Title: Angels in a Cage: Chapter Eleven, Excitement
Rating: R [language, alcohol use]

Summary: Alyssa is having some issues. Oh and so is Chris.




Heading down the hallway, his shiny patent leather tasseled shoes clicking on the concrete floor, Howard passed elementary classrooms with their doors propped open. Classes were running about the jungle gym outside for afternoon recess, though it was just about over. If Howard hadn’t been close to the school, Alyssa likely would have missed the rest of the school day, sitting in the principal’s office.

Principal’s office. For the life of him, Howard could not understand why his daughter would be in trouble, what she could have done. At home she was an angel, always helping out around the house, spending time with her sister. But now? Now he had been called at the office to come and collect his daughter. Not just talk with the principal, but take his daughter home, or so he had been led to believe.

Entering the administration office, he greeted the secretary and was immediately shown into the larger office. Seated in one of two chairs facing the principal’s desk was his young daughter. She did not even look up at him as he sank down next to her, continued staring at the folded hands in her lap.

“Thank you for coming so soon, Mr. Morgan,” the nasally woman declared.

“Of course, of course. What is the nature of this meeting?”

“During the lunch break, Alyssa tackled another girl to the ground and bloodied her nose.”

Unable to hide the shock he looked to his eldest daughter and then back to the matronly woman, “Are you sure it was my Alyssa?”

“Not only did my playground attendants see her do it, but she has admitted as much. Therefore I have no choice but to suspend her for three days. We do no—”

“Wait, wait. Has Alyssa ever gotten in trouble before?”

“Have you not received the notes from her teacher? She has had numerous detentions lately,” the woman declared. “A few of them even after school.”

He looked away briefly, “I have not and my wife has not mentioned anything. How many times has she had detention?”

“Fourteen this month, Mr. Morgan. That is why I must suspend her for this latest action. The school system is not—”

“Yes, I know,” he stood. “Thank you. We’ll be going home now.”

Taking his daughter’s hand, Howard led the nine year old out of the office. Neither spoke, their shoes playing an odd rhythm off the floors. Doors had closed since he first passed that way, indicating recess was over. Not wanting to bother Alyssa’s class, he made no efforts to collect her backpack at all. Instead he stoically opened the car door for her, waiting until she was buckled in to round the car and slip in behind the wheel.

“Daddy, I’m sorry,” she muttered as he reached to start the car.

“Alyssa, why did you do it?” he asked calmly, hand dropping from the ignition without turning the key.

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes, “Becca said that you don’t love me any more that’s why you’re not around, why you’re always at work. And that you’re gonna be just like Mother was and leave me.”

Howard instantly frowned, reaching for her, “I’m never going to leave you, Alyssa. Never, ever. And I love you very, very much. I’m sorry I’ve been busy. I really am. Is this why you’ve been acting out at school?”

She shrugged in his embrace, “You don’t care. You didn’t even know, Dad.”

He kissed the top of her head, “I’m going to do better. I promise. We’ll figure things out.”

With the embrace ended, Howard drove the rest of the way home in silence. He really didn’t know how he could be home more, unless he brought his work home and he hated to do that. They certainly had enough money to live comfortably if he took an early retirement, but he didn’t think that was a good idea either. And he liked the fact his wife did not have to work to help support their family. But there had to be a viable solution to this. And why hadn’t Marilyn been the one called to pick up Alyssa, not that he liked the thought of being kept out of the loop any more than he had been?

Pulling into the driveway a few silent minutes later, there was some relief in finding Marilyn’s car in the garage in its normal spot. Following the young girl into the house, he paused for a moment, trying to ascertain where Marilyn and Judith were from the sounds in the house. Alyssa didn’t pause but went straight into the kitchen, receiving a concerned greeting from her stepmother.

Appearing a moment later, Howard watched as his daughter pulled juice out of the fridge and retreated from the room, not even glancing in his direction. Frowning he looked to his wife whose face was filled with nothing but confusion.

“Howard?”

“Alyssa has been suspended from school for three days. She attacked Becca on the playground.”

“She what!?”

“Yes. Did you know she’s been getting in trouble at school?” he asked.

Marilyn looked away briefly before meeting his eyes again, “Yes. But you were so busy, I didn’t want to bother you with—”

“Marilyn, she’s my daughter. I have every right to know if she’s getting in trouble. Even more so because I’m the reason she’s been getting in trouble,” Howard started.

