her a smirk and wiggling his eyebrows at her initiation of physical contact, Nikki simply adjusted himself on the couch so that she could comfortably position her feet below him; a subconscious action that took both of them by surprise.

“Why are you thanking me?” he asked. With his hair gone flat, black leather abandoned, and dressed in a rather soft looking shirt with equally soft pants covering her toes, Wren saw a different side of Nikki. She didn’t know him well—the ins and outs of his life were as much of a mystery to her as hers were to him—but in that moment, wearing his clothes, hair dripping onto the collar of a cigarette and cologne scented shirt, both of their rigid exteriors had vanished. “Do you really think Tommy or Mick are thanking me?”

“They auditioned and earned their spot,” Wren commented. “I just wandered into the diner and sat down with Tommy.” Nikki tipped his head back and sighed before turning back to face Wren.

“No, you didn’t,” he scoffed as he took in the gentle features of Wren’s face, which he’d so frequently overlooked due to her sharp jaw and piercing eyes. “You wandered into a men’s room, confident enough to assert dominance over the biggest asshole there just to see a show. You picked out Mick’s ad before anyone else and had the follow through to fucking call him. If tomorrow goes well, you will have also found our singer. I don’t give a fuck about if you ever pick up an instrument with us, you’re as important to the band as Mick, Tommy, or even me. Understand?” Wren nodded lightly and fluffed her wet hair with her fingers as Nikki’s hand came to rest gently on her shin. “Good, now tell me about this Vince guy. Why did Tommy ask if you were okay with him? You two didn’t used to—”

“Fuck, Nikki, why do you always assume I’m trying to fuck the rest of your band? I’m not your damn groupie.”

“That’s not—” upon seeing the smirk falling over Wren’s lips and hearing the soft and intoxicating laugh that left her lungs, Nikki shook his head and changed his tone away from its initially defensive nature. “Fuck off, Wren,” he laughed as she wriggled her feet from underneath him and he reached for her hand to pull her closer toward him. He hated how he felt compelled to hold her close in certain moments, to smell the gentle scent of coconuts and mint that wafted from her hair and skin, but damn it, he didn’t want to ever forget what that combination smelled like.

“You fuck off, Sixx,” she muttered in response as he put an arm around her and she leaned into his embrace, just as she had earlier that day. “Vince got into singing when he transferred to our high school. He was a prick, surfer kid who didn’t give a damn about anything. Once he and his band had this huge house party at his house, and when his parents came home in the middle of it and saw him performing, they sat and watched! My parents, on the other hand would verbally abuse me if anyone came close to taking first chair from me in choir.” Nikki’s silence lingered long enough for Wren to feel comfortable continuing her story. “I never told Tommy this, but I used to sing in a rock band on the house party circuit. When my parents found out, the scolded me in a way that kept me from being able to sit for a week. Vince and I ran into one another on the circuit a few times, and he always hated me for the comments he got. Sure, everyone loved him, but the only criticism he received was, ‘You should model your sound after Wren!’ Being someone who was always loved, he didn’t really like hearing that, but I had to be better than him, than everyone really if I didn’t want to face a beating.”

“Did you ever explain to him?” Nikki asked as a lump rose into his throat. He’d resented his parents for their neglect and abandonment, and although he had considered how much worse his childhood would have been had his parents whipped him around, they would have been doing it out of anger and spite, not to psychologically associate failure with abuse, as Wren’s family clearly did.

“Vince?” she asked with a scoff in her voice. “If you’re a girl, Vince doesn’t acknowledge your existence unless there’s something he can get for giving you attention.”

“And you wouldn’t give him anything?” Nikki asked with a moderate look of pride on his face that fell when Wren shook her head.

“I would never stoop to that level, but he never wanted anything from me,” she admitted. Wren’s appearance, both her beauty and edge, took dedication and patience. She’d experienced bullying for the majority of her time in school, was never one of the stereotypically pretty girls with their petite frames and Barbie like features—she was tall and athletic with curves like a woman, not a girl, and for quite a long time wore baggy clothes to hide the fact that she was starving at home, bruised, and scarred. Tommy was the first to break down her walls, which explained why she was so close to him than the rest of the world. Then there was Nikki, sitting here holding her as if they’d known one another forever.

“His fucking loss,” Nikki said softly against the side of her head, his voice getting lost in her damp hair as he once again breathed in the minty coconut smell. Both Wren and Nikki could have stayed wrapped together on the couch all night long, his arm around her shoulders, her resting gently against his chest, two broken souls trying to mend through the other without either knowing what was truly going on; but the sound of Tommy slipping in the tub as the water shut off shocked both parties back to reality. She was a part of the band, she was close to Tommy, she found Mick and quickly bonded with him, and she knows the potential lead singer. Nikki couldn’t risk a Yoko Ono situation, regardless of how high his heart felt when she was pressed against him.

“I’m going to go to bed,” Wren said softly as she adjusted how his shirt fell around her body. “See you in the morning, Nikki.” She only took two soft steps across the carpet, before Nikki’s fingers were wrapped around Wren’s hand—his thumb pressed into her palm and his fingers tracing the bones on the top of her hand. That damned curious expression that sent Nikki’s heart jumping to his throat crossed her face. Her eyes danced between their intertwined hands and Nikki’s gentle expression, her lips were tense as she tried to keep them from curling into a smile, and Nikki loosened his tender grasp on her hand with a subtle laugh as he smiled at the ground.

“Stick with me tomorrow, when we go to check out Vince,” Nikki stated.

“What? Why?” Wren asked, skeptical of his words and intentions.

“Oh, come on, Wren,” Nikki huffed. The sound of Tommy tripping once again alerted them both to the urgency of which they needed to finish their conversation. “Don’t pretend like you don’t want that asshole to eat shit for never looking at you in high school.”

“Thanks for the offer, Nikki, but I never cared about it then; why would I give a shit now?” Nikki’s shoulders raised and then fell quickly as his head rolled from one shoulder to the other.

“Let me know if you change your mind,” Nikki replied as he flashed his teeth through such a sweet smile at Wren. A smile crossed her face as she turned toward the guest room, but Nikki had called her attention to him once more. “Take my room tonight. I’m going to sleep on the couch,” he stated as he paced past her to grab one of the extra pillows from the guest room. Seeing as there was no use in arguing, Wren nodded sleepily and gave a weary smile as she disappeared down the hall and beyond the door to Nikki’s room. With the door closed, Wren curled up in his bed. It was a simple room that was mostly bare, with the exception of a dark comforter and pillows, and posters or fliers from all of Nikki’s old bands. She tried to ignore the smile that crept onto her face as she smelt Nikki on the shirt she wore and the pillows her head rested on, but for some reason, that damned boy was impossible to get out of her head. Wren drifted to sleep with Nikki’s words repeating in her head as she buried herself beneath the warmth of blankets that were strewn across his bed.

When Tommy exited the shower, he couldn’t ignore the expression on Nikki’s face that seemed to tango between a smile and a smirk. He decided against going to sleep right away, and made his way into the kitchen to drink one last beer before bed. “What’s got you in a smile?” he teased Nikki as he joined in him the living room. Nikki laid out across the couch and rested his feet on the arm rest as he turned his head to face Tommy. Words couldn’t leave Nikki’s mouth because his mind was too preoccupied with his conversation with Wren. He couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said earlier when Mick was around, and now he couldn’t look past how negatively she viewed herself.

“Wren was just telling me about Vince,” Nikki stated, a hiss strung out across the man’s name.

“Yeah, she’s pretty bitter about him,” Tommy explained. “Did she mention her folks?” Nikki nodded his head slightly and pursed his lips in aggravation. “Yeah,” Tommy sighed as pain engulfed him yet again.

“Fuck them,” Nikki said in an attempt to keep Tommy from dwelling too much on the negative aspects of their friend’s life.

“Right?” Tommy nodded in agreement to keep the tears that normally fell in regards to his memories of Wren and her parents. “Also, Vince?”

“What about him?” Tommy asked as he picked up his sticks and began to twirl them to keep himself from getting too jittery before bed.

“Why did you ask Wren if she was okay with him being part of the band?” Nikki prompted in hopes of uncovering the full story. Tommy’s eyes flicked from one side of the room to the other, hesitant to speak incase Wren randomly appeared. Upon realizing she was sleeping soundly in the next room, Tommy spoke again.

“Wren’s been brash and bold for years, but before that, she was a pushover. A lot of people took advantage of her because she was so nice, and Vince was one of those people. She was so sweet and kind for someone who listened to such heavy music and wearing such dark clothes and makeup—and that kindness is still there, but it’s not as readily available. As you could imagine, she’s always been a knock-out,” Tommy quickly noticed the uneasy look that spread across Nikki’s face as he brought up Wren’s appearance. “She’s always been fit, big tits, nice ass, but she never gave it up. Vince was a popular guy, I always liked him and we hung out at parties and shit, but we drifted ways after he started a rumor that would gain his reputation. Well, when we were sixteen, he told everyone he’d shacked up with Wren, which led to a lot of girls dragging her for being a slut, and a lot of guys trying to fuck her.”

“Did she?” Nikki’s voice was weak, and Tommy pretended not to notice this change.

“Fuck no!” Tommy puffed as he kept his voice low. Tommy stared out across the room at Nikki as he lied on his back, eyes locked on the ceiling, and his hands draped over his chest. Tommy could see the tension spreading across Nikki’s chest, he saw the smile that slipped over his face whenever she spouted a snarky response, the way Nikki loosened up around Wren, the way he’d pull her closer sometimes, but more importantly, he noticed the way Wren would lightly lean into him, how she didn’t flinch or harden her expression whenever he looked at her the way she did with every other man besides himself. “Hey, keep an eye on her tomorrow, would ya?”

“Excuse me?” Nikki grunted as his hazel eyes glanced toward Tommy below his dark eyebrows.

“We both know she can handle herself with some drunk assholes, but with these people, I dunno man, I can never tell what’s going to happen. There’s gonna be a lot of people from our old school there, and she wasn’t very friendly with many of them. I’ll do all the talking with Vince, just make sure she’s not uncomfortable there, okay?” A knot formed in Nikki’s core, but at the same time, his heart fluttered within his chest. “If someone’s a dick just, scare them off. You’re okay with that right? I mean, it seems like you’ve gotten kind of close, and you’re both assholes, so just be assholes together and tell everyone to go fuck themselves if you have to. I just don’t want to have to bring her back from darkness again, okay?” Upon seeing the melancholy look that fell over Tommy’s face, Nikki could nearly feel the sinking feeling within his friend’s soul.

“I’ll keep her safe for you, man,” Nikki agreed. “She’s crashing in my room so you can have the bed one last time before you’re exiled to the couch.” With a chuckle on his lips, Tommy smiled back at his friend as he stood to make his way toward the guest room once more.

“Thanks man, I appreciate it, and I know she will too.” As Tommy disappeared into what would become Wren’s room in a matter of hours, Nikki reflected on his parting words and wondered, What the hell does that mean? However, sleep claimed its victory over him before his mind could wander down the rabbit hole reserved specifically for he and Wren.

Chapter Text

Nikki had seen Wren in his dreams nightly since their meeting. She was never the focal point of his subconscious fantasies, rather she appeared in glimpses as a fleeting figure that filled his soul with regret and guilt. Tonight, however, was different. He could see her, clear as day, as she stood defiantly in front of him. The setting of this dream was unstable and seemed to morph around the pair—from the location of their meeting, staring across the diner booth at one another, or simply standing in the living room with instruments slung around their necks, it was always somewhere familiar to them both. Nothing ever happened, just her fiery light shining through his dark, closed off exterior, and him resisting the urge to lean down and taste the peppermint Chapstick on her lips for himself, rather than as some second-hand flavor of her he sampled while sharing a drink.

Dreams were fruitless without follow through, and when each awoke, they did so alone—the same way they’d live their whole lives. Wren anticipated she and Tommy would be staying at Nikki’s, as they did on many occasions, so she brought along a small, draw string bag with clean clothes stored inside. She always packed something to wear at night, but could never refuse the opportunity to wear Nikki’s clothes. They swallowed her body in a comforting warmth and hung in loose cascades along her torso, plus she loved watching his ears turn red whenever he saw her in his shirts.

Wren woke up earlier than both Nikki and Tommy, but by no means early. The clock in Nikki’s room indicated it was noon, and the bright sliver of light that was choked by the heavy-duty curtains that hung over the window corroborated this fact. She slid Nikki’s pants down her hips and gracefully stepped out of them as they reached her ankles. From her bag, she pulled out a pair of black leather pants, the same pair she wore to see London perform, which were a staple of Wren’s sense of fashion. As she tossed Nikki’s shirt off her body and onto a pile of clothes on the floor, Wren slipped her bra back on and then pulled her own shirt from the previous day over her head before she adjusted her socks and shoved her feet back into her sneakers.

She would have sunk back into bed and fallen asleep for another hour had it not been for an incessant knocking at the door and two disgruntled and high-pitched groans echoing through the apartment. Wren finally stepped out into the living room from Nikki’s bedroom—fully dressed and prepared for the day—to see Mick standing in the doorway, a usual angry expression fallen over his face, and both Tommy and Nikki, clad only in their underwear closing the door behind Mick.

“At least someone’s ready to go to this thing,” Mick hissed at the other two men as he passed through the room and lowered himself on the couch Nikki had fallen asleep on. “Go put some fucking pants on so we can give this guy a listen to, alright?” Both Tommy and Nikki stood and stared at Mick as if his words were unable to penetrate to their brains. Wren had taken a more effective approach to getting her two friends moving. Taking hold of Tommy’s drum sticks, she slammed them down on the cymbals as forcefully as her arms would allow, sending a shock of adrenaline into both her friends’ hearts.

“Shit, Wren, okay,” Tommy whined before he made a small attempt to grab his sticks back from her. She then proceeded to roll a crescendo on the crash cymbal until Tommy snatched his sticks away from her hands and wrapped her in a headlock as he would do if she were Athena. Wren retaliated against this and positioned her hand between her throat and his arm, creating a cup with her palm before she dropped to the ground, his arm still in her grasp, and then pinned his arm uncomfortably behind his back. Mick and Nikki watched as their drummer was bested in a battle of brawn by a girl that stood nearly nine inches shorter than him, and both chuckled in amusement. “Fine, I’ll go get ready,” Tommy moaned in defeat and Wren dropped her grip on his arm.

Upon seeing her curves reflecting off the shining leather of her pants, and with the new knowledge that she could easily physically overpower him if she wanted to, Nikki had become more coherent, and much more aware of the fact that he stood in his underwear before her. Pants and his bass couldn’t hide the obvious physical attraction any man could have for her, and so he hurried through the apartment and made his way into his bedroom to change, subsequently leaving Mick and Wren alone.

“How long have you known them?” Mick asked as he sat up a little straighter only to have his face flush with pain.

“I grew up with Tommy. We were in the same kindergarten class, but we got to be really close friends in middle school,” Wren replied as she picked up Nikki’s bass pick and rolled it between her fingers.

“And Nikki?” Mick asked. “How long have you two been—?” There was no ending to his sentence, no hand gesture to fill in the blanks, nothing, and yet Wren knew exactly what Mick intended to ask.

“I met Nikki at one of his shows something about two months ago,” she replied. “We’re friends, if you could call it that. Nothing else.” There was a certainty and a firmness in her voice that told Mick there was no need to press on with questioning her about her relationship with the other band members, and so he obliged.

“So, you said last night that you play saxophone,” Mick said in a soft and low voice as his eyes lowered on her. Wren gave a slight nod and pointed to where her case sat just adjacent to his feet. “You ever play in down in West Hollywood Park?” Again, Wren nodded, only this time, there was an inquisitiveness in her expression. Neither she nor Mick could hear the pitter patter of large feet exiting the bedrooms and rounding the corner into the living room, and neither Tommy nor Nikki were dumb enough to intrude on two of the more fearsome people they knew; so, the two younger men waited, patient breaths falling silently from their mouths, desperately trying to hear the words Mick and Wren softly spoke from a few feet away. “I’m glad to see you’re doing good for yourself kiddo,” Mick sighed as he nodded in Wren’s direction.

“Bob Deal?” Wren questioned as she moved briskly across the room to bring the man into a brief hug. She knew neither of them were very touchy-feely, but Mick had saved her ass so many times when she was on the streets; he’d share whatever food he could scrounge up, let her play with him for tips, and even protected her from the more ruthless and relentless lost souls. “How the fuck didn’t I recognize you?” she asked upon letting him go.

“Because I looked like a fucking hippie without hair dye, and six years ago you were still a child,” Mick chuckled in return as he rested a gentle and reassuring hand on Wren’s shoulder. “Funny how the world has a way of working things out.” With a smile shared between the pair, Mick continued once more, “I’m glad you’re okay. After everything you told me way back when, when your parents found you and took you back home, I gotta admit, I was worried for about you for quite some time.”

“It was bad at first, but it got better, and then a lot worse.” As the conversation continued, and Mick and Wren spoke of the time they spent homeless together when she was thirteen, Tommy and Nikki realized they had heard too much. They’d sat in the silence of the shadows for far too long and lingered in on what was a platonically intimate moment that neither of them wanted to know and both wished they could pretend they hadn’t heard. Tommy hated knowing anything about when Wren was homeless and alone; it made him feel like the shittiest friend a person could ask for, and he felt even shittier learning about her being homeless at thirteen; however, he did find solace in the fact that Mick or Bob or whoever the fuck he was, was able to hold his friend above water at her drowning point. Nikki on the other hand was drowning in the realization that everyone—Tommy, this singer they’re about to go see, and now even Mick—has a history with Wren. He was the odd man out, he was the one to not know her at any point prior to now, and for some reason it made him boil.

“Ready to go?” Nikki asked as he took a long step around the corner and entered into the scene he’d been watching unfold. As if they were actors on stage, unsure of how to act to an audience member improvising their way into the show, Wren and Mick each stared at Nikki with a dumbfounded look on their faces. “Tommy, come on! You’re driving,” Nikki stated as he threw his car keys down the hallway at the youngest of the bunch. As his eyes reached Wren’s, he could feel the tendons of his heart pulling against one another from one side to the other as he battled between the thoughts of being the only person to not have any prior history with the beauty before him, and the overwhelming sense of serenity that her presence gave him.

When the gang of misfits gathered in Nikki’s car as they set out to find their singer, Wren noticed the t-shirt that peeped out from under Nikki’s short sleeve, undone, army green button-up was the one she’d worn the night before. A smile crept onto her face at this realization, and she hid her amusement by directing her attention at the houses zipping by. Gradually, the size and luxury of the homes grew from the overpopulated, falling apart apartment complexes they lived in to grandiose single-family homes of the upper-middle class. Wren stomach tightened into knots as Tommy drove past what used to be her parents’ neighborhood. She hadn’t spoken to either her father or mother in nearly two years, but last she knew, they were looking to sell and move further up state. She knew there was no way they could touch her, no way they could manipulate her, shame her, or punish her simply because she happened to drive by where they might live, but it didn’t keep her insides from folding in on themselves.

Tommy’s eyes flicked back at her through the rearview mirror, a worrisome haze falling over his demeanor that altered the mood of everyone in the vehicle. Sensing this discomfort, Mick turned up the radio dial and allowed the music to flow through the car. The heavy strumming of guitars and rhythmic pulsating of drums calmed Wren’s overwhelming emotions of anger and disgust enough for her to be relatively back to normal when they pulled up to the site of the house party. Tommy was still in contact with a few of his old friends from high school as well as some people in his old band, so finding out when Vince would be performing was easy; it was a matter of convenience that it just so happened to be the next day. Although Tommy wore dark colors that contrasted every outfit worn by every person at this party, he at least had enough of a bubbly personality to fit into the very peppy scene the group was about to walk into. Nikki, Wren, and Mick, on the other hand, were blemishes of darkness—both in the sense of fashion and personality—amidst this sea of uppity, hippie-dippie, bullshit.

Knowing she would come face to face with at least a dozen of her old bullies and aggressors, Wren pulled a small tube of black lipstick from its storage place in her boot just between her outer ankle and Achilles tendon. She wore no makeup and knew the penalties she would receive from wandering eyes and gossiping tongues for this choice, so she painted her lips black in an attempt to scare others away from her entirely. Nikki snickered as he watched her bend over and use the car’s side mirror to apply her lipstick, but would be stupid to deny the fact that black looked good on her.

“Didn’t think you were one to get dolled up for parties,” he commented as Mick and Tommy rounded the car.

“Didn’t think you were one to notice a girl if she wasn’t half naked,” Wren retorted with smirk playing over her dark lips.

“Let’s go, Casanova.” Mick’s voice seemed to pull Wren and Nikki from their bantering session at the passenger side of the car towards the entrance of the party. In his confidence, Nikki led the way—through the gate at the hedges, past tons of judgmental faces with turned up noses and pinched, squinty eyes, all with Wren close to his side. She could hear people greeting Tommy with cheerful voices and saw him in her peripherals as he offered handshakes, high-fives, and hugs to those who knew him. Nikki snatched a fifth of Jack Daniels from the makeshift bar area, Tommy chatted with an old acquaintance, while both Mick and Wren tried to avoid the eyes pointing in their direction.

After taking a swig from the bottle, Nikki glanced down at Wren. Her shoulders were slightly hunched, and although she was putting up her best front, he could tell she felt uncomfortable. It was a side of her he hadn’t seen before, and upon getting a taste of it, he decided he didn’t like it. He handed her the bottle and gave her a half-hearted, reassuring smile. He didn’t like seeing this strong, sometimes terrifying person broken in the slightest bit. It wasn’t her, or it wasn’t the version of her she wanted herself known as. After she took a long, agonizingly burning two or three shots worth of Jack, she gave the bottle back to Nikki who placed it on the table in front of them and wrapped his arm around her. Her left shoulder was buried somewhere in his side, his dominant arm was firmly draped across her shoulder blades, and his fingers rested lightly on her other shoulder. Under his touch, she seemed to stand up straighter and her gaze turned from the ground to meet the countless evil eyes casting down at her. Her stare was electrifying, shocking people to their core as she told them to go fuck themselves without having the words leave her mouth. Upon seeing the change in Wren, he knew this wasn’t who she was either, which made him wonder, Will I ever truly know Wren Ledden?

“A fucking cover-band?” Mick was as displeased with seeing Vince’s group as Wren was with seeing Vince. Years of competition between them had turned the pair into a deadly combination of a flame and gasoline. As Wren looked to the stage to see Vince’s bleach blonde hair bobbing around as his hips gyrated around the microphone stand, her stomach churned. Vince had always been a pest to her, a pain in her back side, an incessant irritating itch she couldn’t scratch away.

“I’m telling you, he’s legit!” Tommy countered as his body began to bounce with the beat. Mick shot a conflicted and concerned glance toward Wren who shrugged. Did she think Vince was a talented singer? Yes. Was she willing to admit he was better than her? Hell no. In her head, she knew the two thoughts were separate, distinguishable, but she knew the second any compliment of Vince left her mouth, he would never let her live it down, so she kept her mouth shut.

