Title: Angels in a Cage: Chapter Fourteen, Angst
Rating: R [language, alcohol use]

Summary: Chris makes a new friend; Alyssa loses one.





Leaving the stage with endorphins coursing through his body and sweat rolling off his skin, Chris’s wild eyes glanced around backstage. He joked with a passing roadie before heading to what could hardly be classified as catering. All he wanted was a beer anyways. A man about his age stood shyly nearby. Had Chris not been post-concert, he likely would have not felt as bold as he did, so he could understand the shy guy. At least to some extent. Saying nothing to the unknown man, Chris cracked open a beer and handed it to the stranger before reaching for a second one for himself. Popping the top, he raised it in a sort of salute to the stranger before guzzling it.

“You guys.... you guys sure have a lot of power on stage,” the stranger commented,

“Thanks,” Chris responded, draining the rest of the can and crushing it. “Have we met before?”

“No,” he set the can of beer down, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe you’ve seen me play. I’m a musician, too.”

“Oh?” he asked with feigned interest, reaching for another beer.

“Yeah. You guys were really good tonight,” he stated.

“Thanks,” he glanced sideways at the man. “You wanna go some place and get a drink?”

Two hours later, the two men laughed like they were old friends, empty beer steins littering their table with traces of Guinness drying in them. They shared songwriting and back alley bar stories. Chris attempted to convince the other that music as a career was not as great as it seemed, that touring sucked. His new best friend though was not about to be persuaded so easily. Music was in his soul.

The cute little waitress made her way to their table, “Ood yaouw guys loike anover bevvy?”

Chris cocked his head to the side, “I have no idea what she’s saying. Do you, Jeff?”

The brown eyed man looked across the table and shrugged before saying, “Two more pints?”

“Fuck yeah,” Chris agreed.

By the end of the night, neither man could really stand. Chris normally didn’t drink Guinness but his new friend did and that was enough for him. Arm-in-arm they swaggered out of the pub, neither knowing where to go. Chris knew the band had a hotel somewhere. It had to be close. He normally did not drink that far from the hotel at all. Soundgarden had to be close. He would stumble with his new best friend to the hotel and they could both pass out. Maybe in the morning he would have his wits about him enough to actually talk seriously about music with the man. Or maybe he would just feel like he had a mouth full of carpet fibers. Morning was so far away. And so was the hotel. They never were going to make it.

“Let’s just.... let’s just....” Chris reached for the nearby brick wall, intending to use it to since down to the sidewalk.

“Nooooo,” Jeff responded, tugging on the arm still looped with his. “Just a bit... just a bit further.”

“You know... you know where... going.... Buckley?”

“Uh huh.... I think...”

The stumbled on a bit further. Apparently Jeff’s instincts were correct for before long they stumbled into the lobby of a hotel that looked really familiar to Chris. A few minutes later, a grumbling Kim lead the pair of drunks to Chris’s room, cursing at being woken from his post-coital bliss. Shoving the two into Chris’s hotel room, he stalked off while the two men burst into laughter as they fell to the floor. What a beautiful start to a friendship.



Head bowed down as she read over her biology chapter, Alyssa ignored her friends around the lunch table. With rumors of a pop quiz in her next class, she needed to brush up on... well everything. It didn’t matter than she had already read the entire textbook. She just didn’t feel all that great about biology at the moment, though really that feeling was unfounded. She was after all a straight-A student.

“Whoa, dude,” Josh sat down at the table, his face pale with shock.

Feeling something was up with her boyfriend, Alyssa glanced up at him, “What’s wrong?”

His eyes went to hers, “Aly, Kurt Cobain is dead.”

“Nuh uh,” she instantly responded, tugging the slipping flannel back up her shoulder.

He nodded, “He... He was found dead this morning. It’s all over the news.”

“How would you know here at school?” she asked, still not believing him.

“You know I have video production before lunch, Aly. We always have the TV on.”

“I don’t believe you. Cobain is not dead,” Alyssa stated.

“Get your stuff. I’ll show you.”

Shoving her Biology book into her backpack, she took Josh’s hand and followed him out of the lunchroom. As they left, she felt the environment changing in the bustling room. Was the news Josh just shared with her spreading amongst her classmates? Was it really true?

They entered the video production classroom. Just as Josh had stated, the TVs were all on... and all showing something related to Kurt Cobain. Dropping her boyfriend’s hand, Alyssa slowly approached one of the TVs. Her eyes began to cloud as the reporter’s words coincided with the images on the screen. Kurt Cobain was really dead. What were they going to do now? The spokesman of their generation was gone. What did they have left?

She didn’t remember taking her Biology quiz or the other class she had after lunch. All over her notes were doodles and morbid thoughts relating back to Kurt’s death. She just could not process how one of her idols would do that to himself, as everyone was already saying he did it to himself. Why would such a beautiful man kill himself? It made no sense at all. So entrenched in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the bell had rung for the end of school until Josh slipped into her classroom and tugged on her sleeve. Turning mournful brown eyes to him, she frowned. He motioned her out the door, his arm slipping around her waist.

“A bunch of people are going downtown to... be together,” Josh mentioned. “We should go.”

Nodding numbly, she agreed to it. Two days later, her mom dropped her and Josh off near the Seattle Center. The young girl clutched a poem she had written and a single rose. Teenagers and young adults from all over the city streamed into the plaza, most holding something in tribute to the rock star. People randomly embraced, tears running down their cheeks. Rumors circulated of the fallen singer’s band mates being in attendance as well as other musicians. Alyssa didn’t care. She had Josh and that... that apparently was all she had any more. Being a teenager sucked.