“You think?”

He eyed her carefully, “Are you mocking me?”

“Howard, both of the girls and I miss you. You’re hardly ever around any more. So yes, Alyssa is acting up at school, trying to get your attention. I’m thankful that Judith hasn’t picked that up yet, but with the way she idolizes Alyssa, it’s probably on the horizon. I understand that you enjoy your work and are very dedicated to it. But when did that mean we fall by the wayside?”

He sighed, rubbing his face, “I know. I just need to figure out what to do. After this case is done, I’ll request... I don’t know what I’ll request.”

“To hire another deputy prosecutor perhaps? You’re taking on enough cases for five men, Howard. Hire someone else and come home and have dinner with your girls.”

“I know. And I think we should go on vacation somewhere. Just the four of us.”

“Where?”

“Disneyland.”



Sitting in a plane headed to Europe, where he wasn’t entirely sure nor cared, Chris sighed. It was all his fault. He should have done something, should have stopped him, turned him into someone. Fuck, it was his fault. He knew it was. That’s what he got for being a bad friend. No, not even a bad friend; an awful friend. He was the reason Andy died; he knew it.

Growling he pushed out of his chair and stalked back to the bathroom in the rear of the plane. Finding the red ‘occupied’ sign above the handle, he sighed and leaned against the wall. Chris fished a cigarette out of his pocket, not caring that he shouldn’t be smoking on the plane. He would wait until he was in the bathroom, just as a courtesy to the other passengers, but barely.

The door swung open and a petite blond stepped out. She appraised him, but Chris paid her no mind and stepped into the claustrophobic room. Twisting the lock, he leaned against the small sink and lit up his cigarette. Inhaling deeply, Chris felt the smoke curl around lungs, fill up his soul with a brief high. Able to focus on this for a long few moments, he nearly forgot about Andy being dead. But not quite.

His fingers itched to tear the door off the hinges, to smash the stupid little mirror, to rip the tiny bathroom apart. Anything to express his self-rage for letting Andy die. But something held him back, some little voice in the back of his mind restrained his actions. Grinding out his cigarette in the sink, Chris considered smoking a second, but instead turned the lock and headed back to his seat.

Kim looked up at the singer as he sat beside him. Worry clouded the guitarist’s eyes, but he said nothing. He knew Chris was under an amazing dark cloud and unlikely to speak. At least not until he was drunk. Then perhaps he would be able to get the singer to mourn their friend. It had been rather sudden and made the entire effort of replacing Hiro difficult. But they were contracted for an entire leg of the show still.

The show must go on.

And on it went. They played their European gigs, Chris becoming more and more reclusive. He was drinking even more, speaking even less. Every now and then Kim would goad him into joining the party or even just leaving his hotel room. But he did not seem to really be engaging with anyone, except the guitarist. Truth be told, the new bassist, someone who had once toured with Nirvana, had completely thrown off the entire vibe of the band. It was Kim and Chris, sometimes with Matt tagging along, and Jason completely elsewhere. They knew they would need to find someone better, someone who fit the vibe, when they returned to Seattle.

Which ended up being much sooner than anyone expected. All because of Matt.

Groaning the drummer remain laying on his bed with Chris and Kim looking down at him. Chris chewed on the end of his pen, having been in the midst of editing the last of some tribute songs for Andy he had been working on all tour. His eyes went to the guitarist’s before reconnecting with the drummer.

“Well I’ll play tonight. We can’t cancel after last night. So I’ll play and then we’ll get you taken care,” Chris declared.

Turning away he headed out into the hallway. Before he got very far, some jack ass reporter pulled him aside, asking why Dutch, their tour manager, had mentioned getting out before the rioting. Smirking Chris lit up a cigarette.

“That’s how they do things over here. Apparently, after we failed to make the Naples show last night, the Italians started wrecking the place. There was something like $31,000 worth of damage...” Chris responded with a shrug. 

A few minutes later Chris, Kim, and Jason stood in a small circle with Dutch. With a shy smirk, Chris announced he would play drums for the show so they didn’t have to cancel it and see from there. However a two hours and one attempt at doing exactly such, Chris stalked back stage and kicked a garbage can. He couldn’t fucking play the drums and sing at the same time anymore. Hell he never could do it to begin with; that’s why they found a drummer in the first place.

“Chris? I’m gonna play,” Matt said weakly, his hand digging into his side. “Just tonight. No more riots.”