“Hell, it doesn’t matter if he’s good; look at what he’s doing to those chicks!” Nikki said as he jutted his jaw toward the stage. Wren could feel herself shifting in her skin at Nikki’s words, and even more so when his arm left her body. More than anything she hated feeling inferior. She spent her life being told she would never be good enough—in music, in sports, in academia, in appearances—which led to an unhealthy desire to be the best at everything she did. It’s why she earned her associate’s degree as a high school student, it’s why she pushed herself to earn every solo in band since freshman year, and it’s what would eventually bring her to break her personal oath to not perform in front of the band.

“He’s got talent, but do you think he can sing our kind of music?” Wren asked as she skeptically folded her arms over her chest, only to hear Vince’s voice call out over the mic “Thank you, we are Rock Candy!”

“Shitty band,” Mick huffed as he took a sip from the bottle of Jack Nikki had placed on the table. His comment earned a high-five of solidarity from Wren, which only directed Tommy’s attention toward her sour attitude.

“Are you green, Wren?” Tommy joked as he poked at her sides.

“You’re about to be black and blue,” she hissed with a tender smile playing on her face as she turned to lightly punch Tommy’s arm. He feigned the detriment of the injury as he faded away into the crowd of people to make his way to where Vince stood at the makeshift bar, chatting up some blonde.

“You have a history with blondie too?” Mick asked as he took in Wren’s general appearance of discomfort. She furrowed her eyebrows in an attempt to seem unaware of his question, but he saw past her deception. “You look to be in more pain than I am, which is saying something.”

“I just want to get out of here,” she muttered and shifted her hips, “high school was shit for me and this place is just swarming with all of those pricks.” Her posture, which had once relied on Nikki for support was now inflexible as she stood independently with agitation and ferocity in her eyes.

“We can find another singer. It doesn’t have to be him,” Nikki stated. Even though his hands remained at his sides, she could feel the warmth of his fingers wrap around her heart. Wren opened her mouth to speak again, but Nikki had ducked his head toward hers to whisper in her ear. “We’ll get out of here soon,” his words escaped in a single, hot breath down her neck before he added a simple, “promise.” Without thinking, Nikki put his arm around Wren once more, and his gesture seemed to allow her to believe his promise all the more readily.

Tommy approached Vince with eagerness in his step and anticipation coursing through his veins. A single cassette tape twiddled between his fingers as Vince’s surprise sent his face smiling and arms pulling Tommy in for a quick embrace.

“Man, that was sick!” Tommy exclaimed with both his words and his body movements. Vince tried to play it cool, as if Tommy’s compliment meant nothing and he was well aware of his talent, and it was that smugness that fueled Wren’s fire. “You should come play with us!”

“Suite 19?” Vince said hesitantly. “Nah.”

“No, I’m in a new band now, with those guys!” Tommy excitedly said and pointed to where Mick, Nikki, and Wren stood, all with narrow eyes, arms folded over chests, and defensive stances.

“Is that…?” his voice trailed off as he squinted through the sun’s rays to catch a better glimpse at the girl standing under the protective wing of the younger of the two men. “Is that Wren?” Vince finally finished. “Damn, you still hang out with Ledden? How long have you been trying to hit that strung up bitch—”

“Hey,” Tommy snapped. “Just give us a listen, our number is on the front if you’re interested, but you have to back off on her.”

“Or what?” Vince asked as he rolled his eyes. Tommy noticed the girl standing beside Vince turned up her nose at the mention of Wren’s name and upon seeing how Vince stared her down, but decided against saying anything to her.

“Or I’ll let her kick your ass.” Tommy smirked downward at the much shorter man before him before he pranced away with his fingers held up to his ear in the shape of a phone as he yelled back, “Call us!”

Chapter Text

Vince never expected to take Tommy up on his offer to sing in his band. His friends seemed sketchy, and if they were anything like Ledden was, he wouldn’t be able to stand being around them. The fact that Ledden was still following Tommy around like a lost dog was ridiculous to Vince, but more so was the fact that he kept her around. Everyone in high school heard the rumors about him only hanging around her to shack up and her being too much of a prude to fuck him. Although Vince never thought too much about those rumors, he knew they were at least partially correct: Ledden was a prude who couldn’t take a joke. When the rumor spread about how he had hooked up with her, she flipped shit and took one, hard swing at his face, which subsequently broke his nose. Vince knew he deserved at least some sort of retribution for his action, but he didn’t expect it to come so violently.

It took Vince about a week to even listen to Tommy’s tape, and when he did, it was only due to the coaxing of his girlfriend. Even after hearing the band play, he questioned whether or not he should consider calling Tommy to set up a time to play together, but the thought of someone else beating him to the punch forced him to make a decision. He was confident in his ability to wow Tommy’s new friends, and he figured their drive to go the distances was stronger than that of his cover-band friends, but the stipulation he faced--being civil with Wren--seemed damn near impossible.

“I can’t stand that girl,” Lovey, the blonde he met at the party the day he reunited with Tommy said.

“You don’t have the right to say that,” Vince stated in all seriousness, “you’ve never spoken to her,” he finished with a laugh.

“If she tries anything, I’ll fight the bitch,” Lovey commented with a twisted smile in Vince’s direction as she drove down the street and watched as the lavish life she was used to faded into dirt, grime, and poverty. Vince smirked at the thought of his girlfriend using typical “girl fight” tactics on Wren, but pushed the thought from his mind as his nose ached in memory of the girl’s wicked right hook.

Lovey pulled up to the address Tommy had given Vince, and together, the blonde couple stared at the apartment in disgust. Without any prompting, warning, or signal, Lovey leaned over towards Vince’s seat and planted a wet kiss on his lips. “You’ve got this baby,” she said before she stuck a long, nearly bare leg out of the car and pulled herself to her feet. Her heels clicked against the pavement and up the metal stairs to where Tommy stood in the doorway, eager to greet Vince as he entered. Vince’s eyes scanned the room, and he made it a point to lock eyes with each person present; the first was a man who looked a few years older than he and Tommy who had long black hair, light hazel eyes, and a strong jawline that seemed to clench upon meeting Vince’s gaze. Tommy introduced this man as Nikki. The next was an older fella named Mick, who had just as long and just as dark hair, only his eyes seemed weary and worn and his face was more fed up than angry, and lastly was Wren. Her long legs peeked out from a pair of cotton shorts that barely covered down to her midthigh, and an old t-shirt with the sleeves cut off covered her body; however, it didn’t cover enough for Lovey’s taste since the slits down the sleeves dipped down to Wren’s waist, and the sides of her lacy black bra were visible.

Wren ignored Vince and his girlfriend’s entrance and continued to pack up her saxophone after working on a solo Nikki claimed to have stolen for her to play. She laughed initially when he told her how he acquired the piece, but her conduct quickly changed as he continued the conversation: “One day I’m going to write you a solo and you’re going to have to play it for me.” She pulled her lips into a smirk at his words and laughed him off, but part of her knew he was serious because Nikki Sixx always got what he wanted, and damn it he’d do anything to find a way to hear her play.

She was barefoot and wearing her lounging clothes, an outfit she was hesitant to wear around the guys anyway due to Tommy’s relentless teasing any time she wore anything that showed skin, but the apartment’s a/c had gone out the night before and the Hollywood summer heat had been getting to her all day long. She was impatient and irritable, and although Tommy’s assumption about her starting her period was correct, Wren was determined to attribute her mood to the unbearable heat. Tommy had assured her that she had to be pleasant when Vince was around and could go back to being grouchy when he left, but as soon as he turned his back, Nikki encouraged Wren to complain about everything Vince did wrong—after all, that was her job.

“We got you some lyrics. The song’s ‘Live Wire,’” Nikki said as he handed Vince a sheet of notebook paper once all of the introductions were made. The blonde that came in with Vince, Lovey as she was introduced, was perched on the middle cushion of the couch, and a look of concern flashed across her eyes as she surveyed the band and stared down Wren, who was sitting on Nikki’s amp, much to his frustration. He had to constantly tell her it wasn’t a chair, but his warnings were hopeless considering, not very far down, he liked knowing she felt comfortable, even safe near him.

“What’s the matter babe?” Vince asked as he turned to face Lovey once more. Her arms were over her chest and she wore her red painted lips in a tight pucker on her face.

“I’m just trying to make sure these guys are good enough to play with you baby,” she sang seductively to him. To everyone else, her voice was that of a snobby rich kid who wanted to make it apparent she was better than them in every conceivable way.

“He was in a fucking cover band called Rock Candy,” Wren chuckled, “we’re giving him a chance.” At the end of her insult, as if on que, Mick quickly strummed the intro of Live Wire, with Nikki and Tommy in quick pursuit of the song’s drive. Wren cringed slightly as Vince’s voice was introduced to the song’s flow and noticed he seemed to be a step off from the rest of the band in terms of pitch. Nikki turned to face her, a subconscious habit he’d picked up whenever he had any concern about the band—tone, range, notes, key changes, pitch, anything—and her face reassured the concern he held in his gut toward Vince.

“This isn’t right!” Lovey yelled over the band. “This isn’t right!” she repeated until every instrument came to a halt. “This music’s too heavy, baby!”

“Thank you!” Nikki sneered at the blonde before turning back to Wren who shared the same look of vexation.

“Why don’t we just tune it all down a whole step so that he—” Mick could hardly get his suggestion out before Tommy chirped up and added his own input.

“We should play it faster too!” The snide comments from his bandmates reminded Nikki he wasn’t alone in the disdain of having Vince’s girlfriend lingering in their way, but then again, a simple glance to Wren’s face would confirm the same thing.

“Any notes, Wren?”  Nikki asked, his eyes wide as he desperately searched for her assistance. Reluctantly, she stood from her seat on the amp and made her way to look at the lyrics alongside Vince.

“You’re really having her tell him how the song should go?” Lovey questioned with a venomous hiss in Wren’s direction.

“You have to stretch out these notes here and make sure you punch the shit out of the top,” she said unenthusiastically before she moved out of Vince’s way, a short flick of his wrist dismissing her presence. Tommy rolled his eyes at Vince’s behavior, but Nikki looked as if he was about to pounce on the much shorter man for disrespecting Wren.

“One more thing, make sure you really hit that first low note,” Nikki said before his index finger moved from the paper to point at Vince’s girlfriend, “and muzzle that.”

Just as she started going off and yelling a slew of profanity at Nikki, Mick snapped the band into performance by beginning the song at a much faster tempo. Immediately, Wren could feel the energy from the band and she caught Nikki’s glance as they both realized how heavy this band could possibly be. Wren even noticed Lovey’s disposition had changed as she listened to the band’s second attempt at a run through. As Vince entered the song, he gave a significantly better performance than before, but something was still off. There was a slight hesitation in his voice, an uncertainty in his own ability to nail the right notes with the right style, and Wren could hear it. After the band made it through the chorus, Vince’s agitation at Wren’s hypercritical facial expressions got the better of him.

“What?” he snapped at her as he pulled the microphone away from his mouth.

“Keep playing,” she called out to the rest of the band as she stepped over to speak to Vince during the short instrumental break. “You can’t afford to be afraid of the notes,” she stated, “not with these guys. Cover bands are fine, but when it’s your songs, you have to own that shit. You have to have power in your voice and I’m not hearing that.”

Vince continued to sing through the second verse, but Wren’s satisfaction hadn’t been met. She nodded when he gave her a powerful note in hopes of encouraging him to keep it up, however her attempt of being civil and reassuring was met with Vince’s anger as he spat, “Why don’t you sing it if you think you can do better?” Taking a moment during a short instrumental riff Wren’s heart thudded painfully in her chest as she stood close to Vince. For a matter of beats, she was frozen in the deep confliction of her sworn oath never to sing publicly again, and putting this pretentious asshole in his place. With anger and ferocity in her bones, Wren leaned into the microphone and continued the song.

“No, no! You better turn me loose! You better set me free, cause I’m hot young running free, a little bit better than I used to be. Cause I’m alive! Live wire! I’m alive! I’m a live wire! Cause I’m alive! Live wire! I’m alive! I’m a live wire!” Her voice beamed over the mic with the air of self-assurance and confident power that she was trying to get Vince to personify in his own singing. Tommy, Nikki, and Mick were too busy to comment immediately on Wren’s performance, but the three shared a stone-cold appalling look upon hearing such a bold voice come from their friend. “Now finish the song and fucking listen to what I have to say,” she snapped upon witnessing the obvious defeat that fell over Vince’s face.

“Come on baby. Gotta play with me,” he sang.

“Hit this next low note strong,” Wren commented.

“Well, I’m your live wire, yeah.”

“Punch ‘lock’ and on the high part of ‘prowl’!”

“You better lock your doors, I’m on the prowl tonight,” Vince continued as he took each comment Wren made to heart.

“Now hit this note high instead of what’s written!” she said only to receive a confused look from both Vince and Nikki, and as the lyric grew closer, she jumped back in. “Well, be mine tonight!” she sang while holding the last word long and high. An amazed and proud look beamed from Tommy’s face as Wren held the note into the ending verse and then tapered off at the end while Vince continued on with the band. As the song came to a close, Wren ran her fingers through her hair as the sweat that beaded her hairline caused her long brown locks to cling to her neck. Vince extended his closed fist to her and she accepted the low bones as a truce.

“Oh shit!” Tommy gasped as he jumped over his drums to strangle Wren in a hug. “Is that your actual fucking voice?” he shouted again as he lifted Wren a foot in the air and squeezed her.

“After her knowing her for so damn long, you didn’t think she was just a pretty face, did you drummer?” Mick scoffed. “You should have at least taken her word for it.”

“Why didn’t you ever sing for me?” Tommy whined as he set Wren back on the ground.

“She doesn’t sing for tricks,” Vince huffed and Nikki’s heart stopped as he remembered her words to him in the diner. I don’t sing for cheap tricks like you. “It’s not a party trick for her. Always too fucking serious,” Vince then explained.

fucking serious,” Vince then explained.

“You knew all this time and never said shit?” Tommy huffed as he went to rough-house Vince for keeping this secret from him. As the majority of the room focused on Tommy and Vince’s wrestling match, Nikki’s eyes remained positioned on Wren, waiting for her to face him. When she turned to place the lyric sheet back in his hands, without another thought in his mind, he slipped his arms around her waist and rested his head against hers.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” he said softly against her sweaty hair that still somehow managed to smell sweetly of coconuts.

“You’re full of shit, Sixx,” she sighed against his sweat drenched shirt.

“Don’t do that shit,” he sighed desperately against her. “Don’t discredit yourself. You’re a badass, Wren. Mick sees it, Tommy knows it, even Vince changed his opinion of you the second you opened your mouth! You’re the star this band needs.” Wren could see something dancing behind the color of Nikki’s eyes, but was distracted by her over attuned ears catching bits and pieces of another conversation existing in the room.

“Is that a thing?” Vince asked Tommy after saying goodbye to his girlfriend and opting to hang out for a while longer to get to know the rest of the band.

“Wren and Nikki?” Tommy asked without even looking in the direction Vince’s eyes were stuck staring at.

“Yep,” Mick said upon his return to the drummer’s side with three beers in his hands. “Except neither one knows it yet.”

“And you’re cool with that?” Vince asked Tommy with hesitancy in his tone.

“Wren’s a grown ass woman who can make her own decisions, except she’s so damn picky in who she trusts, that if she chooses Nikki, you know it’s for a damn good reason,” Tommy explained. Mick, who had gotten to know Wren and her story relatively well over the time they spent as homeless bums together, nodded in agreement of Tommy’s analysis of Wren.

Turning her attention back to Nikki, she fell from his embrace and eagerly accepted the bottle of beer Tommy extended toward her. She tried to push the image of her and Nikki from her mind, and the ease from which he recovered from that tender moment to sloshing back a beer with Mick reassured her and kept her from thinking too far into something that would never happen. The fondness he’d held in his eyes so endearingly was subsiding, and he laughed along as Tommy joined in on the boy’s celebration of completing their band’s lineup. Wren remained on the sidelines and took long drinks from the chilled bottle that delicately dangled between her fingers.

What’s wrong with him? She found herself questioning as she reflected on every detail of the moment they’d shared. He wrapped himself around her, spoke softly and highly of her, lowered his head to hers and tried to ensure she knew her self-worth. Don’t fall for it, she reminded herself, it’s only a matter of time before he realizes he doesn’t care for you.

With her drink in hand, Wren slipped past the celebration and tried to disappear into what had, within a matter of days, become her room. Unbeknownst to her, Vince had noticed her attempt at ditching the group and followed her back to her room. He slipped in after her and gently allowed the door to fall into a mostly closed position. As Wren knelt over to gain access to the window she was trying to open, Vince let out a low grunt at the sight of her ass.

“What would your girlfriend think about that?” Wren sighed without giving a second thought to who was behind her.

“I’m not in here to talk about her or even to hit on you,” Vince explained as he folded his arms over his chest.

“Well then you’re off to a great start,” Wren muttered as she turned to face him. His eyes were desperate and she knew that whatever he was about to say would be difficult to regurgitate and cause him pain, so she smiled.

“Look, you know these guys and their sound, and as much as I hate to admit this,” a long pause filled the air as Wren cocked her eyebrow at Vince, insinuating he continued. “Are you really going to make me say it?” He took her silence and smirk as a ‘yes,’ and then exhaled heavily before forming his response. “You’re a very talented person who deserves the spotlight, even though that’s never what you wanted. You deserve marquees broadcasting you name and fans that appreciate your abilities and voice, and all of the shit that I’ve ever said was said out of jealousy, because you have that talent and the capability to achieve it on your own, and you don’t even fucking want it!” Wren shifted uneasily where she stood and genuinely looked at Vince for the first time in her life. Person to person, she could see he had always been jealous of her because of this, because she didn’t want fame; all she wanted was to escape. “But I’ve wanted that—all of it! The marquees, the fans, the fame, the life! I want to be someone in this world, and I know I can’t do it on my own. I need this band, but if they decide I don’t have the sound they want, they can just replace me—hell, they could replace me with you if you wanted,” as Vince began to ramble, Wren swallowed his words and waited for his mind and thoughts to process through his mouth. “I guess what I’m getting at is…can you coach me? You’re all right, I’m just some cover-band singer.”

“Vince, regardless of what you choose to sing, you’re still a talented vocalist.” A silence engulfed the pair as they each tried to wash away the bad blood between them. When Vince woke up this morning, he sure as shit didn’t think he would be apologizing to or complimenting Wren Ledden, let alone asking her for help, and she hadn’t expected to say anything to him other than a few expletives. “I’ll work with you on the sound and strength,” she finally agreed and was quickly met with a cheery smile coming from Vince’s face. This didn’t dismiss or even begin to address the rumor he started in school, but at least now she felt more comfortable accepting him as a musician than she had at any other point in her life.

“You should work with Nikki on the music,” Vince stated just as he was about to turn and leave the room. “When you took that note up, he nearly shit himself.” She couldn’t confirm this accusation; when she was singing publicly for the first time in years, she lost herself in the lyrics and music, and missed everyone’s immediate reaction except for the pride that radiated from Tommy. “But that may have been for some other reason,” Vince snickered with a wink in Wren’s direction. Just as she was about to open her mouth to protest Vince’s wildly inaccurate assumption, Wren could hear Mick and Tommy calling for both she and Vince.

“Singer! Get your ass back in here,” Mick yelled from where he sat with his feet kicked up on a coffee table.

“Wren, where the hell are you?” Tommy asked before throwing open the door to see both Wren and Vince in her room, standing against opposite walls. “What the fuck is going on in here?” Tommy asked with a taunting laugh falling from his voice.

“Vince was just begging me to be his vocal coach,” Wren stated haughtily as she paced through the room and followed the two boys into the living room.

“I knew I shouldn’t have trusted her,” Vince muttered as he pushed his blonde hair aside.

“Trusting Wren is both the worst and best thing you can do,” Tommy commented. “She’ll never let you live down the little shit, but she’ll keep your secrets under lock and fucking key until the day she dies. I swear this girl is filled with so many secrets and I’d bet hardly any of them are her own.” Wren could feel everyone’s eyes drift to her. It wasn’t unusual for Tommy to elaborate how highly he thought of her when he was intoxicated, and as flattering as she found it within her heart, on the surface, she hated the attention it brought to her.

“Important band shit,” Nikki responded from his seat on the couch. Wren could see his tattered notebook, the one with pages almost completely ripped out hanging by threads to the spiral, was resting in front of him. Out of everyone in the room, only she knew what was in that book. Sometimes, when Tommy was out with a girl or staying the night with some chick he picked up, Nikki and Wren would drink and fantasize about how big the band would become. On one of these drunken nights, Wren asked him, ‘Why don’t you ever go out on the town with Tommy?’ to which Nikki admitted that talking about the band with Wren made him feel like their aspirations were more attainable than he, realistically, knew they would be. With a nervous anticipation, Nikki ran to his room after speaking, grabbed his notebook, and handed it to the woman he believed would help make his dreams come true.

“Important band shit?” Wren questioned in a mocking tone as Tommy and Vince fell into the remaining open seats. She initially opted to lean against the wall since she was still insecure about her being part of the band in the same way Tommy, Nikki, Vince, and Mick were, but upon all of them ushering her over by waving their arms, she relented, made her way toward the armchair Nikki sat in, and perched herself on the armrest.

“Yes, important band shit,” Nikki repeated as he nudged his shoulder into Wren’s side. She remained balanced on the armrest despite his teasing, and folded her legs under her so that she sat cross-legged with one knee poking out over the edge of the chair and the other pressed against Nikki’s back. “So, I’ve been thinking, and here’s my theory: if we want to knock people on their asses, then we’ve got to give them a show! The punks are doing the minimalist thing, so let’s take it in the opposite direction. I’m talking a stadium show in the clubs, man. Like costumes and lights and—” Tommy’s excitement overcame Nikki’s voice.

“Pyro! Flames and shit!” he shouted as he sprayed an aerosol can from behind his lighter to create a miniature flame thrower. “Explosions!” Wren rolled her eyes for a moment at Tommy’s lunacy as he continued to set fire in their apartment, but she knew Nikki was onto something.

“The music industry is tough, guys. You have to be tougher. You have to play strong and be strong, because some dick in the first row with an attitude can’t be the person who makes or breaks this,” Wren commented as she took into account the major egos present in the room. “Then again, you can’t do the same shit everyone else is. You have to stand out in whatever way possible.”

“She’s right,” Nikki commented. “It’s a fucking war out there, and the only way we win is by showing these kids something they’ve never seen before.” The thrill and excitement that engulfed Nikki was focused and collected, yet his eyes gave way to the extreme hunger he had towards making this band a success. Wren knew Nikki was in this for the long haul, and she, along with every other man sitting around the table, that had the same drive and determination.

