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Ninety days.

The maximum enforced treatment course handed down for a drug charge that didn't involve either jail time or a stint in an assisted living facility with other former junkies and addicts. With the amount of s**t they'd found on him when he'd been busted Fletcher Lewis had been lucky he hadn't had to spend more than a couple of nights behind bars. Luck and a damn good lawyer. And the fortune of having a bit of fame to fall back on. He should have been grateful, and he was, but...

The first week had been an absolute blur. Within the first twenty four hours the withdraws had set in. Sickness and delirium had come next, then the shakes, then overwhelming itch that no amount of scratching could satisfy. He'd howled, screamed, cried, pleased, wretched until his stomach was empty and there was nothing left to throw up, not even bile.

The second week had been...a little easier. The dope sickness had worn away, but the need, the craving held on, dominated his every thought and desire to the point where Fletch had thought he couldn't go on. He'd have traded anything for a bump. Just one. Half of one. Anything.

After that every day was a little easier. The cravings lingered, but they diminished as time wore on until finally, at around the half way point, Fletcher had started writing again, playing again. Filling notebook after notebook with songs and lyrics.

Now, on his last day, he stood just outside the door to the clinic with the handle to his base case in one hand and the handle to his suitcase in the other. He had a worn old backpack slung over one shoulder, a loose, threadbare sweater hanging around him, and an almost lost look on his face.

This was his new beginning, but he didn't have a ******** clue where to start.

He didn't seem to notice her striding towards him until she was standing directly in front of him, and even then he seemed to startle at the sound of her voice, eyes widening as ginger brows jumped before furrowing. There was every possibility he'd forgotten she was picking him up. But as the dazed surprise wore off it was obvious he was relieved, happy, to see her, and if his hands itched to reach for her.

"Thanks." It was flat, accepting, mostly because he knew he looked like s**t and didn't actually give a ******** about it. He'd been living out of a suitcase for three months and had run out of decent toiletries midway through, and he didn't have a clue whose deodorant he'd stolen, but it didn't smell like him and that bothered him.

A shower with decent soap and shampoo would be amazing.

Baby blues flicked up to look over her shoulder, in part to look for her car, but also because as much as he missed he was having a hard time meeting her eyes. Even through those dark glasses. If he'd been a dog his tail would have been tightly tucked between his legs.

"Thank you for coming to get me." If not her he didn't know who he would have called...

No, that was a lie. He knew who. He also knew he couldn't go down that road.

It wasn't so much shame, but more that Fletcher wasn't entirely sure anymore what it meant to be a normal person It'd been...well, years since his life had been anything close to normal. Years since Malaise had stumbled his wait not Fletcher's college campus by chance and discovered him as he worked out a song on his bass while perched on a garden wall. He wasn't entirely certain he even knew how at this point.

But Fletch didn't have a time to express any of that before Lacey was stepping in to catch his cheeks, rise up on the tips of her toes, and kiss him. The familiarity of it struck deep and it was probably for the best that he didn't have his hands free or he would have tried to make it more than the quick press of lips it was before she was dropping back to her heels and reaching for one of his bags.

It was grounding though, reassuring, and there was the flicker of a smile on his face as he let her take the suitcase from his hand before following her to the car.

"Poprocks?" No, he was definitely not driving. "Where are we going, anyways? Are you taking me back to my place, or..?" Surely they'd already had this discussion, worked out the finer details, but he couldn't in that moment recall. His brows furrowed again as he thought about it, dropping the backpack in with the suitcase before placing his base carefully across the backseat.

That too was a relief, even if her tone was barbed and blistering. Fletcher made a noncommittal sound of agreement as he opened the passenger side door and dropped bonelessly into the seat beside her. He didn't want to go home yet, home meant being alone, and after three months of close quarters and limited personal space Fletcher didn't think he was up for being on his own. Especially not there.

It'd be too quiet, for one.

She was brusque, that hadn't changed, and he felt himself smiling faintly as he toyed with the unraveling hem of his sweater. "You know, you're pretty when you're threatening bodily harm and slinging insults." He chuckled, shaking his head as he glanced at her.

"Been up to no good lately?" It was idle, but curious. He wanted to know how she'd been doing. He wanted to know how he'd been doing, but didn't dare ask.

Fletcher snorted softly at that quick response, following it up with a small sound of amusement, but it wasn't like he could argue. Wasn't like he would have even if there'd been wiggle room to do so because Lacey was pretty much all he had left in the world. Even if that hadn't been the case, he never wanted to do anything to hurt her like he had before. He'd let her down when she's needed him most.