“No no. We’ll cancel the show. There’s no need for you to—”

“Just no... encore.”

“All right, Matt. If you say so...” he looked warily at the drummer. “We’ve already lost one, we don’t need to—”

“I’m not Andy, Chris. I’ll be fine.”

His soul froze up for a moment before he nodded, “All right. If you say so....”



Her entire being was filled with happy little balloons. She was certain she was going to fly higher than the clouds above. Nothing had ever happened quite like this. And nothing ever would, she was certain of it. Since the moment her daddy told her to the very moment she was quickly approaching, nothing was the same. Excitement was her middle name.

The rented car turned into the parking lot. Instantly Alyssa pressed against her window, bubbling about the magical shapes she could see over the park walls and treetops. She giggled about all the things she wanted to see, all the characters she wanted to talk to. They were in Disneyland and no sugar high could compete with her at the moment.

“Daddy, daddy, daddy!” she bubbled as he opened her door and she nearly fell out. “We’re going to see MINNIE MOUSE!”

He grinned at her, “Yes, I know. But take it in stride, princess. We’re going to be here for four days. We don’t have to do or see it all today.”

“But we’ll see Minnie right?”

“Of course,” Howard smiled, glancing to see if Marilyn had situated Judith in her stroller. “Let’s go visit the magical kingdom, girls.”

Three hours later, the family sat in the grass under a tree. Despite having scoped out the entire park and greeting a number of Disney characters, Alyssa was still just as excited as she had been when they passed through the turnstile gates. Howard could barely get her to sit down to eat her corn dog, much less actually take a deep breath. She continued to babble about everything she could see from where they sat and things she wanted to get a closer look at. Only when Judith spoke did the older girl fall silent.

“Oh oh. Can I take Judith on the cars?” Alyssa asked. “I promise to drive really carefully.”

Knowing the cars were on a track anyways, Howard cautiously replied, “Well, I don’t know. That’s a mighty big responsibility.”

“Please!” both girls pleaded in unison.

“If you finish your lunch, yes,” Marilyn suggested.

“Okay!” they agreed, turning their attention to the food in front of them.

“This was a wonderful idea, honey,” she claimed, leaning over to kiss Howard.

“Yeah. But I don’t know if I can keep up with the girls for four days,” he smirked.

“Don’t worry. They’ll tire out soon.... I hope.”



It had originally begun as just a tribute to his fallen friend. But a few days later he had left the studio with an entire album and a new friend, a surfer from California. That was months ago and still Andy’s ghost haunted him. He never spoke about him at all, or even the dark shadows in his mind clouding his thoughts. Chris just continued to... survive.

Which completely explained why he was sitting in a dark bar with Layne Staley and his new friend Eddie Vedder, an empty glass in his hand. They were the reason he was still alive himself; he knew it. But would never admit it out loud. They probably knew.

“Want another?” Layne asked.

Chris shrugged and Eddie removed the empty glass from his hands. Frosty new glasses in their hands, all three men turned around on their stools, looking out into the dark abyss of the bar.

“I think I have to marry her.”

Layne glanced sideways at Chris but said nothing. Eddie turned to face him, setting his beer on the counter. His misty blue eyes stared at the Soundgarden front man for a long time.

“Why?” Eddie finally muttered.

“I’ve been with Susan for something like... uh... a long time,” he responded, taking a long drink of his beer. “It’s the expected thing to do.”

“Do you love her?”

Chris smirked, “Do you really believe in love, Ed?”

“Of course I do. Don’t you?”

He shrugged, “I guess.”

“So do you love Susan?”

“No, he doesn’t. But he’s at that point where he has to pull the trigger one way or another. If he dumps her, his band is screwed and quite possibly mine. If he marries her, at least he’s got some leverage,” Layne declared.

Eddie looked around Chris to glare at Layne, “Is everything about the fucking band?”

“When you’re fucking your manager it is.”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie returned to his seat, eyes on Chris, “Don’t marry her if you don’t love her.”

“You gonna marry Beth?” Layne countered

“Prolly.”

Layne snorted, “Uh huh.”

Setting his empty glass on the counter behind him, Chris slid off his stool, “I’m going home. I’ll see you at the show next week, Ed.”

Two hours before the inaugural Mookie Blaylock concert, Chris and Susan got married. And spent their wedding night at the concert.