“So, what are we calling this thing?” Vince asked as he drank from a beer bottle and Tommy lit a cigarette. Nikki fumbled over his notes in search of a certain page hidden between the folds of others before finally folding the page over and examining his work for a moment. Wren’s eyes peered down over Nikki’s shoulder at the largely drawn pentagram with ‘XMASS’ written below it. Immediately, she locked eyes with Mick and shook her head in a plea to keep Nikki from swaying the band into choosing this as their name. She knew he was a talker and that he had the dark, mysterious charisma to lure people into accepting what he believes is best; besides that, it wouldn’t be hard to convince Tommy or Vince to name the band ‘XMASS’ considering they came from bands titled ‘Suite 19’ and ‘Rock Candy’ for fuck’s sake.

“You know, it’s all about being, like, fucking larger than life!” Wren could tell the few beers he’d had were messing with his speech as he tried to figure out the right words to use.

Vince repeated the word on the notebook back to the rest of the band and Mick stifled a chuckle directed at Wren’s response to the name suggestion. “On a scale of one to ten, that gets a one point nine,” Mick dryly stated as he gave Wren a wink of solidarity. Tommy dropped his head to his knees and snorted in a poor attempt to cover his laugh, and Nikki quickly became defensive.

“It’s a play on Christmas, you know?” Nikki sighed in a nearly defeated tone. “You can use all the Christ imagery and shit! It’ll piss people off and make people think. It…” his otherwise driving voice fell to a soft murmur as he ended his thought, “it’s got shock value.”

“I’m shocked by how much it blows,” Mick sneered and earned an unscripted, bellowing laugh from Wren. The guys could see a flash of a pained look fall across Nikki’s face as he heard her mocking his ideas, but that pain faded as fast as it had risen once he felt her hands on his shoulders.

“You can’t be the best at everything, Nikki,” she sighed as her laugh lingered on her voice.

“Alright then, assholes. You give it a shot, but fucking make it big!” Tommy, Vince, and Mick all reached for a piece of paper to trace their ideas on while Wren surveyed the scene. “Not going to take a crack at it?” Nikki asked as he turned to face Wren. She looked uncomfortable as she maintained a near perfect posture and balance, so Nikki moved over, and created a small wedge of room for Wren to slide into. She slid from the armrest to the open space; however, her body was perpendicular to Nikki’s and her legs were still draped across his lap.

“What do you have, Tommy?” Nikki asked upon hearing his giggles. As Tommy turns his paper around to reveal a large drawing of a penis with the words ‘The Fourskins’ scrawled below it, both Nikki and Vince laughed, as if they hadn’t expected something juvenile to come from Tommy Lee. Wren simply rolled her eyes, fully knowing not to have any high or serious expectations for Tommy’s suggestion, and flicked her attention to Mick. The smaller of all of the men sat in silence, not laughing along at their jokes, Tommy’s explanation, or even mocking Tommy when he conceded to his band name being shit. The two simply shared a knowing look, a trusting look that whatever name was written on Mick’s paper would be one the world would know.

“What about you, Mick?” Wren asked as her own curiosity gnawed at the inside of her stomach. With assurance, he turned his paper around to reveal not some phallic drawing with a juvenile titled scribbled underneath, but two words written in bold letters: Motley Crew.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this day,” Mick sighed as his eyes drifted to every person in the band before settling between Wren and Nikki—the parents of this chaotic child that was finally receiving a name.

With a smooth motion, Nikki extended his arm toward Mick’s paper and Mick respectfully relinquished control over his suggestion. Nikki bit the cap of the marker Mick handed him and added an umlaut over the ‘o’ in ‘Motley’ and the ‘e’ in ‘Crew’ before he turned the paper to Wren for her final approval. When she extended her hands for the marker and paper, she arched her back and created a table on her knees as she made her own final edits. She turned the paper back around to face the band and felt a wave of ecstasy come over her as Mick stared at her and Nikki’s rendition of his suggested name with pride.

“That’s fucking sick, guys,” Tommy stated as he looked between Wren and Nikki. As much as the band seemed to be Nikki’s vision, Tommy knew what he said upon meeting Nikki had been taken to heart. Mötley Crüe wasn’t just Nikki’s brainchild; it was Wren’s too, and as they named their creation—the thing they both had been working to see fulfilled—it was clear to Tommy, Mick, and even Vince that this was the start of something. Not just for the band, but for the two idiots that sat on the couch, their lives, minds, and bodies intertwined with one another, yet still claiming neither felt any particular way toward the other.

Chapter Text

For months, Wren was able to keep her job at the public library a secret from the band. They were loud and boisterous people—except for Mick—and were sure to embarrass the living hell out of her, or even get her fired if they dared set foot into her work, so it remained a secret until her drunken ass spilled the beans.

“You’ll need a shit ton of fliers if you’re going to even try and draw a crowd,” Wren slurred after a long night of drinking with Tommy and Nikki. Nikki had managed to secure the band a spot performing three nights during next week at the Whisky-A-Go-Go, and was currently panicked about not bringing in revenue. It took nearly a month of schmoozing his boss to even consider letting their band play, and even then, it was allowed on the stipulation of bringing money into the night club.

“Maybe a radio ad!” Tommy gasped; his eyes were wide with thrill until Nikki threw a half-eaten piece of bread at Tommy’s face.

“Do we look like we can afford a radio ad?” Nikki laughed.

“Do we look like we can afford fliers?” Tommy asked seriously in response.

“I can print them for free at work!” Wren had exclaimed in an excited tone as she jumped up at her own idea, accidentally tossing a small portion of the whiskey in her glass onto her skin. And that was the end of her secret of employment. She was, however, able to print a few hundred fliers, and then she and the guys took to the strip at all hours of the day and night to post the news of Mötley Crüe’s debut.

The night before their first performance, the band met to solidify their set list and perfect the tiny details that irked either Nikki or Wren’s ears. However, their practice ran short when Lovey sprang through the door and demanded to be included in the band’s “process.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Nikki asked as the blonde repositioned the frilly, light blue tank top that hardly covered her braless tits.

“Like her!” she then pointed to Wren. The younger of the two women furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as she turned from discussing the drum solo with Tommy to meet the eyes of Vince’s annoying and hard to deal with girlfriend. “Come on, which one of you is she fucking to be this close to the action?”

“Watch yourself, lady,” Mick gently warned as Tommy rose from his seat, Nikki tightened his fists, and Wren placed her hands on her hips in defiance.

“Babe,” Vince said in a soft, coaxing voice as he reached tentatively for his girlfriend’s arm.

“No, which one is it? Is she giving it to the old fuck?” Mick held his hands up above his heads, cleansing himself of any involvement in the altercation to come. “Who is it, Wren?” Lovey pressed the girl as she rose to stand in stark contrast to her. Lovey's done up hair and make-up and the fanciful clothes she wore looked like something out of a movie compared to Wren’s sweaty, tied up hair and the bland, tattered, baggy t-shirt that swallowed her body. Why the hell is she threatened by me? Wren thought as the gap closed between the two women. “Could it be the scrawny drummer? Or maybe it’s the bass playing motherfucker who doesn’t know shit about music.”

“Yeah, and some dumb bitch fawning over a cover band called ‘Rock Candy’ is so much more knowledgeable,” Wren retorted with venom on her tongue and a sting in her bite.

“Wren,” Tommy’s voice acted as a warning, not for her to back off, but for her to quickly make up her mind if Lovey was worth what was to come. When she turned to face the band in an attempt to gauge their opinions on the events unfolding before them, Wren’s eyes met Nikki’s cold stare. His lips were pressed thin and anger overwhelmed his face. Tommy was equally unenthused with the situation, and Mick bestowed a look of concern.

“Listen to them, Wren,” Lovey teased with her pouty lips poked out, “or they may not let you play with their dicks tonight.” The blonde’s big eyes were opened even wider as she anticipated Wren’s response; however, it was Nikki’s voice that cut through the tense silence.

“Vince, get a hold of your mutt,” Nikki shouted more at Lovey than to Vince. A defensive look flashed from his eyes as his gaze met Wren, but frustration coated her appearance.

“Stay out of it, Nikki! I don’t need your fucking help!” Wren snapped with ice in her veins at the same moment Vince’s girlfriend retaliated.

“Fuck you, Sixx!” she yelled. “You can call me whatever the fuck you want; it doesn’t change the fact that you’re just too blind to see she’s just a stray you three let in for an easy fuck!” Her comment sat uneasily on all of the men’s shoulders, however they were all hesitant to speak as they internalized Wren’s bitter, cold, and dissevered tone that hissed at Nikki moments ago.

“The difference between you and I is that I don’t have to flash my money or my tits to get attention from a single one of these guys, and I still have more respect from all of them than you’ll see from any man in your pitiful, entitled fucking life.” Tommy couldn’t help the snorted chuckle that escaped his lungs as Wren finished her statement. Mick stifled the smirk that spread over his face, however his eyes narrowed and he nodded in agreeance with Wren’s words. Vince, who had been hesitant to take sides in this argument, faded to the background without a word in favor of either woman, and Nikki remained a statue by his bass amp as he continued to mull over the sting of Wren’s personal attack.

Lovey took a step forward and positioned herself so that she stood with less than an inch separating Wren’s chest from her own. Everyone in the room noticed Lovey ease up onto her toes so that her lips could be level with Wren’s ear due to their distinctive height difference. Lovey’s voice was a chilling breeze as she spoke softly so that not a single person could make out a word that traveled from her lips aside from Wren. As Wren stood with her back straight and posture erect, she stared forward and refused to bring a single bit of the emotions swirling within her to her face. “There’s nothing wrong with making up for lost time,” she began, “but will any of them really replace the taste of Clay?” Wren swallowed hard as she tried to suppress the lump that manifested so quickly in her throat. Her body became immobile as her veins turned into frozen rivers, and her skin burned as hot as the surface of the sun. From across the room, Tommy immediately noticed all color wash from Wren’s face. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest so rapidly she thought her heartbeat alone could set the pace for the band’s next song. Wren could hear her name being called out, and she could see Tommy, Mick, and Nikki’s lips moving, but the voices were so distant, so severed from the bodies they came from, she ignored them altogether.

“How, the fuck, do you know that name?” she asked lowly, only for the blonde to huff, flip her hair over her shoulder, and turn away. “How, the fuck, do you know that?!” Wren’s voice echoed even louder as she lunged after the much shorter woman and spun her around with a single, firm grip of her shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter how I know,” Lovey flippantly said with an aura of innocence surrounding her, “it just matters that I do.” In a blinding rage, Wren threw Lovey to the ground, only to be surprised that the other woman had grabbed a fistful of Wren’s hair and pulled her down as well. Lovey tried to pull Wren’s hair, but found herself curling up into a fetal position as Wren directed kick after kick and punch after punch to the girl’s ribs. Seeing this as an opportunity, Wren crawled on top of Lovey, used her knees to pin the girl’s limbs to her sides, and then landed two punches to the face before she felt Tommy’s arms slip around her.

“Get the fuck off me, Tommy!” Wren shouted before she slipped away from his grasp, shoved him away from her, and made another lunge at Lovey, who had taken her moment of freedom to stand and make a bolt for the door.

“Nik!” Tommy yelled out as Wren crossed his path. He and Mick had both set aside their instruments at the beginning of the girls’ argument, in case something like this were to happen. To Lovey’s fortune, Nikki was able to intercept Wren by snaking an arm around her hips, spinning her around, and flipping her over his shoulder.

“Put me down, Nikki!” she shouted. “Damn it, Sixx! Put me the fuck down!”

As he ignored her protests, Nikki called out first to Vince, then to the others, “Take her home, we’ll finish practicing tomorrow.” When he walked toward the back most room of the apartment—his room—he tried to ignore Wren’s angry fists pounding into his back, he tried to hold her still as best he could without getting himself kicked in the face, and he hoped she would calm down enough to talk to him instead of scream like she had done since the second Tommy tried to pull her away from Lovey.

Once inside his room, Nikki slammed the door shut and flipped Wren onto his bed so that her back landed against the mattress, forcing her body to bounce up like a ragdoll. He flicked the light on and stared at her with passionate anger manifesting in a steaming ball in his stomach. “What the fuck was that about?” he asked sharply as he stood over her. Wren still laid with her back against the mattress and her elbows propped up to support her, her eyes casting up in an angry scowl at Nikki.

“None of your business,” she retorted.

“Bullshit! I was just trying to help you out there!” Nikki stated as he took another step closer to where she lay.

“I don’t need anyone to fight my battles for me,” she hissed, “let alone you!”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Nikki’s eyes continued to peer down at Wren as she laid all too comfortably on his bed with a defensive arrogance that both pissed him off and intrigued him.

“You don’t fucking know me, Sixx,” she hissed. “You don’t get the right to try and defend me when you have no idea what the fuck is going on.”

“You don’t let anyone get to know you!” Nikki snapped. He’d been hanging around Wren for long enough to know that she knew more of anyone else’s secrets than anyone knew of hers, and tonight just proved it. “You’re best fucking friend is out there and he doesn’t even know what the fuck is going on!”

“It’s no one else’s damn business!” Wren’s voice was sharp as she pulled herself to her knees and stared at Nikki with her eyebrows narrowed and her jaw taught.

“It is when you make it our business,” he retorted with his eyes narrowed in on her. Wren stood from her position on the bed and placed herself directly in front of Nikki.

“I didn’t make it everyone’s business! That bitch started all of this shit—” Before Wren could reach the end of her defense, Nikki’s voice interrupted her and her words turned into a noose around her throat.

“Who is Clay?” Silence followed his question and both of their chests heaved in anger as the two stared into each other’s eyes. Each set of orbs, either hazel or grey reflected the same angsty, impatient, and frustrated glare as if the two souls were connected in their own misery. Nikki quickly noticed the subtle changes in Wren’s posture. Her shoulders tightened, her jaw clenched, her entire body turned into a stiff, unflexing wax replica of the woman he knew, and all sense of emotion—hope, anger, hatred, fear—abandoned her otherwise pleasant face. After an overly long moment of anxiously staring down at her, Nikki folded his arms over his chest and widened his stance. Wren tugged at her lower lip with her teeth and Nikki saw, for the first time, a—100% without a shadow of a doubt—true sign of vulnerability in Wren Ledden. He thought he had seen vulnerability in her at the house party, but that was just a history of insecurity rising to the surface. This was the real thing. However, in that single action—her holding her lip between her teeth in anxious terror—she stepped forward, jammed her index finger into Nikki’s chest, and with a quivering voice that was caught in her throat, spoke.

“Don’t you ever say that fucking name around me ever again.” Without needing to be prompted, Nikki nodded, gently pulled Wren’s arms past his sides until she wrapped them around his torso, and softly placed his hands against her: one rested in the middle of her back and the other lay gingerly against the back of her head. He tried his best to ignore the warm pools of tears that gathered against his shirt and soaked into his skin, and he tried not to imagine the infinite sadness that her face could impose—her lips pulled tight in strain with the indention of her teeth lining her lower lip, her cheeks beet red and streaked with agonizing tears, her eyes puffy and hopeless—but he failed in this endeavor.

Nikki noticed the door to his room creep open ever so slightly to reveal Tommy’s curious expression begging to know if his friend was okay. He didn’t expect to see Wren wrapped up in Nikki’s arms. He didn’t expect to hear her soft sobs—a sound his ears had forgotten over time—but more than anything else, he didn’t expect to see a lonely, solitaire tear slide down Nikki’s face.

Chapter Text

Tonight, was the night; the debut of Mötley Crüe. What seemed like lifetimes in the making was finally going to be seen by someone other than a band member, Wren, or a band member’s pissy girlfriend, but it wasn’t how Wren imagined. She was never one for romanticizing events or planning out grandiose moments in her head, but she was certain that this was not how she ever imagined it would go.

“Where the fuck is Wren, dude?” Vince asked Tommy as he arrived in the green room of the Whisky.

“We thought she was working on vocal warm ups with you,” Tommy sighed as he pulled black fishnets up to his elbows and turned to face Vince with concern.

“She’s supposed to be!” Vince complained as he took in his appearance through a nearby mirror and grabbed a comb to re-tease his blonde locks. Tommy exchanged a confused glance with both Nikki and Mick before rushing toward the nearest payphone. As soon as he deposited his quarter, a man dressed in all black rounded the corner to give the band their five-minute warning.

“Damn it, Wren, pick up!”

***     ***     ***

She was damn near twenty years old and the consequences of one stupid mistake she’d made in her early adolescence had just now circled back around to kick her in the ass. No amount of time could heal the wounds that had torn Wren’s heart all those years ago. The magic Tommy had worked years prior to coax Wren to back down from both the figurative and literal ledge had helped, but there would always be a part of her that was scared. She hated knowing fear was an inescapable constant in her life, despite having worked so hard to be strong for herself over the years. Her transformation from a year ago to today had been incredible in the way she viewed herself—not as the helpless dame her parents and society wanted her to be, but as a badass who doesn’t take anyone’s shit—but the mention of that name seemed to erect a barrier in her mind. All of her thoughts regarding Lovey and her bringing up Clay refused to be filtered, and had plagued her mind since the previous night.

The one conclusion Wren could come to was the Lovey was ruthless. Before the Rock Candy show, Wren had never seen the other woman, and aside from their usual exchange of angry words, they shared nothing. Wren supposed Lovey’s jealousy of her being so close and involved with the band led her to digging up whatever dirt she could on Wren. It took only moments after slipping from Nikki’s arms last night and returning to her room for Wren to realize Lovey didn’t give a fuck about anyone. Not her, not Tommy or Mick, especially not Nikki, and maybe, not even Vince. She lived to serve herself, and if she didn’t think you were of any use to her, you were nothing.

Wren tried her hardest to convince Nikki she was okay, and when he finally gave up on getting her to talk to him, she retreated to her room. She remained there for the majority of the next day, and it was from there that she heard the phone’s incessant ringing as someone continually tried to call the apartment. She knew the call was directed for her, and she could deduce it was one of the guys, trying to reach her and tell her to get her ass down to the Whisky as fast as possible, but she couldn’t bring herself to face that bitch again.

It had been years since she’d heard that name. It was one that sent her soul spiraling into anxious despair and rage, and she genuinely thought she’d never have to hear again. Before her relationship with Tommy–before having a friend–Wren became swept up in the life of one of her classmates. They grew to be what she would consider friends before he transferred schools. Had she been able to see the future, she would have used the transfer to distance herself from him. Clay was wild, but not in the same way as Tommy, Nikki, or Vince–they were merely candles compared to the forest fire Wren had known; he was wild for the sake of seeing people around him willingly burn at his touch, and Wren was no exception.

***     ***     ***

“She’s not answering,” Tommy said faintly as Nikki re-entered the green room from his short trip to the men’s room.

“We have three minutes, man. Try harder.”

“Face it, she’s not going to make it,” Mick grunted as Vince finally turned away from the mirror and spotted Lovey waiting for him by the green room door. With a wink in his direction, he sauntered off toward her and Mick rolled his eyes. “So, this is how it’s gonna be? Blondie going off to fuck a groupie and you two, too worried about Wren to focus on the band?”

“Come on, Mick. Did you honestly think she’d miss this?” Tommy sighed as he dropped another quarter in the payphone. Despite being a smart ass, Mick knew it was safer to keep what he knew to himself, so he went back to strumming on his guitar and ignoring those around him. “Come on, Wren; pick up!” Tommy grumbled once more.

***     ***     ***

After the fourth call, Wren groaned and sighed as she threw her covers away from her body, shoved open her door, and made her way into the kitchen to pull the phone from the receiver.

“Hello?” she huffed as she held an arm tight across her body.

“Wren! Thank goodness! Get your ass down here! We’re on in like a minute.” Tommy’s voice was rushed as he spoke, and she could tell he had been panicking.

“I’m not feeling well, T,” Wren said softly as she pressed the phone closer to her face.

“What do you mean? You think the rest of us are on our A-game right now? None of us feel well!”

“No, Tommy, I mean I’m on my period. I’m. Not. Feeling. Well.” She’d never played that card before with Tommy, and as true as the statement was, it had never stopped her before. She’d played an hour-long game of full-court basketball with him on the heaviest days of her period before and didn’t even utter a complaint. She was hoping Tommy would catch on, but he was too overcome with anxiety and anticipation to read between the lines of what Wren was saying.

“Fuck, Wren, are you kidding?” Tommy grumbled with agitation spewing from his lips. “You’re going to let some cramps keep you from coming to the show?”

“I’ll be there tomorrow night, T.”

“Wren!”

“Please Tommy,” Wren pleaded before the line cut off and she was listening to the busy tone. Her eyes stared out of the kitchen to where, for so many days and nights, the boys had been practicing for this very moment–one she never thought she wouldn’t be a part of—and now, because of some deep seeded trauma that Vince’s bitch of a girlfriend felt the need to bring up, she wouldn’t be a part of. At this realization, tears swelled in her eyes as she ducked her head to her chest.

***

“Wren!” The sharp calling of her name only caused the tears to fall faster upon knowing what would come next. Her arms had been clenched to her body as she protected what was left of her dignity, but his hands were there to destroy the slightest illusion of protection she’d granted herself. “Stop crying! You know I hate when you do that.” His rough fingers wrapped tightly around her wrists until his nails threatened to break skin.

“You’re hurting me, please let go,” she said through a muffled sob.

“Get back on the bed.”

“C-Clay,” Wren stammered for a moment before being forced to collect herself as she attempted to ignore the tears that flowed down her cheeks. “I don’t want to.”

“You don’t want to?” his slimy voice said as the fingers on his free hand found their way around Wren’s neck. “How about now?” Slowly, Wren could feel the pressure around her esophagus increase and the back of her head press further into the wall.

“I can’t—” her scratchy voice rang out between gasps for air, “b-breathe.”

“Do you want me to let go?” he growled through narrowed eyes and gritted teeth. Wren nodded sheepishly as she tried desperately to have air enter her lungs. “Then get on the bed.” Although Wren had stopped crying, tears continued to fall from her face as she gasped for life. Slowly, he unraveled his hand from her neck and took a step back to stare down at her. Within a moment he had turned his back entirely and Wren did what she felt she had to in order to survive.

***

After smashing that asshole over the head with a motel room lamp, Wren ran to West Hollywood Park where a kind man with a rugged exterior showed her something she hadn’t seen in her life until this point: mercy. She never had to admit anything; after examining the look on her face, a short glance at her body, and a moment of looking into her soul, Bob Deal knew. He had been there before and, as time would tell, unfortunately, he would be there again, but his experience helped him be able to give this lonely, lost, and beaten thirteen-year-old-girl enough guidance to get back on her feet and not let the pain define her.

At the time, Wren didn’t know that Bob Deal knew what she was going through, all she knew was that he was helping her when the rest of the world seemed to only want to harm her. Even now, she didn’t know that years of abuse had brought Mick to be able to understand the pain that was resurfacing thanks to Lovey. Although she never gave Bob a name or a story, after last night, Mick could easily connect the dots. He wouldn’t ever have to admit it, but his own heart sank the moment he saw Wren’s face lose color the night before. He knew what she was going through, and he knew that no one else was aware, in the slightest bit, as to the demons she was currently fighting, but it wasn’t his place to say anything. All he could do was try and keep the band focused on what they needed to do.