Arm draped over his eyes, tongue feeling like a thick, dry piece of wool, Chris grunted. He could feel eyes staring at him, but maybe if he made no real indication that he was awake, the eyes would go away. Instead he heard a sigh, an angry feminine sigh. He knew he was fucked.

“Get the fuck up and get in the shower,” his lovely wife growled, poking his side with her toe. “You have to be on stage in a few hours.”

“Go away,” he groaned, turning over on the couch, burying his face against the back pillows.

She poked his back and then side, “Get up, Chris.”

“Don’t wanna,” he moaned.

Not about to take his insolence in stride at all, Susan grabbed his arm and yanked it back, forcing Chris to roll backwards and off the couch. Standing over him, she smirked and pointed in the direction of the bathroom. Wanting nothing more than to glare at her and tell her that she wasn’t the boss of him, Chris thought better of it and slowly got to his feet, avoiding her hand in the motion. Dragging his feet to the bathroom, he considered locking the door behind him, but if Susan had discovered that, he would have hell to pay. Instead he turned on the shower and grudgingly disrobed. Only five minutes of the shower did he have to himself, his wife entering the bathroom as he was finally sudsing himself up. Pretending he couldn’t hear her insults while he washed, Chris turned his back to her. Fuck her, really.

Stepping out, he finally met her eyes as he reached for his towel, “I suppose I have to meet some people before the concert.”

“If you think you’re going to go party with the guys beforehand, you are mistaken,” she responded, leaning closer to the mirror to apply her mascara.

Wishing he had taken a hotter shower so the mirror had been completely fogged over, Chris shrugged, “Whatever you want, baby.”

Her eyes flicked to him as he toweled off, “I laid your clothes on the bed. We leave in ten minutes.”

Normally he wouldn’t have minded going to dinner before a show with the movers and shakers of the music scene. Normally he wouldn’t have to do it beside his wife. The guys from Sub Pop were actually fun to hang out with, even if they were no longer Soundgarden’s label, but adding Susan to the mix always tempered Chris. He wasn’t allowed to make rowdy jokes, tell bawdy tour stories, or really talk at all. He merely just sat at the table, eating his Susan-approved meal and drinking his beer as slowly as possible, counting the minutes pass until he would be released to his band. He only hoped his friends would crowd backstage and bring up his mood before he had to take the stage. Maybe Eddie would sneak in some vodka in a water bottle, he was usually good for that.

For a moment, he froze in fear upon arriving at the venue some time later. But then Susan told him to behave and left, leaving him behind with the band. His shoulders instantly slumped and he leaned against the wall, needing some sort of support after withstanding her presence for so long. Kim walked by, shaking his head, and slapped an unopened beer can into Chris’s hands. Ah the night was getting progressively better already. Now if only Eddie we—

“Hey, man,” the Pearl Jam front man approached him. “Brought you something.”

Grinning, Chris accepted the ‘water bottle’, “Thanks, man. You have no idea what this means to me.”

“It’s just vodka, Chris.”

“No no. The fact you’re here. Susan is driving me nu—”

“You married her,” Eddie interjected, though he was smiling.

“I should unmarry her,” he took a drink from the bottle, nose scrunching slightly. “Fuck, Ed. Is this 151?”

The Pearl Jam singer merely smiled.



Bursting into the house, tears streaming down her face, Alyssa hurried past both her mother and younger sister. Her heavy feet stomped up the stairs, her backpack discarded at the top of it before she hurried into her room, slamming the door behind her. Collapsing onto her bed, she buried her face in her pillow, her mere tears becoming loud sobs.

Leaving Judith working on her homework at the kitchen table, Marilyn slowly headed upstairs. Stopping to pick up the purple Jansport backpack before anyone could trip over it, she made her way to Alyssa’s room. Setting the bag to the side the door, she knocked softly. When the girl didn’t answer, she turning the doorknob and slowly entered the teen’s room. Marilyn waited a moment in the doorway, listening to the girl bawl, before she closed the door behind her and approached Alyssa’s bed.

Kneeling beside her, she reached up and stroked the girl’s hair gently, “Aly, darling?”

“Go away,” she muttered, her voice cracking from the sobs.

“Sweetie, did something happen at school?”

“Go away,” she repeated.

Nodding, Marilyn took her time getting to her feet, expecting the girl would have a change of heart. By the time she reached for the doorknob, Alyssa had just that, turning her tear streamed face towards her mom. Stopping, she waited for the teenager to say something.

“I hate high school,” she declared.

Turning back around she returned to Alyssa’s bedside, sitting on the girl’s bed, “Why do you say that, sweetie?”

“Josh broke up with me,” Alyssa proclaimed.

“Why?”

“Because apparently I paid more attention to the lead singer of Soundgarden than I did him that night over a month ago!”

Frowning, she brushed the girl’s hair from her forehead, “I’m sorry, Aly. But it’s not reason to hate high school. I’m sure you’ll find a new boyfr—”

“I’m never going to school again! Everyone is talking about me!”

Marilyn remained quiet for a moment, “You know what I think you need?”

“What?”

“Girls’ night out,” she declared, standing. “So dry your tears, Aly. I’m going to call your father and you and I are going to go out and forget all about stupid boys.”

“But—”

“No buts. We’re going,” Marilyn stated. “You have thirty minutes to get ready.”