Really, that she was still print up with his bullshit was a shocker to the bassist, but he was certainly grateful that she was. He want sure what he would have done if she hadn't agreed to...well, it was pretty much babysitting, but Fletch didn't like that term.

"I've never been able to lie to you before, I'm sure I'd be even worse at it now." He was running the thumb of his right hand up and down the length of the chest strap of his seatbelt. "Oh course I missed you." Did you miss me? He hoped so. That she want just here out of some obligation.

He frowned, glancing sidelong at her. "Have you heard from...you know." He who shall not be named.

She was still angry, and Fletcher would know that, even if she didn't show it yet. After all, it had been Lacey that had dragged his a** to rehab, and she would haul him back there in a second if she thought he was being a b***h a** again, no questions asked.

"That's because you know if you lie to me, I'll cut off your balls," Lacey said sweetly, turning left onto the next street with ease (and probably a little more speed than was strictly necessary). "But you're right, you're a terrible liar, sweetheart, so I wouldn't even try it anymore."

It was gratifying to know that he had missed her. Lacey liked to be missed, but she liked to be missed by Fletcher most of all, because out of everyone, he was the one who had the biggest place in her world, but had also ******** up the most, not including That a*****e.

"Good," she said, and turned again. A few more turns and they'd be back.

She checked the rearview mirror again, merging left. "No," said Lacey, sounding placid in spite of her desire to rip the mirror from its moorings and hurl it at the nearest passerby. "And I don't expect to. Why, have you? He hasn't been skulking around, has he?"

"True," said Lacey blithely, still with the sort of sweet edge to it that belied a sense of razor sharp remarks hiding just below the surface. She could pull them out at any time without hesitation, and it wasn't about to stop now just because Fletcher had been been through rehab. In fact, she was even more likely to throw some barbed remarks his way.

She made a snorting noise in the back of her throat. Of course he hadn't visited. Lacey wasn't sure why either of them even wanted him too, except that he had been a bigger part of their lives than either wanted to admit - at least in Lacey's case. And his absence was like a gaping wound that refused to close.

She ignored this. Pointedly.

"Don't," Lacey said breezily, as she pulled into the drive and then into the garage of her neat little townhouse, the clattering of the door behind them shutting out most of the light. "You don't need to keep any out for him anytime soon."

She had to be brusque because otherwise she would fall apart and that would never do.

"Get up, get out," Lacey instructed, undoing her seatbelt and pushing open the door. "Grab your s**t and let's get inside."

The townhouse was, ironically, a relatively normal townhouse. It wasn't painted black, or decorated in chains, or some sort of aggressively dramatic in any way. In fact, it was almost bland by most standards, at least from first glance. The kitchen, which the garage door opened in on, was a wide and open concept space that led into a living room area that housed a sleek black couch and matching loveseat, as well as one of those massive beanbag chairs one could drown in. There were posters up on the wall, but framed in glossy black wood, and a staircase on the left led up to the bedrooms and loft area. On the right was a sunroom that had been converted into a soundproof music room.

Lacey swept through, depositing sunglasses, keys, and wallet into a small bowl on a table just beside the garage door. Shoes were kicked off next, and Lacey made her way barefoot through the kitchen to the living room, where she didn't wait, but immediately went upstairs, expecting Fletcher to follow her.

She knew he would. He always would.

The two bedrooms upstairs were both spacious, but the second one was currently acting as a storage area. There was a bathroom in the hallway, a walk in closet, and a loft area that overlooked the lower floor, and before that was the master bedroom - AKA Lacey's kingdom.

She stopped in front of the door, turned around, folded her arms, and gave Fletcher a Look.

"House rules," she said, lifting a black painted finger. "No parties unless I say so. No using my shower - you can use the one in the hall. You can sleep in my bed, or the couch, but if you do something shitty, definitely the couch. I don't care if you use my s**t, just make sure not to make a mess."

It was probably a bad idea to say he could sleep in her bed, but she couldn't help it. It was a selfish indulgence.

Her voice, however, dropped meaningfully, and Lacey stepped forward until they were practically chest to chest - or chest to body, since she was much shorter, but that didn't erase or diminish the fire in her eyes as she spoke.

"And no. ********. Drugs. Do you hear me? None. Nada. Get that s**t out of here. I catch one glimpse of a pill, I'll cut off your balls and feed them to the next door neighbor and then kick your a** from here til next Thursday."

Lacey's eyes were dangerous. "Understood?"