“She’s not coming because of cramps,” Tommy grumbled to the group. “Can you fucking believe it?” He nervously twirled his drumstick between his fingers as he paced away from the payphone and back and forth through the green room.

“No, I can’t,” Mick grumbled, “and you shouldn’t either, but there’s nothing you can do about it now.”

“So, what do you suggest we do?” Tommy grumbled as he looked between Mick and Nikki for guidance. After a moment of silence and confusion from Nikki and Tommy, Mick sighed, slung his guitar strap over his shoulder, and stood with a mere five words:

“On with the damn show.”

Chapter Text

Wren had sat on the kitchen floor and stared aimlessly out into the band's practice area for what felt like hours. In reality, she’d only spaced out for about five or six minutes, but during that time, her mind spun with self-actualization. The apartment wasn’t home without the band, without Tommy slamming cymbals, without Nikki grumbling at her for sitting on his amp, without Mick passing her a sideways glare whenever one of the boys did something idiotic, or even without Vince’s bantering appreciation of her help. Six years had gone by without a thought of that horrible person crossing her mind, and now because of some big mouthed blonde bimbo, Wren had reverted back to the frightened and fragile thirteen-year-old she had been.

It took Wren two years to internalize the message a man by the name of Bob Deal had taught her when she ran away from home after they refused to believe her accusation of abuse. At fifteen she decided she wasn’t going to let that tainted chapter bleed through the pages and darken the rest of her life. After two years of looking over her shoulder in fear, of feeling her heart pound within her chest so fiercely she thought she’d throw up, and of not being able to trust a single damned person in the world besides Tommy Lee Bass was all it took for her to decide enough was enough. What she had undergone was painful not only physically, mentally, and emotionally, but spiritually as well.

She had allowed herself to hurt for too long after the physical pain had ended. She blamed herself and beat herself up for allowing herself to be in such a position in the first place. She thought, ‘If only I had been stronger’, or, ‘If I would have been smarter about the people I chose as friends’, or even, ‘Maybe there was something about me that brought this on myself’, but it took becoming friends with Tommy for her to realize that those things weren’t a problem in her life. He was a wild card for sure, but he was also one of the sweetest souls she knew. He never pressured her, never forced her into situations where she felt uncomfortable, and he believed she was the strongest motherfucker on the face of the earth! He was her best friend, but her was also her oasis; he was peace, comfort, warmth, and protection, and she was about to let him down. 

Wren gathered the courage she had left, acknowledged her fears, and put them aside so that she could support the people that mattered to her. For a long time during the early stages of her friendship with Tommy, Wren held firm to the notion that, if she was alone, no one could hurt her, but Tommy had found a way to weasel his way into her life closely enough to disprove this ideology. He helped her learn that certain relationships are worth having, and he convinced her that these relationships can create the bond of family. The family of friends forged through the throes of rock and roll was the only family she had, and she was determined not to let them down.

She'd come to find a home that accepted her, a family that would stand by her, a band of brothers that appreciated her, and for the first time in her life, she truly felt appreciated and needed by another human being. It was never hard to let people down in the past, with the exception of Tommy, because she never truly cared about them and they never truly cared about her. However, as she sat alone in a building that only felt like home when the Crue was around, the barrier that had risen in her mind that blocked all of the negative thoughts in, had fallen down. Slowly, Wren was able to pull herself from the floor, take a deep breath, and know that even if she didn't consider herself to be strong enough, her friends wouldn't let something bad happen to her.

Quickly, she shoved her feet into her running shoes, tied the laces tightly around her feet, and locked up the apartment before she took off towards the Whisky. During the first few nights at their new place, Wren was hesitant about living on the Strip, after all, loud drunk people wandering through the neighborhood wasn’t exactly an appealing quality, but as she jogged the few blocks worth of distance between their apartment to the Whisky, Wren was counting her lucky stars and praying she wouldn’t miss a second of seeing her family on stage. With the cold, evening air of the desert in her lungs, Wren’s legs carried her stride toward the bouncer who looked at her up and down before folding his arms over his chest.

“Are you looking to get in or just out for a run?” the man questioned as he jutted his chin out in order to appear more authoritative over the much smaller young woman. Wren hadn’t even assessed her wardrobe during the moments she decided to pick herself up and hurry to support the people in her life that mattered, and so she appeared at the club in tennis shoes, black jogging shorts, and a tattered, old AC/DC t-shirt.

“I’m with the band,” Wren stated in her best matter-of-fact tone despite being slightly out of breath from sprinting down the street.

“You and half the other underage chicks who try to slip in,” the man grunted with a scoff rising from his stomach only to be returned with Wren’s narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

“Do you want me to buy a ticket?” Wren’s snarky tone slapped the man in the face as he looked down his nose at her.

“All sold out,” he responded in a curt, unapologetic tone.

“My best friend is about to get on stage and you can be damned sure I’m not about to miss it!” Although I did almost miss it, she quickly thought to herself. “Is there a list or something that I need to be on?” Upon hearing her question, the bouncer’s eyebrows furrowed as he recalled one of the stage managers giving him a name—shit, what was it? Dan Lemmon? Ben Lennon? “My name is Wren Ledden. I’m sure Tommy mentioned to someone I was coming. Nikki Sixx works here; he’s playing tonight. I’m the closest thing that group of misfits have to a manager. You have to let me in!”

Nikki, his name fluttered in the back of her mind as she tried to focus on getting herself into the club. Soon after her idea of friendships was reinvented with the help of Tommy, she applied her previous belief of friendships to romantic relationships: if she was alone, no one could hurt her. She didn’t want to be reminded of that night, and if she wasn’t touched, she didn’t have to remember. If she wasn’t held, she wouldn’t close her eyes and panic at the memory of having his arms around her. For six years she’s held that to be true, until she learned to fold under the safe embrace of Nikki.

“Ledden does ring a bell,” the man said as he lowered his arms and stepped aside. “You can come in, but I have an eye on you. I have a friend down the strip who’s told me about you; you shouldn’t be sneaking into clubs. It’s gonna catch up to you one day.”

“If Mötley makes it as big as I think they will, I won’t have to sneak in anywhere ever again,” Wren said with a smirk as she jogged past the entrance and into the Whisky just in time to see Vince jog up onto the stage and introduce the band as his nerves fluttered around within him. Silence engulfed the room as the crowd stared at the collection of boys and men on stage. Wren hurried to make her way toward the front and hopefully ease her way backstage to support her friends, however her heart sunk to her knees at what happened next. Tommy’s cymbal roll at Vince’s introduction ended with a smash, but not on the crash cymbal. Instead, out of nervous panic, he kicked the cymbal stand over and earned a humiliating fit of laughter from the audience.

Wren contemplated jumping onto the stage to help him reset his drums, but Tommy had already lunged around the trap set while shouting expletives. Anxiously, she scanned the stage, hoping to lock eyes with any member of the band, but all she managed to capture was the uneasiness each member carried. Vince had been a hype man and eye candy for his last band, but this was a different crowd. There were women present, but definitely not to the degree he was used to, and Wren could see him weighing that fact in his mind. Mick seemed cool and collected, but something about his demeanor seemed slightly forced. Tommy was nearly shaking from the amount of adrenaline coursing through his body, and Nikki wore a face full of his signature austere, ‘what the fuck are you looking at?’ grimace to hide the fear in his heart. If tonight went poorly, he was out of a job and Mötley was out of the scene.

Almost as soon as Tommy knocked over his cymbal, the crowd began to transform from the quiet, uninterested patrons Wren had walked in on, into heartless, taunting, and jeering asses. Comments along the lines of “You suck,” and “Get off the stage!” began to slip from the crowd and, with each passing remark, Wren could feel her lips tighten across her face and her finger curl tighter into a fist. Vince tried his best to ignore the comments and attempted to hype the band up as they began ‘Take Me To The Top’, but as he began to dance, his movements were jerky as opposed to how fluidly he usually moves, and his face seemed pale. Again, the crowd’s pre-formulated opinions about the band based upon Tommy’s accident at the beginning, as well as the band’s attire, kept the audience from experiencing all that Mötley Crüe had to offer. The band started heavy and hard, and it genuinely seemed like they were taking their nerves out on their instruments in the most beneficial way they could, but that didn’t stop a few men in the crowd from attempting to rile up Vince.

As Vince waited for his que to come in, one burly, barrel chested, bearded man called out, “Who’s the chick singer?” which earned a large laugh from the people around him.

“Hey, fuck you, asshole!” Vince called back from the stage, but the man could hear Wren—having been much closer to the antagonist than Vince—loud as day from over his shoulder.

“Why don’t you fuck off or get the fuck out?!” she shouted over Mick, Tommy, and Nikki’s playing. The six foot, two-hundred fifty plus pound man turned to reveal a five foot seven, nineteen-year-old girl of just over one-hundred thirty-five pounds, and again the crowd laughed, only this time they were laughing at Wren. The man disregarded Wren with a roll of his eyes and then used both of his hands to give Vince the bird before he spat on what appeared to be brand new, white leather pants. Wren could see the fire forming in Vince’s eyes and quickly remembered what she told them, some dick in the first row with an attitude can’t be the person who makes or breaks this. … But I can, she thought as she quickly made up her mind. Without even giving Vince the opportunity to process what had happened, Wren stepped in front of the man, positioning herself between the stage and the proclaimed dick in the first row with an attitude, and spat back, making sure to hit him where his wife-beater exposed his chest in hopes that it would smear into his beard.

“You bitch!” the man screamed as he lunged toward Wren with fury in his eyes and his arms reaching for her hands. Quickly, Vince grabbed her by the shirt and pulled her towards the stage as he simultaneously jumped into the crowd and threw a punch to her attacker’s jaw. The man seemed to absorb the impact before he quickly threw a jab into Vince’s teeth that sent the blonde flying backwards and landing just short of the stage, beside Wren.

“Thanks,” she huffed as she stared at the blood that fell from Vince’s busted lip.

“Don’t mention it,” Vince responded as he spat the blood trailing from his mouth onto the floor before shoving Wren closer to the ground upon catching a blurred glimpse of white and red. Wren looked over Vince’s shoulder to see Nikki swinging his bass violently over his shoulder until it connected with the side of the burley man’s head. Before anyone knew it, Vince and Nikki were throwing punches with a few of the asshole’s friends, Tommy had launched himself from the stage to take down a couple of people who had gone after Nikki, and even Mick had delivered a hard-hitting blow to someone trying to charge him as he helped Wren up onto the stage. Wren and Mick watched as the crowd folded away from the fight and bouncers began to gain control over the men who Nikki and Vince were fending off. As the singer and bassist stood off stage, in front of everyone while their drummer straddled and pummeled the guy who had initiated the brawl, they scanned the crowd, searching for a sign of whether or not they’d fucked up their shot of making it on the Strip. Once he’d had enough of the horrified faces meeting his, Nikki rescanned the crowd in search of Wren. He knew she could get herself into trouble, and it was obvious Tommy was otherwise busy beating up the man who went after her for defending Vince. After last night, he understood her hesitancy towards strangers, her aversion to open spaces, and her displeasure of being touched, even though she didn’t seem to have any qualms about him pulling her close to his chest last night after her fight with Lovey.

Noticing Nikki’s concern, Mick nudged Nikki in the back with his shoe and jutted his head toward where Wren stood behind the curtains off the side of the stage. Bouncers had succeeded in restraining Tommy, throwing him to Vince and Nikki to control, and then tossing the trouble makers outside, but the club lingered in a heavy silence. It felt as if the world had taken in a deep breath and was holding it while everyone else waited for the exhale to breathe again.

“Fuck yeah!” a guy in blue jeans and a red and while baseball t-shirt holding a cigarette screamed. “Mötley Crüe!” Slowly, people began to join in on the whoops and cheers; at this change in the audience’s demeanor, the boys realized they hadn’t blown it. Tommy punched Vince’s shoulder before he leapt back on stage and held up his hand to Wren for a crisp high-five which then turned into a bro-hug.

“I’m still pissed at you,” he said through a smile, unable to hide his excitement.

“Just get out there and fuck the audience in the face,” she responded as she rolled her eyes at her best friend and faded back behind the curtain.

Following Tommy’s lead, Nikki and Vince also made their way back to their place on stage, one slinging his guitar strap over his shoulder and the other gripping onto the microphone. As Tommy entered strong on his snare, Nikki and Vince’s eyes met; excitement, adrenaline, and power seemed to electrify the band, and with one fluid movement, the pair clasped hands in solidarity. It was the first time those two had ever shared any sort of moment other than light animosity toward one another due to, at first, Vince’s intimidation of Wren, then Lovey’s persistently bad attitude. As soon as their hands left one another’s grasp, the band dove into ‘Take Me To The Top’, and the crowd roared into a rejuvenated life powered entirely by Tommy, Mick, Nikki, and Vince.

Wren was not only impressed by the passion of the crowd, but by their stamina too. Nikki had prepared an eleven-song set for tonight, and although parts of the crowd did seem a bit tired after some of the songs, Nikki did a great job of spacing out the slower songs throughout the set. Some of Wren’s favorites made the cut for tonight including ‘On With the Show,’ ‘Piece of Your Action’, and ‘Merry Go Round,’ but the band’s closing song was the one she was waiting for.

“Alright you guys,” Vince called out into the microphone, “We’ve got one more song for you tonight! If you like us and want to hear the same shit for the next two nights, come back and see us tomorrow night and the night after! This last song is a fun one. It kicked my ass for a bit at first, but thanks to one of our own, a miss Wren Ledden, I think we can rock it out for you tonight!”

Vince’s interaction with the microphone was so smooth and effortless, as if the mic and its stand were extensions of Vince’s body, and it wasn’t until he turned his back to the audience and waved his hands to get Wren’s attention that she even noticed she’d been gazing out into the crowd, watching how he held the audience captive. Vince subtly jutted his head toward Wren, but it wasn’t until Tommy pointed at her with his sticks and then made a line from her to the front of the stage that Wren understood what Vince was trying to get her to do. Mick offered her his hand as she climbed up a small step or two, Tommy smiled at his friend—happy in their attempted way to prove to her she’s as included in the band as the rest of them—and Nikki nodded at her in admiration as she hesitantly paced towards Vince. “Before we close out, why don’t you give it up for Mötley Crüe’s very own Live Wire!” As Vince screamed into the mic and the crowd roared with anticipation of the song and blindly celebrated whatever Vince had said, Mick and Nikki dove head first, full force into what had to have been their heaviest performances of ‘Live Wire’ to date.

Wren hesitated as she stood awkwardly on stage in her workout clothes surrounded by thigh-high leather boot wearing boys with heels high enough to allow Vince and Mick illusion of being taller than her. With a small wave, she tried to take a step back and fade behind the curtain, but Vince reached out for her hand, missed his entrance to the song, and called into the mic, “I think for the right incentive, Wren may share the stage!” Her eyes widened and her stomach fell to the ground as she listened not only to Vince’s words echoing through the club, but also to the wave of screams the cheered.

What were they cheering for? Mötley Crüe…it had to be because of the hype and hard-driving song. Another measure passed and the crowd grew louder. Surely, they’re not cheering for me, she thought as her eyes turned to seek the guidance of the rest of the band. Tommy was giddy with glee, Mick was reassuring as he gave a curt nod in her direction, Vince was pumping his fist in the air to get the crowd to cheer louder, and Nikki’s voice left his body in a shout, yet traveled through the air and into Wren’s ears like a whisper over the now doubly long musical intro. “You’ve got this!” With the band’s encouragement, Wren held up her hands in defeat and Vince jumped into the song at the next measure.

She wasn’t the band’s singer, she wasn’t anyone’s girlfriend, she wasn’t a groupie, she was Wren fucking Ledden and she was a part of Mötley Crüe. The power of the band, the thrill of the audience, the electricity coursing through her veins was something she knew she would never get used to, which is why she would never do this again, but for tonight—for Mötley’s first show—it was perfect.

Chapter Text

Watching her friends struggle to come down from the high of their first show should have been an indication for countless events that would shape Wren’s future, but being young blinded her from those potential dangers. Instead, she focused solely on helping her friends through the band’s first three performances at the Whisky. She began with an attempted apology to Tommy, which he refused to let her finish before immediately forgiving her for almost missing the show; he’d known Wren long enough to truly know her and her heart. If she was going to miss the show, it was more than likely due to something important, and besides that, he owed her an apology.

Tommy and Wren were family long before she moved in with him and the rest of the Bass family, and long before the Crüe became a family of their own. For about half of her life, Wren had Tommy, and somewhere around their first major heart-to-heart, the pair made a promise that Tommy ended up breaking that night. He knew the emotional manipulation Wren’s parents put her through—the constant shaming her for her passions and bringing about an immense amount of guilt in order for her to abide by their wishes—just as much as she knew how silence, to Tommy, was a punishment. As young teenagers, the pair promised to never, deliberately make the other feel weak or unempowered in the way their parents had—whether it be intentional, like Wren’s, or unintentional, like Tommy’s.

The next few days and nights went without mention of the incident that happened when Lovey was over the night before their debut, and it went without saying that she wouldn’t be allowed back in the apartment if she couldn’t keep her trap shut; however, Nikki still felt the need to make that clear with Vince. The day of their final performance at the Whisky, Tommy, Wren, and Nikki had woken up earlier than usual. At eight in the morning, Wren sat outside the front door, sipping coffee from a mug Tommy had gotten her for her birthday the previous year, and reading aimlessly through the paper. She didn’t expect to see any of her roommates until around noon or even later considering how frequently the boys slept in, however she was surprised to hear a grumbling Nikki speaking on the phone in a frustrated and exasperated tone.

In an attempt to mind her own business, Wren adjusted her position in the folding lawn chair she sat in outside their apartment, rested the paper against her now bent legs, and drank from her mug. Her eyes skimmed an article about yet another celebrity who has passed away that year, but Wren was listening to the huff and puff of a tired and grumpy Nikki Sixx as he stepped onto, what she referred to as a patio for lack of a better word, and dropped himself into the folding chair beside Wren.

“I take it you’re in a bad mood because you woke up too early,” she commented without pulling her eyes away from the paper.

“That was Vince on the phone,” Nikki dully stated as he lit a cigarette in frustration. “He wants to practice some specific voice stuff with us before the show tonight.”

“Okay, what’s the problem then, pissy pants?” Wren continued to skim the article with little interest in the world around her other than the coffee she continually and leisurely sipped on. Nikki pulled the cigarette from between his lips and let out a steady stream of smoke. His eyes had slowly drifted from the jagged horizon of rooftops to the soft, brown waves of Wren’s hair as it fell gently around her face. He watched as her bottom lip curled beneath her top teeth as she read, and couldn’t help the urge he had to smile at her. She looked peaceful sitting there in what he assumed used to be one of Tommy’s old t-shirts, her usually pale skin glowing in the golden rays of the sun, and her light eyes dancing across the pages of the paper with an intense focus that caused her to chew on her lip. Nikki hated himself for wanting to reach across the empty space between them and snake his fingers between hers. It seemed stupid, cheesy, and cliché, and he hated all of those things. He’d never known love, so love didn’t exist; it was a fabrication concocted in movies to force everyday people into believing that some sort of superior feeling can exist within you, so he rejected the desire to take Wren’s hand in his and dismissed it as him falling victim to Hollywood’s attempt to play god.

“The problem is that he wants to bring that bitch over again.” Nikki noticed the soft curve of Wren’s jaw harden and the curious gaze with which she read the paper fade and be replaced with a cold, calculated grimace.

“If she’s—” Wren’s threat was quickly cut short by a reassuringly curt Nikki.

“She’s not.” Those two words coming from his mouth was enough to cause her posture to relax and her eyes to soften. Wren hadn’t even realized how tense she’d been at the mention of Vince’s girlfriend until Nikki put her mind at ease. “I told him that after last time she’s not welcome here, and if she treats you like shit at any show, Tommy and I aren’t going to step in to hold you back.” Unsure of what to say, Wren allowed her lips to curl into a small smile of gratitude before she shifted her attention back to the paper. She was thankful she had it with her; it gave her something to look at other than those damned eyes of his. She tried not to let her mind retreat back the night she pummeled Lovey, but she surrendered to her thoughts. She couldn’t shake the feeling of how Nikki held her, how safe she felt with him, and the thought that ran through her mind when wrapped in his arms.

“Why do you do this?” The words fell from her mouth without caution and her eyes flashed up at the man beside her.

“Excuse me?” Nikki cocked an eyebrow at Wren and offered a small, forced chuckle in her direction. He knew damned well that she could see through him, yet he was still stupid enough to try and change the conversation’s course.

“Why do you do this?” she repeated, this time assuring her eyes never left Nikki’s.

“Are you mad right now?” he asked after looking over his shoulder back toward the apartment’s window to see if Tommy was awake or approaching. Both Wren and Nikki had tempers and the tendency to quickly lash out at those around them as a result of their tempers. After an incident involving a misplaced remote and Nikki and Wren yelling at one another for an hour before either of them realized they were saying the same thing, the pair decided it would be best to flat out ask one another if they were angry rather than try and gauge the other’s temper. Wren smiled to herself when Nikki asked her this, mostly because they were each a bit drunk when they devised that plan and she knew that, normally, Nikki never remembered anything that happens when he’s drunk.

“No, I’m just curious,” Wren sighed before she continued. “Why do you always defend me?”

“Tommy defends you,” he retorted.

“Tommy knows me and has known me for a very long time. He knows my birthday, my favorite food, favorite songs, he knows what I’m allergic to, knows the bullshit I’ve gone through…my regrets, fears, weaknesses. You don’t know me that way, at least not enough to constantly be jumping to my defense.” As Wren finished her sentence, Nikki’s gaze fell and his lips pursed in slight defiance.

“Just because I don’t know you like Tommy does, doesn’t mean I don’t know you at all,” Nikki scoffed, “and it doesn’t mean I don’t want to know you.” Upon noticing the quick furrow of Wren’s eyebrows, Nikki inhaled sharply on his cigarette and spoke again to clear up her confusion. “I know you hate cigarette smoke, that’s why I’m sitting down wind from you. I know you can’t stand it when Tommy makes coffee, which is why you always get up earlier than us. I know you eat chocolate and peanut butter in the living room after Tommy and I go to bed, or when you wake up in the middle of the night from nightmares—yeah, I know about those too. I know you discredit yourself way too much, but for the life of me, I don’t know why, because you’re probably the smartest and most talented person I’ve ever met. So maybe I don’t know you like Tommy does, but I know you enough to know what makes you mad, and what upsets you, and if I can do something to keep that from happening, then I will.” As the words fell from Nikki’s mouth, Wren was as still as the morning air around them as the golden rays of the sun slowly disappeared and daylight took over the world.

“Nikki, do you how hard it is to trust another person so completely?” The man beside her shook his head and his dark hair flicked slightly against his neck; she knew neither of them truly trusted anyone that they weren’t bound to with one hundred percent of their lives. “Neither do I, except for Tommy. He’s my best friend, but he’s also more than that; he’s my family. I don’t just say that shit because that’s how it’s like between us; I say it because I’ve never felt a familial bond with any human being—one so complete and unconditional that you know, through anything and everything, they will be there—other than with Tommy. We’re family in the sense that we have to love each other no matter what; that’s what and who Tommy is to me.” Silence fell over the pair as Wren lifted her coffee mug to her lips sipped from it as she thought of her next words. Nikki’s eyes fell from where he had held his gaze on her to the ground. Did she trust Nikki in one sense or another? Yes. Did she feel safe around him? Yes. Did those feelings of trust and safety terrify her to wits end? Hell yes! Wren didn’t know why she felt so comfortable around Nikki, but she was certain of one thing: he could turn his back on her, and she’d made the decision long ago that if she could avoid getting hurt, she’d do so at all costs.

“You’re not the only one here with a fucked-up past,” Nikki said softly when he noticed Wren shift in her seat, as if she were about to retreat from the awkward, raw, naked vulnerability of their conversation. “I know it’s hard to get close to people—why else do you think things didn’t work out with London? And I’m serious about what I said; just because I don’t know you like Tommy does, doesn’t mean I don’t want to know you.” Wren rose from her seated position and stretched her spine out before responding to Nikki’s comment.

“What do you want to know, Sixx?” With a playful smirk across her face, Nikki half suspected her walls were back up, but the way she rested her back against the railing, her elbows propped up behind her rather than crossed over her body in defense, made him realize she was opening herself up to vulnerability.

“How about tomorrow, we work on some new music and hang out, just the two of us?” The smirk on Wren’s face fell into a soft smile as she nodded in agreement.

“That sounds nice,” she admitted. Nikki’s eyes fell over Wren’s face in the overly inquisitive way they had when he had walked outside, and as she noticed his gaze change, Wren reached for her newspaper and then pointed at the coffee mug.

“You can have the rest of that if you want; it’s my second cup and I have to piss.” Nikki chuckled once the door became a barrier between the pair then picked up her mug to taste a bold, black coffee with hints of mint, and once again he was faintly reminded of what her lips would taste like.

Inside the apartment, Tommy had hung up the phone with Mick, who was calling to let him know he was on his way over. “Is Vince coming too?” Tommy asked once Nikki filed back into the apartment. “Wait, what were you guys doing outside?” A taunting tone seemed to ooze from Tommy’s lips as he raised his eyebrows and allowed his eyes to dart back and forth between Nikkia and Wren.

“Reading the paper and drinking coffee, like I do every morning,” Wren returned as she lightly thwacked a portion of the paper against Tommy’s chest and placed another part of the paper in Nikki’s hands.

“Oo! Cartoons!” Tommy cooed as he dropped onto the couch and began to flick through the pages.

“I highlighted the equipment I found for-sale. I thought we could show Vince and Mick and see if there’s anything we want, or anything we can trade,” Wren’s intonation turned upwards and her eyes widened into those of a doe as she tried, yet again, to convince Nikki to trade the extra guitar amplifier that Rick had used for a second bass drum for the drum set.

“Again, with this?” He huffed with a smirk before dropping the folded papers on his amp and grabbing his bass. He tried to be genuinely mad at her suggestion when she first brought it up weeks ago, but failed miserably in doing so. Since then it’s become a bit: Wren would bring it up, Nikki would feign frustration, they’d discuss it for a moment, but both parties knew that, in the end, neither would budge. At the end of today’s rendition of the bit, Wren rolled her eyes, picked up the papers, and dropped onto the bass amp as Nikki turned his attention to the fret and began to tune his instrument to precision—a feat Wren was incredibly impressed with since he had done the same thing merely a few hours ago, just before he went to sleep.

“It’s collecting dust,” Wren retorted as she pointed the papers in the direction of the extra amp and then dropped her arms as she returned her attention to Nikki.

“Maybe you can use it as a seat,” Nikki sneered as he eyed Wren up and down where she sat; her back was upright in an impeccable posture that always seemed to impress him, and he rolled his eyes at the sheer knowledge that Wren’s posture was due to her practicing yoga in her room early in the morning or late at night to calm whatever nerves overcome her enough to have frequent nightmares.

“Wren sits between us so she can make sure we’re on tempo,” Tommy commented without looking up from Calvin and Hobbes. “She also likes sitting near you so you two can make your judging comments about each run through.”

“Tommy only has two feet! One for the bass drum and one for the hi-hat, what is he going to do with a second bass drum?” Nikki stated as he moved his tuning to the next string and continued to flick his eyes between his fret and Wren.

“See, judging comments,” Tommy muttered dryly as his interest in the conversation between his friends faded and was replaced by that of a blonde boy and tiger.

“What about getting Vince a better mic? He always gets tangled in the wire. We could get a cordless one,” Wren suggested as Nikki tried to strum his bass strings harder to overpower her voice. His attempt was fruitless when Wren leaned over and turned off the volume on his amplifier.

“Why does everyone else get something from this except me?” Nikki complained as he moved on to the next string on his guitar.

“Fine, what do you want, Sixx?” Wren huffed as she let her legs down from their crisscrossed position and leaned herself backwards, supporting her weight with the heels of her hands and bringing her shoulders back. Nikki swore she was pushing her chest higher to get her way, that her posture had changed as a means to manipulate him, that she had set this whole thing up, that her kindness and slight vulnerability outside being just a ruse to get him to agree to trade in something he had no physical or emotional attachment to other than it being a constant conversation piece between him and her. Before he spoke, Nikki narrowed his eyes at Wren and smirked.

“I want my extra amplifier.” His cocky tone only enhanced the smug look over his face as his eyes refused to move from Wren’s narrowed brows and sharp jaw that jutted his way. Tommy laughed at the pair’s interaction and only dropped the antics of Calvin and Hobbes when he heard the familiar chug of Mick’s car pull up to the curb, with Vince’s true love—his girlfriend’s cherry red whatever-the-fuck car—visible not far down the street.

Taking this as her last chance to mess with Nikki before witnesses appeared, Wren gave him the same up and down examination he routinely gave her. He noticed this and the smug, arrogant smirk on his face fell to an almost equally arrogant smile. Cautiously, he walked towards where she had positioned herself on his amp—when she first started doing this, it drove him insane because he assumed she didn’t have any respect for his things, then he realized she only did this because she felt safe near him, and then it drove him insane because he really liked seeing her there every time he turned around. Honestly, during the past two performances at the Whisky, if he turned his head toward his amp, a strong disappointment would overcome him when he realized she wasn’t there. Seeing her now, in a way he’d imagined in the wildest of fantasies—legs draped, arms leaning back, chest high—he bit his lip as he bent over, his face becoming microscopically close to hers, as he turned his amp’s volume back on. He had rested his hand against the side of the amplifier, forcing his arm to cross behind her back, and when he rose again, he could see her sharp eyes cutting into him as her teeth cut into her bottom lip.

“Your D string is a half-step sharp. You should probably fix that before the guys come back in,” Wren stated with a smirk as she slid from his amp and paced out of the apartment to welcome Mick. Nikki grabbed his instrument and strummed the second thinnest string without hearing the discrepancy Wren had mentioned. It wasn’t until he thought about her eyes trailing over him and the smirk on her face as she spoke that he caught her innuendo.

Chapter Text

Adrenaline coursed through Nikki’s veins as he and Mick strummed the final chords of their last set at their latest show--another weekend block at the Whisky--and gazed out into the audience. As the crowd roared their applause for the four misfits on stage, Wren turned to the man beside her with a slightly arrogant smirk resting on her face. She didn’t know how soon she should have approached him, but after using up all of her available resources of finding dive bars for the band to play in, and Nikki continually begging his boss to let Mötley Crüe play at the Whisky again and again, Wren figured now was as good of a time as ever.

“They’re good,” he stated. The salt and pepper of the man’s hair was different from how Wren the image she had of her grandfather’s brother from years ago, but his eyes were just as piercing and weary as she could recall. “Your mother would hate that you’re here. You know that, right?” Wren folded her arms over her chest and held her breath at the mere mention of her parents.

“They hate a lot of the things I like, and much of what I’ve done, but I’m not here to talk about my mother, Uncle Elmer. Grandpa taught me everything I know about the industry, and the one thing he said more than anything else was—”

“Talent is important, but knowing someone important will allow the world to experience that talent,” the tall, rather puffy faced man said as he recalled the nugget of wisdom his brother frequently spouted to anyone who was listening, but most frequently to young Wren in particular.

“You don’t have to vouch for them if you don’t think they have what it takes to make it. I can keep finding dive bars, sleazy clubs, anything it takes to get them the face time with audiences they need before booking the bigger venues, but you’re someone important, and me knowing you could allow the world to see all that these guys have to offer.” Wren didn’t smile or smirk; her face was firm and confident in her assessment of Mötley Crüe, and she only hoped her great-uncle would see what she saw in them. Sure, they were still new to the scene, and even though it felt as if they had only been together for a matter of months, they were encroaching on the year anniversary of forming the band.

Once again, the man’s eyes surveyed the crowd as teenagers and young adults jumped up and down, threw their fists into the air and chanted the band’s name in hopes they’d perform one last song before stepping off stage. Tommy’s eyes searched for Wren, but he gave up when he realized fighting against the blinding spotlights focused on him was bringing on a headache.

“They’re certainly something you don’t see every day,” Elmer commented as he trailed over each of the men standing on stage. “And keep selling out each time they play here at the Whisky.” With a sigh, Elmer Valentine shoved his hands into his pockets and pulled out a pen. “Call this number and I’ll make sure your band gets a back-to-back, two-night performance at The Roxy,” he said as he scribbled down a telephone number under the words ‘Roxy Theatre’. “I’ll also put a few calls in to some colleagues and friends about having them perform at other venues.”

“Other venues?” Wren asked as she took the napkin her great-uncle had written on and slid it into her back pocket.

“The Troubadour, The Starwood, maybe even Gazzarri’s and the Santa Monica Civic Center,” he said nonchalantly with a smirk on his face as he watched Wren’s face beam with excitement.

“You’re the best, Uncle Elmer,” Wren said with a wide smile as she peered up at the first person in her family, aside from her grandfather, to believe in her. “Thank you so much!”

“Don’t mention it, kiddo,” he said before reaching out to envelope Wren in a quick hug. “Just keep us being relatives under wraps. Connections are one thing, but nepotism is another.” With a quick nod of understanding between the pair, Wren shook her great-uncle’s hand one more time before she began to push her way through the audience and towards the green room as she heard Vince call into the microphone, “Once again, we are Mötley Crüe. Don’t forget you can buy t-shirts and shit at the bar! Good night Los Angeles!”

Backstage, a few employees of The Whisky began to pack up Tommy’s drums and carry the instruments and amplifiers to the beat-up van the band had been using to transport their belongings between the house and shows. The guys were hurrying to scrub the makeup they had on their faces off with wet washcloths, and buzzed from the electricity in their bones from the performance they just gave. Wren couldn’t help the smile that came over her face as she held onto the news she’d received and watched the band remove their stardom to become normal people again.

“This is amazing!” Tommy bellowed as he tossed the rag he used to clean his face towards the travel bag of makeup Wren had brought along. “They love us!”

“Three performances here isn’t enough to get us on the map,” Nikki reminded him solemnly. “We just have to hope we made some money off t-shirt and cassette sales to book a pay-to-play gig or something.”

“Do you really have that little faith in your manager?” Wren questioned as she entered the green room to see Vince beginning to strip himself out of his stage costume in order to change into his normal clothes. Confidently, Wren walked to where Mick and Nikki sat and held a crisp check over her beaming smile. “You guys made three-hundred dollars in sales,” she said as she passed the check to Mick, who then showed it to the rest of the band.

“No way!” Tommy gasped as he ran towards Mick to stare at the proof of their profit.

“We’re going to celebrate! Tonight!” Vince stated. “I already told some fans to come to the house for an after party, so you can’t say no!” Excitement spread through every fiber of Tommy’s being and Nikki’s enthusiasm soon swelled to match Tommy’s.

“Well, if you’re going to celebrate something, it’s not going to be making a few hundred bucks,” Wren said as she leaned her back against one of the vanities positioned against the wall. Since Mick seemed to be the only one to notice an all-knowing smirk on her face, he spoke first.

“Alright, I’ll bite. Do you have something you’re not telling us, Ledden?” Her smirk seemed to transfer to Mick and she bit her lip before spilling her small secret.

“Certain connections and scouting have led to Mötley Crüe getting a two-night performance at the Roxy.” Before Wren could finish her sentence, Tommy had her hanging in the air like a rag-doll between his arms as he swung her around in circles as he jumped up and down at her news.

“How in the hell were you able to pull that off?” Vince questioned with a large smile on his face as he pulled his t-shirt over his head.

“Grandpa’s old radio station friends?” Tommy guessed as he placed Wren back on the ground. With a giddy smile on his face, Tommy wrapped his arms around Wren’s shoulders, stood behind her, and rested his chin on her head in an attempt to calm himself down.

“Something like that,” Wren commented, “and that’s not all. There’s talk of securing places like the Troubadour and some pretty big venues like the Civic Center too.”

“Damn,” Nikki sighed as he came over to thank Wren for not only believing in the band, but getting shit done to promote them. “What would we do without you?”

“Crash and burn,” she smirked with a light chuckle. Nikki wanted to sling his arm over her shoulders and hold her for just a short moment, but she was de-energizing Tommy at the moment, so he reached for her hand and gingerly took it in his. He held on for only a few short seconds, but the second his calloused finger tips were able to feel the soft, gentle touch of Wren’s skin, he found himself wishing he could hold on just a moment longer. Even though outwardly, the moment they had was short, sweet, and friendly, it wasn’t enough to keep Mick, Tommy, and even Vince from scrutinizing every millisecond of the pair’s interaction.

***                        ***                        ***                        ***

The clock on the wall read half past two in the morning, but no one seemed to notice the time. The small, cramped apartment felt even smaller and more cramped with each passing moment as more people seemed to filter into and out of the Mötley home through whatever crevasse they could find. Like roaches, people who had attended the band’s performance crawled into and through their home, except in some cases, Wren definitely preferred the roaches. She and Mick lingered on the outside of the chaos that seemed to be unfolding in every square inch of her home, and each did their best to distract themselves with burning liquids.

“Not one for parties?” Mick questioned as they leaned against the window sill together and looked out across the sea of sweaty people.

“Not one for people,” she responded as she pulled a plastic cup to her lips and tasted the sweet, burning concoction of Dr. Pepper and Amaretto.

“Don’t like them?” Mick asked without taking his eyes off the scene before the pair.

“Don’t trust them. Everyone has a secret agenda or bullshit, selfish endeavors,” she huffed her blanket statement into existence. The man beside her nodded in unity with her and the pair tried once again to relax and blend into the wall; but having Tommy rush to Wren’s side only began to draw attention to the two loaners.

“Wren, look!” Tommy gasped as he let out a puff of smoke in the shape of a ring. The distinctively sweet and earthy flavor tickled her nose as she caught a whiff of the smoke coming from Tommy’s mouth. “It’s just like band camp!” he gasped before handing the remainder of a joint off to her and disappearing into the crowd. Without hesitation, Wren placed her lips to the rolled-up paper she held delicately between her index and middle fingers and inhaled. Upon seeing Mick’s down-turned eyes, Wren let go of the breath she was holding and coughed once before she attempted to defend herself.

“It’s an occasional vice,” she tried to explain before he cut her off.

“I’m not your pops; you don’t owe me anything. You’re a smart woman.” With a nod and a smile in his direction, Wren took another, much shorter puff before letting her arm hang down at her side.

“I’m really glad you’re here. This is probably going to be commonplace and it’s nice to not be the only person lingering in the background,” Wren admitted as she and Mick peeled themselves off the wall to make their way towards Tommy who was frantically waving his arms in their direction. In their walk over, Wren took a few more hits from the joint before it was gone and then disposed of it in an ashtray.

“Don’t mention it,” Mick huffed as he sat down across from Tommy and Wren placed herself between the two. Nikki sat across from her, his head ducked and his forehead placed against one of Tommy’s cymbals. The fuzzy feeling in her head and the chill that was taking over her from her core initially distracted her from the scene that was unfolding before her. There was a heavy inhaling sound before Nikki pulled his head up, widened his eyes, and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his leather jacket. Wren closed her eyes and blinked rapidly to clear any conclusion jumping from her mind, but when Tommy mimicked Nikki’s actions and her eyes caught sight of the white powder, her pounding heart turned to lead and the chills caused her to begin to shake.

“What the hell?” she asked as her now bloodshot eyes darted from Tommy to the drugs before her.

“Did you want some?” he asked only to have Wren punch his shoulder.

“Ow! Fuck, Wren! That shit hurt!” Tommy grumbled as he rubbed throbbing shoulder with the palm of his hand.

“No, I didn’t ‘want some,’” she sneered as she despairingly mocked him. “You two are going to fuck things up for Mötley Crüe before you ever make it out of LA!” Wren’s accusing tone caused Tommy to mentally shut down and turn to Mick in order to avoid Wren’s gaze. Only once before had he she ever been truly angry with him, and it was something he vowed to avoid at all costs; however, Nikki scoffed as he reached for the cymbal to do another line. In a wave of anger, Wren grabbed the instrument and turned sharply on her heel towards the bathroom.

“Wren!” Nikki called as he rushed after her. “Wren what are you doing?” Without thinking to knock, Wren threw open the door and turned on the sink before placing the cymbal under it and rinsing the remaining cocaine down the drain. “What the fuck, Wren?” Nikki grumbled as he placed his hands on her waist and spun her around to face him. Drunkenly, he stumbled forward during this act and tripped until his hips were flush against hers. Now completely freezing from the weed-chills and shaking from anger, Wren’s fingers were unable to sustain their grip on the cymbal. The loud crash the instrument made as it fell to the ground sent a painfully long ringing through both her and Nikki’s ears, and in a pang of auditory pain, his head fell to Wren’s shoulder and her hands flew to her ears.

“What the hell is going on out there?” a voice behind the shower curtain called out. Before Wren could turn her head or push Nikki away from her so people wouldn’t draw any drunken conclusions of what was going on, the curtain flew open to reveal Vince and Lovey, each topless, sitting in the bathtub with a syringe plunged into their arms.

“It’s just your bassist trying to fuck the band’s original groupie,” Lovey commented in an aloof and airy tone with a laugh in her voice, however, unlike her usual insults, which were met with fierce, deadly glares, she was unable to hold eye contact with Wren for longer than a few seconds. It made Wren sad more than anything to see the woman so incoherent, essentially a shell of a person with no emotion behind anything she said or did.

“Go fuck Wren in your room, Nikki. We’re using this one,” Vince muttered in the same indifferent tone as his girlfriend.

“We’re not about to fu—” With a glance in the mirror, he saw how tightly he was holding onto Wren’s waist, how much his hips were thrust against hers, the way she held her hands in her hair, and how closely his lips had been to her neck. If he would have walked in on two people as close as he was with her, he would not assume they were arguing, as the pair had been, and would have given them space for the next few minutes. “Wait, are you fucking shooting up?” Nikki shouted once he turned his attention to Vince to ignore the heat building in his face from feeling Wren so close to him. Nikki took a large step away from the sink, threw the rest of the shower curtain open, and then glared down at Vince. “You’re chewing my ass out when blondie is fucking injecting,” Nikki screamed as he turned back to face Wren.

“You’re both fucking pathetic for using coke in the first place!” Wren yelled in response as she tried to contain herself from shaking too violently.

“Says the woman who’s high,” Nikki countered as he turned back to look into Wren’s bloodshot, beautiful eyes.

“I’m not high, I’m buzzed, and a joint is different from fucking cocaine!” Wren quickly retaliated as she extended her arms up to push Nikki away, as if to physically show him he needed to get off her ass about this. Her only fault in that plan was not expecting Nikki to reach out and take hold of her hands. Even when she was mad at him, they were soft and comforting, and now he had the liquid courage and powdered confidence to hold her hands in his.

“What’s the big deal? All the greats do it,” Vince returned with a goofy grin spread across his face.

“The big deal is that you guys are still, essentially, nobodies! You have a f-few good shows and a do-it-yourself, demo tape and y-you think you’re hot shit! You d-dumbasses are going to throw everything away if you don’t grow up!” Frustrated and angry at a solid seventy-five percent of Mötley Crüe, Wren pulled her hands away from Nikki, and left the mess she had made in the bathroom—cymbal on the floor, water running, Nikki fuming, and Vince floating through the air—to return to the only sound mind in the band besides herself. “You’re both useless,” she said on her way out as she angrily slammed the door behind her.

“Someone isn’t getting laid tonight,” Lovey stated as she caught Nikki’s eye. With a final, aggravated grimace in Lovey’s direction, Nikki threw the door open and then closed again to follow Wren in an attempt to make things right. As he tried to hurry after her in his inebriated state, he could feel himself growing angrier and angrier as a drunk, male party-goer cornered the young woman and attempted to pull her into him to dance.

“Let go of me,” Wren stated sharply as she pulled her arm from the man’s grasp only to feel his grip tighten. Slowly, he tried to bring his free hand to her back and trace his fingers down her spine. Before anyone in the band could make it to her, she slipped her hand free and shoved the man away from her. “Back off!” Nikki could hear her defiant voice command before he watched Tommy stand and stagger his way towards their friend.

“Dude, leave her alone,” Tommy slurred as he swayed before the antagonist.

“You haven’t spent more than a minute with her tonight, so I know she’s not your girl. If anything, the old grump has more to say than you do,” the man commented as he jutted his head towards Mick.

“She’s not a person you want to fuck with, man,” Mick commented as he followed Tommy towards the commotion.

“You’ve been warned three times now,” Nikki commented as he pushed himself between the man and Wren, “show some respect or get the fuck out!” As Nikki lengthened his spine to use his height over this man to his favor, the shorter, much stockier man’s chest had puffed out and his voice deepened as he threatened Nikki.

“Make me motherfucker,” he panted in an angry and determined tone as he dug his fingers into Nikki’s collarbones and shoved him backwards until he toppled over into Tommy, sending both men crashing into the sofa. In a rage at the man for cornering her, at Nikki and Tommy for snorting coke, and at Vince for shooting up, Wren sent her leg flying up into the man’s groin. As he doubled over in pain, she shoved her fist across his face in a swift motion, and sent the man to the ground in a moaning pile of drunken trash.

“I told you to leave me alone, dick!” Wren growled as she stepped over the crumpled and agonizing body on the floor and threw the door open to her room. “Get the fuck out!” she shouted at the two or three couples thinking they were about to get it on in her room before they went scurrying away like rats through a storm drain. Nikki knew he could hear her door slam shut, and he swore he could hear the lock click on her door over the noise and chaos unfolding in the rest of their apartment, but he was too angry and embarrassed to do anything other than watch as Tommy and another party-goer threw the man outside of the house.

A moment ago, he wanted to apologize, to make a deal with her, to promise he wouldn’t do anything to compromise what he knows she’s been busting her ass for him to achieve, but now? Now he felt small, weak, even emasculated by the fact that a girl just laid out the guy he was trying to protect her from. Who fucking does that? he thought as he shrunk away from the party, out into the night and onto the front porch. A man defends a woman. It’s that simple. She made you look weak, even dependent. As the thoughts circulated in his mind, Nikki glanced at the two lawn chairs that over looked the street below. The softness in his heart he felt towards her that morning had begun to fade, and the more he thought about how embarrassed he felt in that moment which seemed to hang, frozen in time, the higher the walls he was constructing became. Nikki pursed his lips and clenched his jaw as he sharply inhaled the night air. With anger in his heart and a ferocious grimace on his face, he pushed through the doorway and past the partiers until he too had sunken into the dark, stillness of his room.

Chapter Text

Nikki grumbled as he rolled over in bed; the uncomfortably cinched leather pants from last night still clung to his legs, and slowly, all of the uncomfortable parts of last night returned to him. Wren angrily disposing of the coke he and Tommy were snorting, their bodies being pressed together, Vince's dumbass shooting coke in the bathroom, him yelling at her, her being harassed by some asshole in their home, her storming off to her room after slamming the man to the ground, and him going to bed shortly after, still fuming.

As he attempted to stand, his brain pounded against his skull and a straining pain pierced through his eyes. A groan escaped his lips as he felt the alcohol and cocaine hangover in his gut and head. The only solace from his pain was the intoxicating aroma of coffee that drifted through the crack under his door. Slowly, Nikki stood and made his way towards the kitchen, silently hoping he wouldn't encounter a soul throughout his short journey. As his sock-clad feet fell along the carpeted hallway, his frustration with Wren grew as his presence in the living room brought back all the anger he felt the previous night. He knew she was already awake. The lingering aroma of coffee had woken him up, and at first it was comforting, a sensuous reminder of her—mint and coffee either together or apart always led to him thinking of Wren—but as the image of her fist colliding against that man’s face flooded his mind, Nikki couldn’t control the boiling in his blood.

He couldn't put his finger on why it bothered him so much. He knew Wren was hot headed, that  she reacted violently out of anger, and that her ability to stand her ground had even been something he admired about her.

. Why was last night different for him? Why did the smell of coffee leave a hardened knot twisting around in his stomach? Why did he not want to see her? As Nikki found his way into the kitchen, he poured himself a bowl of cereal and lingered in the crevices of the apartment where he hoped she wouldn’t see him.

Suddenly, all of Nikki’s other senses began to overpower those of smell, and he was able to push the scent of coffee from his mind. As he scanned the kitchen, guilt fell over him as he realized Wren had cleaned up the mess that he, Tommy, and Vince along with their guests had made the night before. His hands shook slightly as he held the bowl, a side effect from the anxiety he felt as well as the craving he had to drink in order to forget his frustration with Wren and hers with him. His ears could hardly pick up the steady patter of water through the wall behind him as well as the high-pitched squeak that follows when someone turns off the shower. Quickly, Nikki placed his bowl on the counter and desperately searched the apartment for any trace of Tommy maybe it was him and not her in the shower. Maybe she was gone already. Be serious, where would she have to go? Where do either of you have to go?

Wren shoved a towel along her limbs and sighed in frustration as she realized the towel wasn’t drying her, rather it was pushing all of the residual water from her skin to the floor. Fuck it, she thought as she examined the puddle around her feet and quickly tied her hair up in the towel, one of the other assholes who live here can clean it. She slipped her legs into her shorts and pulled them up to her waist before she shoved her arms into the sleeves of a t-shirt and shimmied it down her body. She stepped out of the bathroom and wrung the ends of her hair out in the towel, paced past her room and through the apartment to hang the towel over the banister outside to dry. Only upon re-entering her home did she realize she was no longer alone.

“Oh, hey,” she said softly upon noticing the flattened mop of raven-dyed hair poking out from the kitchen.

“Hey,” Nikki offered apathetically in return. He didn’t turn to face her, look her in the eye, or even speak her name. Wren held her tongue. Don’t over react. He’s a dumbass who got wasted last night. He’s just hungover, she tried to reason away Nikki’s obviously sour attitude, but on some level, she was even more angry with him now than she was the night before.

“What time were you wanting to work on some new stuff? I have to call the Roxy at some point today, but that’s all I—”

“I’m not feeling it today.” Whether or not he meant for that simple sentence to cut down any semblance of civility Wren was upholding, Nikki succeeded in pressing a button he knew would cause her to self-destruct.

“You’re ‘not feeling it’,” she mimicked with a tinge of venom in her voice. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not in the mood,” Nikki hissed in return as he threw his plastic bowl in the sink and allowed the spoon to clink and clang around in a fury.

“Probably because your dumbass decided to do coke last night,” Wren hissed under her breath as she lowered herself onto the armrest of the couch and folded her arms across her chest.

“Why is that such a big fucking deal to you?” Nikki gasped as his voice raised in aggravation.

“Why is it such a big deal for you?!” Wren snapped in return as she narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brows at him. Both Wren and Nikki glared at one another with their jaws clenched, eyes narrowed, and noses pointed directly ahead. Tunnel vision enveloped them as they spouted insults across the room, and neither noticed Tommy had emerged from Wren’s room wearing nothing by his underwear and a hesitant expression as he examined the scene before him.

“It’s not,” Nikki grumbled as he defiantly took a step forward.

“Then cut that shit out! The band isn’t nearly successful enough for you to fuck it up for us!” Wren snapped.

“For me to fuck it up? I’m on that stage every night playing, what are you doing?!” Wren pursed her lips and sighed heavily in retaliation of Nikki’s words.

“Hey, come on, man. Knock it off,” Tommy’s voice was barely enough to cut through the bellowing from either of his closest friends.

“I’m getting you gigs! I’m marketing you sorry, coke shooting fucks!” Wren jumped up and shouted in response to Nikki’s jaded comment.

“It’s just coke! It’s not amphetamines or fucking heroine! So, get that stick out of your ass and back off!” Nikki shouted his hostile words across the three feet that separated them.

“Dude, leave her alone,” Tommy immediately stated as he stepped between the two.

“Come on, Tommy,” Nikki grumbled at the lanky teen pretending to be a barrier between him and Wren. “Clearly she doesn’t need you, or anyone to fight her battles.”

“Yelling at her doesn’t do anything but make her even more mad! You’re just pissing her off to have her pissed off, Nik!”

“Is that what you’re in a mood about?” Wren scoffed as she poked her head out from behind Tommy.

“You made me look like some weak punk!” Nikki countered with fury in his eyes. “You made me look like I need a girl to fight my damn battles when I was headed over there to help you.” Wren folded her arms tightly across her chest and met Nikki’s eyes once Tommy had fallen back to stand beside her.

“I’m not going to pretend to be weak and defenseless to boost your ego! You were piss drunk and fucking high! You could barely stay standing let alone do any real damage to that asshole,” Wren huffed as she paced towards the front door, grabbed her sneakers, and jammed them onto her feet. “Fuck this. I don’t have to sit here and listen to you bitch at me for dumb shit you can’t even vocalize to me because you’re too high at the time to process your emotions,” she grumbled as she tied her laces tight against her feet and swung the door open before taking off down the steps and through the street in a light jog.

Tommy lowered his eyes and pursed his lips so that he was glaring at Nikki. His long brown hair was stringy with sweat from last night’s performance, he needed a shower, and he was expected to be at a girl’s house in less than two hours, yet there he stood, grimacing at the oldest person who lives in their apartment for being a dumbass.

“Get off my dick, Tommy,” Nikki groaned in irritation at the look on Tommy’s face.

“She’s only pissed because she gives a shit about you,” Tommy stated as he punched Nikki in the arm hard enough to make him realize how much of an ass he was being. “She’s pissed because she gives a shit about all of us, about the band,” his voice trailed off as he continued to explain to Nikki the way Wren’s emotional reactions work. “You were a dick, asking her what she’s doing for us. She’s doing more than either you or I could and you just shit on that! I told you from the beginning, she’s a deal-breaker. You don’t get to treat her like shit when she’s just trying to protect Mötley. Wren is choosing to be here, choosing to help Vince with vocals, to help write with you, to help us fucking make it. She could be finishing her Bachelor’s degree somewhere on a full-ride scholarship, but she’s here. She doesn’t fucking need us. We need her!”

“So, I’m not allowed to have a problem with her every now and then? I’m just supposed to get over it if she does something that pisses me off?” Nikki scoffed.

“Yelling at her only makes things worse for both of you. Just talk to her. You’re twenty-three, Nikki. Do you honestly mean to say that a twenty-year-old girl is more capable of responding like an adult than you are? You need to make this right.” Tommy sneered as he retreated to Wren’s room to grab a change of clothes from the dresser.

***      ***      ***      ***      ***      ***

Wren carefully counted her paces as she ran in order to make sure she was breathing in and out on opposite feet. In school and sports, she hated running, but sometime during her last year of high school, she began to see running as therapeutic. She cherished her alone time, but often hated to be stuck with her thoughts for longer than a moment. Running seemed like the only solution at the time; not only does she get to be alone and distracted from her thoughts, but she also gets to have the sensation as if she’s running away from her problems. She knew that she would have to go back to the apartment at some point and that, like herself, Nikki has nowhere else in the world to be. It was inevitable that they’d cross paths again in the next ten or twenty minutes, but at least by then she’ll be too tired to fight with him.

After going south on Clark street, cutting behind the Whisky A Go Go, turning south again on Hilldale avenue, and running along the Sunset boulevard until she passed the Roxy, Wren turned around. She still had to call the Roxy, and although she was already at the venue, she didn’t want to represent the band as a sweaty jogger. Still not quite ready to end her run, Wren decided to lengthen her route by continuing north on Hilldale until it intersected with Ozetea Terrace, and then turn right and head south on Clark street.

As she grew closer to the apartment, Wren could make out a vehicle parked along the back side of the apartment building. A black, 1975 GMC pick-up truck was barely visible, and Wren decided to quicken her pace. It wasn’t uncommon to notice strange cars in strange places in Los Angeles, but due to her time living alone on the streets, she was privy to any danger that could that present itself from that situation. As she approached the stairs leading up to her apartment, Wren noticed the silhouette of a man leaning against the building. He was of relative height and weight, easily the type of person you could lose in a crowd due to not having any distinctive features, yet everything about him was too familiar. Brown eyes poked out from strands of long, mousy brown hair that fell over his face, and his hollow cheeks seemed to fill once Wren had finally returned to the building.

“A friend told me where I could find you.” His voice brought back memories of not being able to breathe, of being thrown around, hit, and overpowered. A small, weak, ‘no’ fell from her lips as Wren dashed for the stairs. “You’re not getting away that easy this time!” he growled as Wren hurried to leap up the steps three at a time. She could feel his slender and grubby fingers graze her leg as she took her last two leaps and strides up the stairs and sharply kicked back in defense.

After flinging open the door and closing it shut behind her, Wren cursed her roommates for deciding to take the locks off the door for the party last night. “Tommy!” Wren called out and quickly scanned the room in search of her friend. Quickly, the footsteps outside grew heavier and heavier as Clay grew closer. Heart pounding and tears threatening to spill from her eyes, Wren sprinted through the apartment to the very last room she wanted to be in: Nikki’s room. She opened the door, slammed it shut, and hastily attempted to turn the lock between her shaking hands. “Nikki I—”

“What do you want? An apology?” he hissed without even looking up from the guitar he held in his hands.

“Please, Nikki,” Wren pleaded as her shaking hands caused the already loose door handle to jiggle uncontrollably.

“I’m not just going to forgive you so easily—” Nikki’s voice faltered when he finally brought his eyes to the woman before him. Her normally porcelain features were phantom white, her eyes were coated with a heavy veil of tears that she refused to let fall, and he could feel the anxiety and adrenaline that pulsed within her veins as if they were his own. He’d never seen anyone look as terrified as she did in that moment, and her fear put their spat into perspective. She needed him and that was all that mattered. “Wren, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

“He’s here,” she panted through deep breaths.

“Who’s here? In the house?” At his words, the pair could hear a fist begin to pound on Wren’s bedroom door.

“I told you I would find you,” Clay hissed as crashing sounds came from all areas of the house. He was moving around, searching for her, invading all privacy of their home.

Nikki noticed Wren had frozen the moment she heard his voice. She stopped trying to lock the door, she stopped shaking, she almost stopped breathing in an attempt to be so quiet she wouldn’t be found. Throughout the silence of the room, he could hear the steady rise in the sound of footsteps as the man neared where Wren had run to for safety. In a swift movement, Nikki hurried towards Wren, grabbed her by the arms, and pulled her away from the door. As he pushed her behind him, he could feel her fingers tighten around his and the shakiness of her hands from earlier manifested in her grip. He knew she wasn’t capable of letting go of him in that moment, which would make fighting this asshole fairly difficult, so he was careful to keep his bass within reach. As both Nikki and Wren watched the door knob turn and the door creep open, they each tightened their grasp on one another; one in desperate need of support, and the other assuring he wasn’t going anywhere.

“There you are,” the intruder sighed as he locked his sights onto Wren. “Come on, you know we have some unfinished business to get back to.”

“You need to leave,” Nikki stated firmly as he glared at the man before him. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-one or twenty-two, but the small scars on his face made him appear older.

“And what are you going to do about it?” Clay huffed at Nikki, indifferent to his presence.

“Get the hell off this property and stay the fuck away from her, and in return, I won’t kill you where you stand.”

“Really, Wrenny? You’re going to let this guy speak for you?” Clay scoffed as he peered past Nikki and at the sweaty, broken woman behind him.

“Leave me alone,” Wren stated, and although her voice was firm and unwavering, her hands trembled within Nikki’s. At her words, Clay began to make his way forwards. Step by step, he closed in on Wren, even with Nikki acting as a human shield between the two. Nikki pulled his hand free from Wren’s grasp and threw a solid punch in Clay’s direction. His knuckles cracked when his hand collided with the side of Clay’s face, and Nikki let out a brief shout.

“Run! Go!” Taking heed of his instructions, Wren managed to slip past the two men just as Clay’s fist made contact with Nikki’s face.

“Nikki,” she called out, only to hear him repeatedly yelling for her to run away. Wren tried to take off in a sprint, but not even a second after Clay punched Nikki across the face, he shoved him against the bed and turned to chase Wren. Throwing himself after her in a full-fledged dive, Wren felt her body collide with the ground as another body was pressed against hers. A hand found her breast while another groped along her stomach and ribcage as she writhed beneath the weight of his body and the weight of his torment. As quickly as his body landed on her, it was shoved away. Wren scurried away from where she lay and retreated back into the safety of Nikki’s room to try and keep herself from breaking down. Her breaths were choppy and incomplete, her heart thumped and pounded as if it were that of a racehorse after a derby, and her stomach was emptier than it had ever been, yet it churned with the urge to vomit.

With each passing second, Nikki’s hands began to ache more and more as they took turns striking each side of Clay’s face. Right and then left, right and then left, right, left, right, left; one after the other, Nikki pounded into Clay’s skin until he begged for mercy. Wren saw nothing. She didn’t see Nikki brutally beat Clay for attacking her, she didn’t see him retreat from their home, she couldn’t even hear Nikki’s screams as Clay ran from the apartment and down the stairs to his vehicle. She had her back pressed against the wall and her side pressed against the mattress on the opposite side of the room as the door, attempting to hide from the initial line of sight as she scraped the tears from her eyes and tried her hardest to steady her hands. For a long time, she could feel nothing other than the beat of her own heart and the deep inhales of her own breaths, that was until Nikki entered the room.

Bloodied, beaten, and bruised, Nikki made his way to where Wren sat. His arms wasted no time in snaking around her, his head hurried to rest on her shoulder, and his chest ached to be against hers. All he wanted was to reassure her that she was safe. His insecurities from earlier were moot, his anger with her and hers with him had all faded away into dust. Without thinking, Wren crawled closer to Nikki so that she sat on his lap and clung to him as if her life depended on it. A smile crossed his lips and he held her even closer than he had before. Every now and then a hot tear would connect with his skin, but slowly, her tears stopped, her breathing stabilized, and they were simply holding each other. All Nikki wanted was to stay in that moment, and so he held his arms tightly around the woman he never wanted to let go of, and prayed with all his might to anyone who would listen to please not take her away from him.

Chapter Text

Wren remained huddled close to Nikki’s chest, and he found peace in the fact that her breathing had steadied over the hours she had been in his arms. With Tommy at his new girlfriend’s house, the door locked to avoid a re-entering of a certain intruder, and no plans of gathering the band at the apartment, there was no reason to move away from the moment the pair shared. Despite their argument and anger from earlier, through her fear and his concern, they both felt safe and at ease.

So much time had passed, yet it only felt as if he had held her for a few measly minutes. Each second her tears fell against his skin, Nikki mourned for her, and each breath he took which held her scent refueled the aching in his chest. His fingers trailed her face as they pushed away stray strands of her hair, and he tried not to acknowledge the shiver that slithered down her spine at his gentle touch. Her own hands clung to Nikki’s torso and wrapped around his back. He wanted to lean over and press his lips against her head, or to take her chin in between his fingers, lift her eyes to his, and connect their lips.

He wanted nothing more than to kiss her, yet he fought that feeling with every ounce of his being.

He should have kissed her.

Ever since that day, Nikki couldn’t shake that single realization from his head. Show after show had passed, nearly as quickly as the weeks between them, yet nothing between Wren and Nikki changed other than their more controlled tempers. They continued with their banter, refrained from growing angry with one another, but avoided being alone together as if their lives depended on it. In a way, Nikki figured, they do. Being near one another without the barrier of Tommy, Mick, or Vince meant being vulnerable, being vulnerable meant talking, talking meant sharing their feelings, and neither Wren nor Nikki knew what sharing their feelings meant.

“You want a bump?” Vince asked the sullen bassist as the band sat in a half-circle, red leather booth beneath the dull lights of the Rainbow Bar. Nikki folded his lips into his mouth and chewed anxiously on his bottom gums. His arms were stretched out in front of him and rested against the glass that covered the velvet red table cloth.

“Nah,” Nikki sighed as he glanced from his vacant stare at a mirror on the second floor that looked out over the bar.

“What? You’re still letting that argument with Wren keep you from having some fun?” Vince huffed as he leaned back in the booth and stretched his arms out, one behind Tommy and the other hanging on the back of the seat. “That was like, a fucking month ago almost!”

“No,” Nikki snapped at Vince just as Tommy nudged Nikki with his elbow. “I’m just not going to do it with her around, and you two shouldn’t either,” he continued while tossing a glare in Tommy and Vince’s direction.

“Loosen up dude,” Tommy said as he put a reassuring hand on Nikki’s shoulder. “We just played the Troubadour! Wren’s got us set up to play the Santa Monica Civic Center next weekend! At least have another drink.” Not being one to turn down alcohol, Nikki quickly snatched two Jack and cokes from a cocktail waitress and tossed them back with a laugh.

***      ***      ***      ***      ***      ***

A tinge of jealousy overcame Wren as she surveyed the scene below. From where she stood on the second floor of the Rainbow behind a two-way mirror, Wren could see Mötley Crüe drinking, laughing, and smiling while she sat above the party and waited for a meeting with her great-uncle. She longed to be with the band, somewhere sitting between Tommy in his light blue button up shirt and leather jacket, and Nikki with his white t-shirt and leather vest, chuckling along with Mick as they all probably made fun of the deeply cut neck line of Vince’s baseball t-shirt. Wren watched as Nikki shifted uncomfortably in his seat and pushed the red table cloth further away from him only to quickly regain the laughter and banter being shared among his bandmates.

“Something interesting happening?” A familiar voice called from over Wren’s shoulder and pulled her from the envy in her chest.

“Do you know who that guy is?” Wren asked as a mop headed young man in his mid-twenties wearing a green and yellow striped shirt approached the table Mötley sat at.

“I saw him come by the Whisky a few times looking to sign new acts. He’s from Elektra Records, but I’m not sure what his name is,” Elmer admitted as Wren’s fingertips anxiously picked at the label on the bottle before her.

“Tom Zutaut,” an unknown voice called out across the secluded office space which Wren and Elmer sat in. Cautiously, Wren turned towards the direction of the voice to see two men.

“And who are you?” Wren asked as she kept a skeptical eye on the men that approached her and her great uncle.

“Wren, these are two of the best in the business,” Elmer said as he stood to shake each of the men’s hands. The young woman’s eyes narrowed as she stared cynically at the two strangers.

“I’m Doc McGhee and this is Doug Thaler,” the shorter of the two men said as he extended a hand towards Wren. Hesitantly, she took it and immediately felt small as the man’s meaty grip enveloped her fingers.

“Wren Ledden,” she stated apathetically as she released her grip from Doc’s hand and entered the slightly looser greeting from Doug.

“We’re talent managers,” Doug said as he and Doc settled themselves around the table Elmer and Wren had previously been alone at.

“Meaning?” Wren’s brash attitude earned herself a concerned glance from her great uncle, but she wasn’t about to back down because there were older men in the room.

“Meaning we’ve seen it all. The ups and downs, the bad and the good that comes from the egotistical persona of rock stars,” Doc said with a smug look on his face.

“Elmer here has tipped us off about Mötley Crüe, and we’ve been at the last couple shows they’ve had,” Doug continued. Wren grimaced for a moment as she imaged the rest of their conversation with her to be an eternal game of musical chairs with each of them speaking right after the other and her having to fight to earn her right speak. “They’re quite something; a rather chaotic group on almost every occasion aside from the guitarist.”

“I don’t mean to be offensive when I say this, but a bunch of twenty-something year-olds aren’t going to take well to anyone telling them what to do. I get away with it because I’ve been with the Crüe since day one. I’ve earned their respect and a place as part of that family,” Wren explained as she realized Doc and Doug’s game plan. “They’re all rebelling from something or someone, and having an authority figure come in and try to control them is just going to make them push back even harder.”

“Do you think we don’t know that?” Doc questioned as he stared across the table at the twenty-year-old girl before him.

“We were hoping they would be more susceptible to hiring us as their managers if we had someone who supported what we were trying to do,” Doug continued as they both stared at Wren with unyielding eyes.

“But you don’t,” Wren stated without a moment’s hesitation.

“Wren,” she could hear Elmer begin to chastise her, so she abruptly stood and continued to speak without another interruption.

“No,” she stated with a dismissing wave of her hand towards her uncle. “I know I’m young and that seems to be a synonym for impressionable for a lot of people in this industry, but so are they! Tommy and Vince are nineteen, Nikki is only twenty-three, and Mick can’t be too much older than Nikki, so when I say that they’re not going to willingly accept the ‘guidance’ of two strangers, I say that because I know each of them very personally. I’m not saying I’m against your help in organizing the success I know they can achieve, but I can’t vouch for you. Mötley Crüe isn’t a dictatorship; I don’t tell them what to do and when to do it, and if that’s what you intend to turn the band into, I’m sure as shit not going to vouch for you. But, if you can win them over and convince them without needing me to do it for you, then you’ll have my approval. We’ll be at the Civic Center next weekend. You can introduce yourselves to the band then. Elmer, thank you for introducing me; Doc, Doug it was nice to make your acquaintance.” With a heavy inhale, Wren turned on her heel and walked out of the offices and down the stairs to join the band just as the man in the stripped shirt had gotten up to leave.

“Your niece has your attitude,” Doc commented to Elmer as they watched the young woman approach the band below them.

“I just hope she knows what she’s getting herself into,” Doug added hesitantly as he watched the blonde man’s face contort into a short gasp of elation before he pulled the table cloth further over his lap.

“You can’t say I didn’t warn you of how that encounter would go,” Elmer chuckled to himself as he drank from a bottle of beer that sat in front of him throughout the short conversation Doc and Doug had with his great-niece. Doug and Elmer chatted briefly about conversation topics reserved almost exclusively for small talk, and Doug couldn’t help but noticed how Wren was able to adjust so quickly from being the, albeit brash, professional she had been in his presence, to laughing alongside the group. She sat with her back curved into the booth and her knees pulled up into her chest between the two raven-haired men. The one Doc knew to be Nikki Sixx had his arm draped behind her shoulders across the seat while Wren spoke animatedly with Mick, a spark dancing in her eyes as she then turned to the lanky teen in the middle. The two shared a moment of fake punches and joyous screaming, judging by their faces and wide-open mouths, before she slumped over subconsciously, and leaned her shoulder against Nikki’s side.

As he surveyed the small gathering of friends from above, Doc knew she was right. They weren’t just a band; they were a gathering of nobodies who found family in one another. He nodded as his eyes fell over Wren and felt his respect towards her grow. She wouldn’t compromise Mick, Nikki, Tommy, or Vince’s trust in her, even if she believed he and Doug were what they needed. “We’re going to the Civic Center show to talk to all of them,” Doc announced confidently as he determined the best way to ensure he and Doug would score Mötley Crüe.

***      ***      ***      ***      ***

Back at the apartment, Wren wasted no time in shedding her show clothes and pulling on a Black Sabbath t-shirt and a pair of old running shorts. After rushing to change, she hurried back out into the apartment only to see Tommy with his body halfway out the door.

“Tommy?” she asked as curiosity mixed with hesitancy came over her.

“I’m staying with my girl tonight! I thought I told you that this morning,” he said as he turned to face Wren. Her posture was straight, but he could tell there was a rigidity in her spine that caused her body to stiffen unintentionally at his words. “You’re not going to be alone; Nikki is still here,” he quickly explained as he took two long strides towards Wren and wrapped his arms around her in a protective hug, similar to how he would hold Athena when she was sad or scared. All too soon, Tommy released his arms from Wren, leaving her feeling vulnerable, and escaped out the front door.

For a moment, Wren stood in the door way, feeling the breeze as it drifted into the apartment, but as she caught a glimpse of headlights coming down the road, her heartbeat hastened and she closed the door with a hard slam and bolted the locks shut. Trying to ignore the feeling within her, Wren grabbed a bag of chips from the kitchen and then dropped herself onto the couch. One chip at a time, she began to push each of the thoughts from her mind. First was the encounter with Doc and Doug, next was the success of the show, and then Tommy’s hasty good-bye, but the one thing she couldn’t shake was Nikki. She probably hadn’t spent more than three minutes alone with him since she slept the night through in his arms sitting on the floor of his bedroom, but that concern wasn’t what pressed her. What plagued her mind was that she wanted him to hold her again. She wanted to feel his arms around her, not just for the sheer sensation he brought, but for the safety she felt whenever he was near.

“Are you planning on going for a run?” Nikki’s voice cut through the silence of their home and into Wren’s thoughts. Without fully processing what he had said, Wren shook her head to indicate a no. “If you want, I can go with you,” he offered as he sat down on the couch beside her and kicked his feet up on the makeshift coffee table in front of him.

“Like your smoker-lungs would let you,” Wren huffed with a smirk falling more naturally across her face than the look of hesitancy she’d worn when Nikki first entered the room. “I’m just a bit worried because Tommy won’t be here tonight,” she said as she watched Nikki steal the family-sized bag of chips she brought into the living room for herself away from her. Ever since the following morning when Wren and Nikki told Tommy what had happened, Tommy had been sleeping on a cot in Wren’s room. She’d grown used to having him there in case someone was to break-in again, and the idea of him not being there tonight sent a ball of lead into her stomach.

“He’s not coming back,” Nikki tried to reassure Wren, but even he wasn’t confident in his own words. He wanted to reach out and place his hand on hers, or push away the strands of hair blocking her face from his sight, but he instead clenched his fists and jammed them into the pockets of his sweatpants. Out of the corner of her eye, Wren could see Nikki’s jaw tighten and his face refuse to turn directly towards her. His entire body was positioned so that it wouldn’t feel natural to look at her. His legs were stretched out far in front of him with his shoulders square to the wall parallel to the couch, and in a wave of confusion for his behavior, Wren pushed her fingers through her hair, tilted her head back, and turned her body on the couch to face Nikki completely.

“Have you been avoiding me?” It wasn’t a question she wanted to ask, nor was it one she wanted answered. It was self-conscious word vomit that escaped the moment her vulnerability began to rise. “Sorry, I’m not trying to be confrontational, I just—”

“Yes,” Nikki hurried to admit before Wren could try and explain away her sudden inquiry.

“I figured,” she sighed as she apprehensively met his eyes. “I really wish you wouldn’t. I mean, if you’re mad about something just let me know. Don’t ice me out.”

“I’m not mad,” Nikki grumbled and pulled his eyes away from hers as they stared up at him so innocently.

“Then why else would you be avoiding me?” Wren asked. Her eyes were sharp as she took in the features of Nikki’s face. His eyes were smudged with the remnants of stage makeup, his clear skin seemed pale due to the only lighting in the room being emitted from a lamp positioned behind him, and his eyes couldn’t focus on her for longer than a second before having to flick away to the floor or table or wall. “Are you high right now?” Wren questioned with a little more accusation in her tone than she had before.

“I’m not high!” Nikki snapped back at her in irritation. “Damn it, Wren, I know how coke makes you feel so I’m not doing it around you again, ever!”

“Then why have you been avoiding me?” She asked again, this time the aggravation she felt in her chest manifested in her voice. “Aside from Tommy, you’re my closest friend and all of a sudden you just stop wanting to be alone with me. What’s that about? We used to have fun whenever Tommy went out on dates or stayed over at some girl’s house. We’d order pizza and watch TV or write songs, now you can hardly sit next to me and hold a conversation.”

“What do you want from me?” Nikki grumbled as he turned on the couch, pulled one of his legs beneath the other, and squared his shoulders up to hers.

“I just want to know my baggage didn’t fuck us up,” Wren muttered and sunk backwards into the couch as she spoke. “I know I come across as cold and like I don’t need anyone, but when I do open up to people and let them see something more than the bitchy side of me, I don’t appreciate being pushed away afterwards.”

“I’m not trying to push you away, Wren,” Nikki sighed as he pushed his hand through his hair and stared at the ceiling, “I just can’t do this!”

“Do what? Have me as a friend?”

“No! I mean, I guess.” Nikki watched as Wren bit her bottom lip to restrain her anger. Quickly, her figure popped up from the couch and she took quick, long strides away from him. “Wait,” he stated as he reached out and grasped her fingers between his. “I’m not meaning to push you away, but it’s hard to be alone with you after what happened.”

“I can’t control what happened, Nikki!” Wren hissed as she pulled her fingers from his.

“I know that!” he shouted as he hurried down the hall to step in front of her and cut her off from escaping into her room. “Look, I’m shit at this, so I just need you to please listen to me without cutting me off and getting mad.” A moment of silence passed before Nikki took her rigid appearance as a ‘go ahead’. “I can’t be around you because it’s my fault he found you. If I would have told Vince we weren’t going to have a party, he would never know where we live. If I wouldn’t have yelled at you, you wouldn’t have left or have been cornered when you got back. I fucking hate thinking that I could have been responsible for your pain. I can’t be around you because I don’t ever want to be the person who hurts you, because all I want to do when you’re near me is this,” Nikki’s arms snaked around Wren’s waist and she could feel his body press against hers tightly as he held her. One of his hands fell on the small of her back and the other rested at the base of her neck as he pulled her even closer until he felt her hands rest gently around him. “But I can’t lose you as a friend or a bandmate, so—”

Wren pulled herself up onto her toes as she gazed into Nikki’s eyes as he spoke. Her gentle touch on the back of his neck sent a chill down his spine and his knees began to ache the second her nose grazed his. “So, what?” she asked as her breath trickled away from her mouth and across his lips.

“So, we probably shouldn’t—” Before she could hear the painful words that would fall from his mouth, Wren’s tongue lightly grazed against Nikki’s lips, causing them to part. She sighed as Nikki’s hands grasped at her back and their chests were pressed together. Her lips crashed against his in a heavy exhale of cool mint and he allowed his hands to traced up her spine and then fall down her sides, nails catching her skin at every moment of their journey, until they came to rest on her hips. Suddenly, Nikki’s rough and eager hands eased themselves and he slowly brought them back up to gently cup her face. His rough lips seemed to be glued to the soft, smooth, refreshing taste of hers, and as much as he wanted to pull away to look down into her eyes and assess what it was that she wanted, he just couldn’t seem to keep himself from kissing her. “Wren,” he sighed against her mouth as their foreheads pressed into one another’s.

“Please don’t say this is a mistake,” she pleaded as Nikki’s hands found hers. Never again did she trust the same instinct that led her to Clay. Never again did she wish to surrender herself to the urge within her to be truly vulnerable with another human. Never did she feel she could accept the affection of another, and never did she expect to believe she was worthy of such affection. Never…before Nikki. She had locked her heart and emotions away from the world after her experience with Clay. She denied advances from everyone and denied herself to believe the beauty that Nikki, and others saw in her. She boarded herself up to stay safe from the storms that had proven to hurt her, and it took this long for her to realize that Nikki didn’t feel like the kind of storm that terrified her to her core. Sure, he was thunder and pouring rain, but he was the kind of storm that replenished the grasses and flowers, not one to tear down homes and take lives.

“Is it not?” he asked gently as he gazed into her glassy and hopeful eyes. “Think of Tommy and the band.”

“Think of yourself,” Wren stated as her eyes fluttered closed and she felt the steady rise and fall of Nikki’s chest against hers. “What do you want?” Before she could open her eyes, Nikki’s lips fell back onto hers as he spoke in mere whispers between his mouth and her own.

“I want this. I want us.”

“So do I.” Again, their lips crashed together, and the ebb and flow of the kiss were so in sync that even the tides and the moon would have been jealous of Nikki and Wren. Slowly, it was becoming more and more obvious to the pair that they needed one another, and as they stood in the hallway between their bedrooms, holding onto each other with needy grasps and desperately craved kisses, nothing else seemed important. The record deal Nikki had been so excited to tell Wren about the next day, her holding onto the secret that talent managers were scouting out Mötley Crüe, Tommy spending more of his time with his girlfriend, the band’s rising local success, and the horizon full of endless possibilities for Mötley were nothing more than tiny details of a much bigger picture that both Nikki and Wren were finally becoming focused enough to see.

Chapter Text

Nikki and Wren had spent the months of 1981 through 1982 as acquaintances  who became friends, and slowly learned to live with each other. They'd grown together in ways so silent to one another that when they decided they wanted a relationship, neither quite knew how to act, let alone react to the other admitting they wanted to be more than friends. The night they first kissed didn't follow up with an admission of their feelings, or either of them even saying they had any feelings towards the other at all. It was a simple fact known in their individual hearts that they wanted the other--soul, mind, and body. There was no vocal acknowledgement on either Nikki or Wren's part that they were actively starting a relationship with one another, no discussion of how that relationship should or should not be presented to the rest of the band, no conversation about boundaries or deal breakers, nothing except the fact that they each wanted the other in ways much more intimate than physicality--more intimate than either of them had ever wanted to know another person.

In public, Wren and Nikki acted as they always had with one another--teasing each other and bantering in somewhat arrogant ways--but in their time alone, their conversations became deeper. Even in their relationship, it took time for each to warm up to the other, but as the months ticked by, both Wren and Nikki found it easier to talk about their pasts with the other, easier to talk about their fears, and easier to trust the other with the information being shared.

Nikki had been the first to open up and paint himself in such a vulnerable light. He'd been home alone with Wren one night, discussing philosophy as they sat across from one another on Nikki's bed when Wren asked about a scar that ran vertically along the inside of his forearm. Instead of the nonchalant lie he normally told people, or even a false version of the truth, he slowly and steadily began to relay the horrors of his adolescence to her until he found himself nearly breaking down in front of her. Suddenly, all of the anger and neglect he felt as a teenager came boiling back to the surface, along with the empty feeling of never being enough for the people he loved. He looked down at his arm, noticed the gentle way her fingers traced the scar, and jerked it away from Wren as quickly as he could. At first, he didn't want to tell the truth. He feared what would happen if Wren listened to his side of the story: would she see him any differently? Would she think he was weak and realize she didn't want to be with someone so hopeless? However, before he could allow himself to think too long on these hypotheticals, he took a breath, looked into her eyes, and extend his arm back out for her to see.

"I pulled a knife on myself just to get away from my mother." His voice was flat. unemotional, and hung in near silence through the room before he decided to say more. Before he could stop himself, Nikki had told Wren about the revolving door of his mother's boyfriends and his step-fathers that would torment his life, and although he did note a few of the good ones that gave him hope, Nikki made a point to share with Wren just how horrible his childhood was. He explained how calming it was whenever he found happiness and stability in the life he had whenever he was shipped away to live with his grandparents; however the calm never lasted once she brought him back to the chaotic cycle of neglect and abuse in her household. "I figured if I could get her arrested, I would finally be free from her, but if I died in the process, well, that was also another way out." Wren could feel her heart sink into her knees as she absentmindedly traced the tip of her thumb across the scar. Feeling the mood shift to that of comfort, safety, and serenity, Wren pulled her legs under herself to sit cross-legged on Nikki's bed.

"Tommy doesn't like to talk about this, but I owe him my life," Wren said softly and found herself growing weaker the longer she looked into those light, hazel-green eyes of Nikki's. "I swallowed a bunch of pulls--some painkillers. some sleep-agents, some I don't even know what the hell they were. I had completely forgotten he was supposed to come over that day, and when he came in, I had passed out. It didn't take a genius to figure out what I had done, so he jammed his fingers down my throat until I'd thrown up and then rushed me to the hospital. I could see how much I hurt him by doing that when I woke up after having my stomach pumped, and it honestly made me feel so much worse about trying to kill myself. As much as I wanted to die then, I'm grateful Tommy saved me. Somehow, he continues to save me."

Wren and Nikki continued to learn how to be vulnerable with others through each other, and as their conversations deepened, so did their passion--for one another, for music, for the band. It was curious for Wren to see how close she'd become with Nikki throughout the beginning of their relationship, yet their interactions with one another in front of the band remained unchanged. She wondered how could part of the pair stay the same during such a drastic change in their personal lives, but part of her knew that their public interaction with one another had been the foundation of their romantic relationship. No change was necessary, there was no need to show what they felt or to announce it for that matter, because they each held one part of the puzzle that was their feelings. Together, they just clicked.

Mick had been the first to find out about Wren and Nikki's hidden relationship about ten months after they had gotten together. The couple had been drinking and smoking pot--Wren only a few puffs here and there to keep the buzz alive, and Nikki blowing through multiple joints at a time to reach the high he'd given up getting through coke due to his promise to her. It was a normal weekday night where they had been left alone due to Vince wanting to take Tommy to the strip clubs late at night. It was always during these times of solitude that Nikki found writing to be most productive, and this productivity only escalated when Wren was around to help him.

Wren sat on the couch with her feet kicked up, and a glass of wine in her hand as she passed the joint back to Nikki who continued to pace through the room. A half-eaten pizza sat on the makeshift coffee table, and beer bottles were littered about the pizza box. Mick had decided to drop by the apartment on a whim. He'd made tentative plans with someone he knew in the area only for them to decide to bail on him only after he'd driven out to the strip. Walking into the scene, everything appeared normal to Mick: Wren and Nikki were having their bickering matches over either lyrics or chords, and she seemed like she was wearing him down until he quipped back with some sarcastic remark that helped no weight when it came to Wren, because he knew that if she was criticizing something, it was for a good reason. Mick took a beer Nikki had offered him, pulled a seat up to the coffee table, and started in on what remained of their pizza. He played a few riffs that Nikki had asked him to in order to better who Wren his vision which she "was refusing to see." Then, he would play the altered version of Nikki's riffs that Wren had rewritten, and together, Mick and Wren convinced Nikki hers were better.

It wasn't until Mick glanced up from the pages of notes Nikki had put in one of Mick's hands and the pizza in the other, that he noticed Nikki stop pacing, make his way towards the pizza, pick up two slices, hand one to Wren, and then plant a soft peck on her cheek before he walked away. Mick silently smirked to himself as he smugly bit into the slice of pepperoni pizza in his hand. It was such a domestic thing, a moment of sweetness that no one ever got the chance to see either of these two rough and rugged people express, and it was this knowledge that kept Mick from bringing it up. He had briefly known Wren for a time when she was hardly thirteen, and even from that encounter, he knew she wasn't one to express her feelings. Hell, since meeting her again with the band, Mick still hadn't seen her be soft with anyone besides Tommy, and he never thought he'd see the day when Nikki Sixx of all people would be so docile with another person.

Mick ended up staying until the early morning hours practicing new songs with Nikki, conversing about theology, becoming a moderator for Wren and Nikki's differing points of view, discussing a variety of topics, and entertaining themselves with a variety of drinks. Shortly before three forty-five, Mick decided it was time to head home and get some rest, but on his way out, he forgot he had pledged to himself he wouldn't mention the little moments of soft, sweet, domestic life that Nikki and Wren had gifted one another with throughout the night.

"I'm glad you two found each other," he said as he made his way to the door. "You git each other well. Just don't hurt her, Sixx, or I'll hurt you."

Tommy was the next to learn Nikki was in a relationship, however they were able to keep Wren's involvement in that relationship a secret for a bit longer than anticipated. Tommy came home early one night from a family dinner with his parents and sister, and he quickly learned Nikki had a girl over thanks to the sound of the bed rhythmically hitting the wall and the heavy breaths that hung in echoes through the apartment. He quickly left the apartment, returned to his parents' house, and waited an hour to phone back home.

"Hello?" Wren asked through her shortness of breath as she answered the phone.

"Hey, Wren, you okay?" Tommy asked upon hearing her panting into the phone.

"I just got done working out," Wren sighed into the line as she leaned against the kitchen wall wearing only one of Nikki's shirts.

"Oh, my bad! Was today a cardio day or something?"

"Yeah, today's cardio day," she responded as a smirk fell over her face. With a laugh hiding in her lungs, she eyed Nikki where he sat on the counter, a bowl of cereal in his hands and a chuckle on his lips.

"When I got back an hour ago, Nikki was...occupied...with a girl. Is it safe to come back?" Tommy asked without a thought in his mind about Wren possibly being the woman Nikki was with.

"It's just me and Nikki at the house now, so I'd assume it's safe for you to come back," she said and watched the playful chuckle on Nikki's face fall to a sultry smirk as he waited for Wren to hang up the phone and return her attention to him. "Tommy's headed back now, so I think we have time for one more round if you make it quick."

For another three months, Wren and Nikki kept up the joke of Nikki having some mystery girlfriend whenever they were around Tommy. Nikki went so far as to leave a pair of Wren's underwear in his laundry for Tommy to find, knowing he wouldn't suspect they were hers. Wren went out of her way to buy a shade of lipstick Tommy would never expect her to wear in a million lifetimes so she could smudge a kiss on Nikki's lips or cheeks or neck, only to wipe all remnants of a the color from her face, only to keep the joke alive. Tommy didn't become fully aware of who Nikki was dating until he heard splashing water and those heavy, sexy breaths coming from the bathroom one afternoon. He decided to wait in Wren's room rather than leave this time, and after a few minutes, he could hear the shower turn off and people exit. Once he was certain Nikki had brought his guest back into his room, and that they were clothed, Tommy emerged from the bedroom only to see Wren sitting in the living room.

"When did you get home?" Tommy asked her as he sat down beside her as she thumbed through a book.

"I've been home, where have you been?" The question left her mouth without a second thought.

"I've been in your room waiting for Nikki to stop fucking his girlfriend in the shower," Tommy grumbled as he kicked his legs over Wren's lap and titled his head back as he heard Nikki walk down the hall towards the living room. "Other people live here too, Sixx!" Tommy shouted out. "Just take it to her place like I do most nights." With a smirk playing on both Nikki and Wren's lips, Tommy's eyes quickly flashed back to his best friend. Her nose was buried so deeply in the book that she was sure her expression wouldn't give away her secret, but her hair was a different story. The soaked brown strands fell around her shoulders in wet waves, and Nikki's black locks were no different. With a quick glance between Wren and Nikki, Tommy's eyes and moth widened. "Oh, shit!" he cried out in realization and then jumped up and trapped Wren in a hug. "Nikki, you better not just be fucking my best friend!"

"I'm not," Nikki grumbled in response as he reentered the room to see his girlfriend tangled up beneath the mess of limbs that was his drummer. His girlfriend...the words still hadn't left his mouth since the pair started their relationship over a year ago, yet they felt so right hearing them in his head.

"If you so much as make Wren cry, I'll end every part of you, Sixx," Tommy tried to threaten Nikki as he eagerly hugged both of his friends in excitement.

"Get in line! Mick has first dibs," Nikki grumbled as he broke free from Tommy's grasp and fell into an armchair to allow Tommy to sit with Wren.

"Mick's known before me? You two are shitty friends for that," Tommy huffed as he threw himself back down and put his legs over Wren again.

"Not to Mick, apparently," she smirked only to have Tommy lightly kick her arm, which caused her to drop her book. "Seriously thought, T. we didn't say anything to anyone."

"Well," Tommy sighed as he locked eyes with Nikki, "how long then?"

"How long since what? Since Mick found out?"

"No, how long have you been fucking my best friend?" Tommy had a faux bitterness in his voice that his excitement over Wren and Nikki being together couldn't hide.

"Dude, she's like your sister! Do you really want to know that?" Nikki asked as he tried not to laugh at how happy he was that Tommy was this  excited for him and Wren.

"You're my friend too, Nikki, so guy-to-guy, how long have you been fucking my surrogate sister?" Wren smirked at how red Nikki's ears became under his jet-black hair as he realized he was being forced to answer the question.

"Only a few months, but we kind of started going out on dates a little over a year ago." Wren bit her lip softly as she heard the words leave Nikki’s mouth. She didn’t expect him to be honest with Tommy about the timeframe of their relationship and its relation to their timeline of intimacy, simply because she knew how the guys were. Tommy had a new girl almost every week as teenagers, and now it seemed he was making the acquaintance of a new girl almost every night. Vince was still technically dating Lovey, but each night he found himself either at a strip club, or fucking a fan before a show. Nikki was definitely a looker, and Wren wasn’t ignorant or naïve enough to think she was anywhere close to his first. Although he wasn’t truly hers, he was the first to not pressure her into something she wasn’t ready for,; he was the first man she wanted to be with, and even then, it was nerve-wracking for her to admit her fears and reservations about sex to Nikki.

Nikki would have taken Wren to bed the night they first kissed had she been anyone else, but he knew enough about her to know not only would that never happen, and trying to do so would be a terrible move on his part. Getting her to open up about what happened in her past with Clay was damn near fucking impossible, and he wasn’t ever going to pry that out of her. He figured that with time, she’d feel safe enough to come to him about it, and until then, he’d just test the waters and see what she was comfortable with. Very slowly, she grew to trust more of her body to Nikki, and each time she did, he tried to show her true pleasure without asking of anything in return. He thought things were fine between them sexually and knew she would eventually come around and either talk to him or feel safe enough to take the next step with him. However, one night roughly five months ago, as Nikki’s hands found themselves around Wren’s waist while she lay next to him in his bed, he could feel a hot tear somehow transfer from her face to his.

“Wren, what’s wrong?” The lights were off in the room, but Nikki swore he could see Wren’s sorrow radiating from her heart. “Come on doll, talk to me,” he said as he pressed his lips to her temple. For a while, she remained unmoving in his arms as his breath traveled gently down her neck and he waited for her response.

“You’re being too good to me, Nikki,” she sighed through a small hitch in her breath. “And I want you! I mean, I really, really want you, I just—”

“Wren, we don’t have to have sex right now if you’re not ready,” Nikki tried to say despite the pulsing in his groin.

“I want to, Nikki, I really want to, it’s just—”

“You went through something hard that you don’t have to talk about, Wren.”

“Clay forced me into a lot, and tying me to a bed while he forced himself on me after I screamed and begged for him to stop is something hard,” she said through anger as the tears slowly stopped falling from her face. “But I don’t want some fucking asshole taking something from me to keep me from wanting to be with you.” Nikki traced small circles on Wren’s back as she leaned into him with her arms wrapped around his shoulders. After he felt her breathing subside, Nikki pulled her even closer to him and whispered softly into her ear.”

"I'm never going to expect something from you, Wren. You should know by now that you don't have to change a thing about you to be special to me."

"Nikki, I know I put up a front, and--"

"You don't, Wren. I know you think you're just playing a part of the badass rock and roll chick, especially when life's being a bitch and you're feeling more vulnerable than you care to admit, but just because shit happens to you doesn't mean you're not that badass. You are one of the only people I can hold an intellectual conversation with, you're defiantly strong willed even though it causes us to butt heads, you're so talented and insightful that I'm ashamed to admit to the fear in the back of my mind that, without you, the band wouldn't be what I can feel it's becoming, and most importantly, you are the single most incredible woman I've ever known. Just so we're clear, you will never have to change anything about yourself for me. I just want to let you know that I’m here when you’re ready, and until then, I don’t mind continuing to show you that I’m not going to push you into anything.”

Wren had her eyes pressed closed as he spoke, but when she opened them, she could see the moonlight fall over his clear skin and dance in his light eyes. Before she could think about her next steps, her lips were on his as she pulled him over her and she lay her back against the bed. She’d wanted this for so much longer than she thought she had and was surprised by how gentle Nikki was with her. Everything about their first time was different than either could have expected. Normally, sex wasn’t something Nikki had to wait for, and was almost always was quick, rough, and near emotionless; however, Wren wasn’t one of the random hookups or cheap dates he was looking to get a quick lay out of. He wasn't lying when he said she was special, but he didn't quite understand how special until then.

Part of Nikki knew his soul was drawn to Wren’s the second she stepped around him and paced out of the men’s room and into the bar, and then again when she made her way through the diner to his table and sat down defiantly across from him. There was a fire in her that drew him to her like a moth to a flame, and it wasn’t long since they met that he knew he’d do anything for her.

From the second they became one, Wren was weak and trembled under Nikki’s weight and touch as she clung to him so desperately. Every motion they made together caused her heart to swell in her chest and her walls to come crumbling down. Nikki sighed heavily and his breath trickled down Wren’s neck and chest as he stared at how beautiful her skin looked as the light from the moon fell over her body as it lay beneath him.

“You’re so beautiful, Wren,” Nikki sighed against her ear as he pressed his bare chest against hers, “so fucking beautiful.” He could feel himself getting close to finishing as he looked into Wren’s eyes and saw them locked on his. The way her mouth hung open as she gasped with each slow thrust he took made him weak, and he felt a pull in his stomach when a soft, longing gasp fell from Wren’s lips. As her nails clasped into his back and her legs tightened around her waist, Nikki couldn’t hold back any more. A low moan escaped his lungs as he felt her clench around him before he collapsed onto her on the bed and got lost in the smell of coconuts as he buried his face in her hair.

It wasn’t long after Tommy found out about Wren and Nikki that Vince was clued into the little secret that had been floating around in the band. He’d finally been caught cheating on Lovey just before a show one night, and despite being upset for about half a second, after the show he wasted no time in making a pass at Wren.

“So, now that Lovey’s gone and you’ve forgiven me for the bullshit in high school, what do you say about getting a drink?” He asked as he tried his hardest to keep his words from slurring. Tommy and Nikki had left her, Vince, and Mick at a table in one of their regular bars—one that her great uncle or one of his friends didn’t own—to get another round of drinks. Wren tried her hardest not to laugh at Vince’s proposition, so she directed her attention to Mick, who was smugly smirking across the table with his eyes narrowed on her. “And not just like this. I mean without the guys as chaperones.”

“Hey singer, I don’t think that’s a great idea,” Mick chimed in after Vince drunkenly ignored Wren shaking her head.

“And why is that? Are you trying to play the long game with her, mister two-kids-and-an-ex-wife?” Vince snarled.

“That’s pretty big talk for the guy who knocked up a girl in high school and hasn’t seen his own kid in who knows how long,” Wren snapped back.

“Damn, Wren. I’m just trying to be nice and ask you out!” Vince grumbled as he finished the drink before him and glanced up to see what was taking Nikki and Tommy so long with the next round.

“And I’m just saying don’t bother,” Mick again tried to intervene on Wren’s behalf in order to keep her and Nikki’s relationship under wraps.

“And why is that?” Vince repeated his question again in a mocking tone as he stared down the guitarist across the booth from him.

“Because Sixx would kick your ass,” Mick muttered as he took a swig of his beer and narrowed his eyes on Vince.

“Sixx? Oh, come on, he hasn’t done shit to try and get with her in the damn year and a half of knowing her. Shit, if he wants her, he’s gotta work quicker than whatever he’s been doing. I’ve waited long enough for him to make his move,” Vince huffed just as Nikki and Tommy returned with the group’s drinks. With a smirk playing on Wren’s lips, as Nikki slid back into the booth beside her, she brought a hand to the base of his head, pressed her lips firmly against his, and smiled into the kiss as she felt his hands fall onto her waist.

“Hey, babe,” she said upon pulling her face from his and seeing Nikki’s taken aback expression.

“What did I do to deserve that?” he asked in sultry tone that was meant to be under his breath but was loud enough for the table to hear.

“Vince was asking me out so I figured it was about time we just let this cat out of the bag,” she said as her fingers wrapped around the chilly glass he’d just brought her.

“Are you fucking kidding me? How long did I miss the window to make a move on you?”

“You’ve over a year late, Vinny,” Tommy said with a laugh in his voice as he saw his two best friends in a new light. Sure, Nikki had been the only other person besides himself who could get away with being physically affectionate with Wren, even before they were a couple. Tommy had noticed since the early months of the band’s existence the subtle ways Nikki would sit closely to Wren on the couch, the way his arm would find its way around her shoulders, the way she would gently rest her head against his, he’d seen it all, but something was different the moment Tommy saw Nikki pull Wren closer to him in the booth, rest his chin on her head, and glare over her at Vince as he spoke.

“Were you seriously just trying to hit on my girlfriend?” Nikki’s gravely voice rolled through the air and caused Wren’s heart to rise as if it were a helium balloon. As the last word of his sentence fell from his lips, Nikki could feel his lungs deflate, his cheeks grow warmer, and his stomach twist into knots. Almost instantly, he became even more aware of her body language—the way she was positioned against him, the amount of pressure she placed on him as she leaned her torso into his, the way her jaw felt as it rested on his shoulder. It was as if his senses were dialed up to their max so he could detect any non-verbal indication of what he said being either a good or bad move on his part. He didn’t want to have the “what are we?” talk with her because he had been damn near certain that they were a couple—not two people who were dating, not just friends, not even friends that had sex. To him, the second they kissed in the hallway that night over a year ago, they were a couple. Thankfully, the way Wren gently folded herself against him, leaned further into his embrace, and lightly traced circles with her thumb on his thigh was enough to convince him that they were on the same page.

Chapter Text

Doc and Doug has brought Wren along to each meeting they attended that planned Motley Crue’s involvement with the US Festival in the winter of 1982 and the spring of 1983, and they couldn’t deny the woman had a surprising knack for entertainment management. They’d known she would be an asset to them when it came to being a voice of reason to the twenty-something-year-old band of buffoons Motley Crue tended to be, but they didn’t suspect her to be an asset on the more professional and managerial aspect of her role. After how she’d handled herself upon meeting them at the Rainbow, they shouldn’t have underestimated her, but it was the 1980s and she was a twenty-year-old girl who happened to stumble across one of the next biggest bands to hit LA. They treated her as their acquaintance’s great-niece whom they presumed was a groupie for this band, but damn did they get a wakeup call afterwards.

First of all, Nikki and Tommy refused to accept any assistance from Doc or Doug without the stipulation that they became additions to Wren and not replacements, and Mick and Vince were quick to back up their bass player and drummer. Second, it seemed that when it came to booking local gigs, Wren had always beaten the pair to the punch; in fact, a lot of the calls Doc and Doug made to venues asking to get the band booked were responded with “Yeah, Ledden called up and scheduled a couple weekend shows about two weeks ago. You guys looking to book more than that?” At first it was frustrating to be one-upped by a newbie to the scene, but then they realized that Motley Crue were the newbies to the Strip and were taking it by storm. Why would the person who they had as their initial—and for the longest time only—manager be any different than they were?

However, booking the US Festival had more to do with Doc’s history with the Scorpions than Wren’s determination. Apparently, Doc and Mikkey Dee had remained in touch after changing management, and Mikkey had shared the fact that the producers of the event were searching for another act for Heavy Metal Day. However, just because she hadn’t booked the gig before Doc or Doug didn’t mean they weren’t going to include her in the planning process. Time and time again she impressed them to the point they forgot she was hardly any older than the youngest members of the band.

Nikki bit the inside of his lip as he watched the morning sun kiss Wren’s skin from where he stood at a distance. A soft breeze dusted the earth as the band wandered the festival grounds, preparing for what would be one of their biggest breaks in the United States. He’d lingered behind and paced slowly alongside Mick as Wren and Tommy hurried ahead with Vince to explore their surroundings. Nikki had known Wren for two years now, and had seen her in a number of different lights: strong, defiant, independent, vulnerable, scared, and sorrowful, but one of his favorites was her genuine excitement towards things. Even though he stood a few feet behind her, he knew her face would be beaming under the sunglasses she’d stolen from him that morning on the way to the event. Her cheeks would be full with delight as her intoxicating smile fell over her lips. Her movements were energetic as she and Tommy noticed her the stage the band would share that day with the greats that had paved the way for them. With jubilance in her steps, Wren nearly dragged Tommy by the arm as she ran towards the stage. With a leap, Wren heaved herself up onto the stage with her best friend on her heels. Together, they stood arm in arm, and gazed out at the vast grounds before them that would soon be filled with eager fans throwing themselves around to the newest songs she and Nikki had written.

Nikki couldn’t help himself as he stared up at the woman he’d slowly begun to—no, it’s too early for that, Sixx. He knew a smile was rising to his face as he looked up at Tommy and Wren. Without a second thought, he grabbed the polaroid camera Wren had asked him to hold for her, pointed the lens at his two closest friends as Tommy put his arm around Wren’s shoulders and pointed out across the grounds. There was something about capturing them in such a pure moment in their friendship that made the smile on Nikki’s face grow only to fall. Seeing them together, forever frozen in that moment as the image began to appear on the photograph before him, Nikki couldn’t help but disdain how Tommy was blessed with the luxury of being able to act however he wants around Wren with no consequences from Doc or Doug. Nikki already wasn’t the biggest fan of having the pair of new managers, and he was convinced that if they knew he was dating Wren, they would treat her less like one of their equals and more like a groupie.

Fuck, he cursed himself as he thought back to how Wren was initially treated when the band was still in its infancy. No one took her seriously, she had to fight her way to the top of waiting lists just to talk to someone to get them booked in a shitty dive bar because they assumed she was just some groupie trying to find out where Motley Crue was playing and not their fucking manager trying to book a show. He didn’t want her to back peddle on the name she’d made for herself as Motley Crue’s manager, but having two other people assigned the same title seemed, at least to Nikki, like a slap in the face to Wren’s success over the past two years.

I’m going to be the reason she doesn’t succeed. The harrowing thought crossed Nikki’s mind without warning as he stared at the photo before him of Wren and Tommy, excitedly gaping about what was both literally and figuratively on the horizon. The single moment he’d captured in time of two friends who meant the world to one another brought up the ugly feelings of jealousy he used to harbor upon realizing he would never have as much history with Wren as Tommy, Mick, or even Vince did. Nikki tried to push those feelings down as he noticed Wren jump down from the stage, rush up to him, pull the camera from his neck and give it to Tommy.

“Let’s get a picture Nikki,” she said once she returned to his side. As he shoved the intrusive thought from his mind, it seemed to manifest in his heart. He slipped and arm around her waist, but the pair didn’t move any closer than where they currently stood, and Nikki knew that if any stranger compared the two photos, they would assume Tommy was the one dating Wren…not him.

As Tommy clicked the button and handed the camera back to Wren, the picture began to print. Before Wren could examine the photo, Nikki had snatched it from where it was printing and had begun to shake it above his head. “You’re going to ruin it,” she huffed as she lowered the camera’s lanyard around her neck and folded her arms over her chest as her eyes narrowed on her boyfriend.

“Shaking it helps the ink dry faster,” Nikki stated so matter-of-factly that had Wren not read the instruction manual of her camera, she would have believed him. She rolled her eyes and huffed at his observation before speaking again.

“Shaking it damages the image, you arrogant know-it-all,” she muttered with a smirk on her lips. Nikki wanted to make her come after him to retrieve the photo, but he knew there were eyes on them: more specifically, the eyes of the two people they hired to be equals with Wren, but whom he believed were trying to become her bosses. Slowly, he extended the photo back to her and felt his heart sink once more that morning as she plucked the picture from his fingers.

“Whatever you say, babe,” Nikki sighed under his breath as Doug approached where the trio stood.

“Getting a lay of the land I see,” he commented to the group without really looking any of them in the eye. This—standing alone in and desolate field merely hours before it would become teeming with life and excitement—was nothing new to Doug. He’d been in bigger places with bigger bands, and he would be lying if he tried to say he could still remember how exhilarating the newness of everything was. To Doc and Doug, the scene was like any relationship—after the honeymoon phase is over, it’s all the same shit. Hell, they’d been in the game so long they hardly even associated with anyone afflicted by the honeymoon phase of stardom anymore. “You guys are on at 5 tonight. Don’t do anything too stupid beforehand and don’t fucking break yourselves! If a bone splits and you can’t play all of us are fucking S.O.L.” Wren furrowed her eyebrows at Doug’s way of warning the guys not to be a couple of dumbasses, but didn’t bother to interrupt. “You’re going on after Quiet Riot and are going to be followed up by Ozzy Osbourne.”

“No fucking way! We’re opening for Ozzy?” Tommy asked as he folded his arms across Wren’s shoulders and leveraged his weight against hers.

“Yeah, and after him is Judas Priest, followed by Triumph, the Scorpions, and then Van Halen,” Doug explained before he lost Tommy’s attention. “The gates open at 3 so sound check is going to be around 11 for you guys.”

“Don’t start getting into costume until around 3:45 or 4. It’s supposed to be hot and all that leather is going to be a pain in the ass for you guys to sit in for longer than necessary,” Wren interjected as Doug continued his spiel.

“Doc is talking with Mick and Vince right now. We’re going to need all four of you in trailer two by 10:30 and then again at 3:30. Do you mind wrangling them up for that, Wren?” Doug asked and turned to the woman who was currently being used by the lanky drummer as something to rest his head on.

“No problem. I can get them started on hair and makeup then,” Wren responded as she watched the corners of Nikki’s mouth tighten as he pulled back his lips and attempted to hold his tongue.

“Thanks. Doc and I will be a little tied up by then. Do they have a set list made up yet?” Doug continued as he paid no attention to the tension building in Nikki’s body.

“Yeah, Nikki wrote one up,” she said as she dug into her back pocket to find the piece of notebook paper he’d slipped into her denim shorts that morning. She blushed at the memory of a rather groggy Nikki, still half asleep, leaving his room just to come into the kitchen where Wren was making herself some Eggo waffles for breakfast. He stood behind her, slipped his arms around her waist, and held onto her as if she were the only thing keeping him on his feet. After muttering a few obscenities about how early they all had to get up to drive to San Bernardino, his hands fell on her waist once more as he dragged himself away from being plastered to her back, and slid a piece of paper into her back pocket before giving her ass a nice squeeze.

“Great, I’ll can get this to the sound engineers. Stay with them and make sure they don’t fuck this up,” Doug said with a sly smirk on his face as he turned away from the three founding members of the Crue.

“She’s not a glorified babysitter!” Nikki spat back before Doug was out of earshot.

“Dude!” Tommy hissed under his breath as he back handed Nikki in the chest. “Do you really want to lose the people who got us this far?”

“They didn’t get us this far, Tommy. They got us this gig. Wren got us everything else, we put ourselves on the map, and now they’re swooping in like vultures, trying to take credit for Motley’s success.” Wren could feel the anger pouring from Nikki’s words, and as much as she wanted to help calm him down, she couldn’t believe the reason he was harboring so much resentment towards Doc and Doug.

“Calm down, Nikki. It’s okay,” she tried to say only for Tommy to speak over her.

“Just chill out, dude. They’re not the bad guys here.”

“What? I can’t correct him in his assumption of what her fucking job is?” Nikki scoffed as he took in Tommy’s wary expression and Wren’s confusion.

“Look, if it bothers me enough, I’ll correct them, okay?” Nikki knew she only meant that she could handle herself, but his mind was on edge. He’d felt an immense amount of bitterness, shame, and guilt for a number of different reasons, all of which he did not want to talk about with Wren because…well because he knew he was being erratic and that her decision on the matter was the best decision to make.

“Of course, you can. I almost forgot I’d learned that lesson the hard way.” Nikki couldn’t keep himself from adding that unnecessary comment, but he certainly hoped he’d said it soft enough for neither Tommy or Wren to hear.

“On that note, I’m going to go check on Mick and Vince,” Wren announced as the smile that had occupied her face fell into a scowl at Nikki’s words. Tommy waited until Wren was well out of their range before he punched Nikki in the arm.

“Ow! What the fuck, man?”

“I should ask you the same thing!” Tommy hissed as he pointed in the direction Wren had walked. “What the hell was that?”

“What the hell was what?” Nikki asked as he rubbed off the punch he had received and glared into Tommy’s dark, furiously swirling eyes.

“Are you two fighting?” Nikki could hear the obvious change in Tommy’s voice as the abrasive and accusing tone shifted into that of concern. Taking Nikki’s silence as a confirmation, Tommy continued. “She’s been so happy, recently. When did you start fighting?”

“We’re not fighting,” Nikki said through somewhat gritted teeth.

“Well, that sounds like something a person in a happy relationship would say. You’ve got me convinced,” Tommy sneered as he folded his arms over his chest and glared at Nikki. With his impatience growing, Nikki found a portion of the walls he’s built up around himself begin to crumble—not enough to let someone in, but just enough for a six-foot-four-inch-tall drummer to look over and see what was happening on the inside.

“I didn’t want her to be a groupie.” Nikki sighed in defeat as he balled his right hand into a fist.

“She’s not a groupie,” Tommy quickly denied.

“I know that, and you know that, but Doc and Doug won’t believe it and neither would anyone else we come across who should look at her as the professional she is with this band. They’re just going to see Wren and think, ‘Oh, it’s the girl that fucks around with Motley Crue,’ but she’s so much fucking more than that.”

“She doesn’t fuck around with Motley Crue. She fucks around with you, making her a you-ie, not a groupie.” Tommy tried to chuckle a little to lighten Nikki’s mood, but he didn’t seem to know the best ways to reassure Nikki, at least not in the ways that Wren did.

“I just don’t want to be the reason she isn’t taken seriously. I don’t want to feel like I’m holding her back.” As Nikki vocalized his concerns, Tommy couldn’t help but laugh.

“Sorry dude, but Wren’s a tornado. Once she’s on a path, there’s not much that can stop her. I mean, I’ve never tried to lasso a tornado, but I would assume it would be easier than holding Wren back from doing what she’s set her mind to. Besides that, Wren is always going to make sure she’s taken seriously, regardless of her connections to anyone. Fuck, I’m her best friend! The most non-serious human being to attend a high school was best friends with the girl who was valedictorian and had her associate’s degree before she got her high school diploma! No one who knows Wren doubts her, and no one who doubts her matters.”

“Then why the fuck do I feel so shitty about what would happen to her if Doc and Doug knew she was with me?”

“Maybe the reason you feel like shit and are concerned about damaging any reputation she has with the new managers is because you love her.” The second that word—the ‘L’ word Nikki hadn’t used to describe anyone other than his grandparents—left Tommy’s mouth, Nikki’s stomach sank and he contemplated throwing up on Tommy’s shoes for suggesting such a thing. Love? No. Love was something people spend their lives looking for and end up settling for something similar—some other type of connection that feels like what they assume love is. Love isn’t something that walks into a men’s room from an alley, mouths off to you, and steals your liquor. Love isn't something that happens to you after getting punched in the face. It doesn't walk up to your booth in a diner dressed in leather. Love doesn't have an intoxicating smile. It isn't when someone gets you riled up for the sake of being able to. It’s not the reason people steal music for someone else, or the catalyst behind one’s anger after someone else is harmed. It’s not the sharing of pain from one soul to another, or the safety of home a person finds in another person. Love doesn't just wander into your life at twenty-three-years-old, burrow inside your chest, and then decides to wake up from its nap two years later. Is it?