The tires made a sort of swishy sound on the wet pavement as the light turned green and he accelerated. He shouldn't have been driving, not in this weather, not in this mindset. Hell, he wasn't supposed to drive anyway - he had never really learned. But thanks to advances in modern technology, any idiot with half a brain could drive a car. Or any idiot with a half-empty bottle of scotch between his legs and tears running down his face.

Her words rung in his ears, driving him insane as he watched the windshield wipers go back and forth. 'Fuck you, Timothy. I can't handle this shit anymore.' He wiped furiously at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt and reminded himself to watch the road instead of the rain. Luckily the streets were fairly vacated at the late hour, so no one had noticed that he'd swerved into the other lane for a while. He certainly hadn't.

It wouldn't have been half as bad, he thought, if she hadn't done it over the phone. He knew that was a weak defense, and that it would have been bad no matter how she did it. But he kept telling himself that, and if you repeat a lie enough times, sometimes you can't even remember that it's lie and it becomes the truth. After all, their entire relationship had been built on that sort of theory. He told her he loved her so many times, he wasn't even sure when it had stopped being a lie and become the truth. He wasn't sure when "I love you" had stopped being a lie, but he knew that it sure as hell wouldn't sting this bad if it had stayed that way.

Tim hadn't said a word about it to Travis or Rob or even Matt. Just vacated the venue once their set was done and gone outside. He vaguely remembered getting in the car - Rob's car - and turning it on, and now here he was on the road. To say it was unsafe would be a huge understatement. The main rule of every tour he had ever gone on was 'Never let Tim drive.' That had started with Operation Ivy. Then again, what about this fucked up situation hadn't been started by Operation Ivy?

Maybe if Operation Ivy had never existed, he could have really loved Brody. And then maybe he wouldn't be away on tour or in the studio all the time, and he could be at home. Maybe he could be a loving husband worthy of attention, one that his wife would love back. Maybe then she wouldn't be 'forced' to go out and sleep with other men. Maybe all of those things would happen, if only Operation Ivy hadn't happened. If Jesse hadn't happened.

Taking another swig of scotch, he once again wiped the wetness off his cheeks and forced himself to take a deep breath. He knew that thinking about the past wouldn't solve anything, and wishing that Operation Ivy had never happened was a mistake. The times spent in that band had been some of the happiest in his life. Whether playing a show, practicing, or jumping into hedges at stupid o'clock in the morning, he couldn't remember another period where he'd smiled more often. He should have known any attempt to recreate that feeling, with anyone besides Jesse, would be a huge mistake.

Well, one good fuck-up deserves another, he'd decided, and what he was doing right now was probably a huge mistake as well. Aside from the drinking and driving, he was headed one place he probably shouldn't be headed. But fuck it, what more did he have to risk? Besides Rancid, Transplants, Hellcat Records...okay, so there was a lot at risk right now but honestly he could care less. If he crashed into one of the palms lining the sidewalk and blew up Rob's SUV, with him inside, he really wouldn't mind.

But suicide was not on the action item list for tonight. Tim wasn't out to kill himself or kill anyone else, for that matter. He was out for salvation, something that the bottle couldn't give him; Brody had never given him; and in this case even playing a show hadn't given him. He needed Jesse, and he needed him right now more than he had in a long time.

He had found the address in a phone book. In a fucking phone book. People like Jesse weren't supposed to be listed in the phone book, they were supposed to be elusive and secretive, like some sort of buried treasure. The fact that it had been so easy to find Jesse made him feel all the more guilty for the fourteen years that had passed since they'd spoken to each other properly. Regardless of the guilt, he'd ripped the page out of the phone book and headed up the coast to a small town a few hours from where they were touring.

It had been two and a half hours now, the bottle of scotch was almost empty, and the rain was tapering off some. He checked the address again and took the exit, slowing the car down as he did. This driving stuff wasn't really that difficult, why the hell did you need a license to do it?

Easing the car down the main street of the small town, he glanced around. The street was lined with tiny shops, all specialty stores of some sort. It had a quaint sort of homelike feel to it, like somewhere you'd grow up. If you hadn't grown up in the ghettos outside of Berkeley like Tim had, of course. He was so distracted watching the signs on the shops that he nearly missed his turn, but caught it at the last second. He turned a bit too sharply and was pretty sure he felt two of the wheels lift off the ground a few inches, but the car righted itself soon enough.

"Maybe I really shouldn't be driving," he spoke aloud, then grimaced. His voice sounded like shit from the two full hours of crying he done. He sounded like a meth junkie or something. Clearing his throat a few times and taking the last drink of scotch to moisten it, he started to look around for the street that the phone book had listed.

Finally he spotted the reflective green sign reading 'Hoboken Lane'. The irony of the street's name didn't escape him, and he smirked as he turned the corner - much more carefully this time. As he began scanning house numbers, a sudden sense of panic hit him. What if Jesse didn't want to see him? Maybe he had a family now. He hadn't heard anything about it, but Jesse was pretty solitary so maybe no one really knew. What if Jesse wasn't home? Or what if the listing was for a different Jesse?

He didn't have time to come up with anymore worst-case scenarios as he spotted the house marked 127. It was an inobtrusive house, much like the others on this street, with white vinyl siding and a light blue door and trim. Nothing about the look of the house suggested the etheral nature of the being who resided in it. Or, hopefully resided in it.

Tim put the car in park and turned it off, tossing the empty pint of scotch into the backseat and taking a deep breath. He exitted the car after a small mental pep talk. The rain splashed onto his beanie-clad head in small droplets, and he wiped his sweating palms on the thighs of his black jeans then headed towards the door. He got about three feet away before he stopped.

"Ah, fuck, Armstrong, it's three o'clock in the fucking morning," he chastised himself under his breath. He spun around and started back to the car, then did a complete three-sixty again and started back towards the door. "Now or never, asshole."

A few more rotations and he found himself in the middle of the lawn. He sniffed loudly and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Maybe...I could just wait until he wakes up," he reasoned, still talking to himself. "And then he'll go somewhere and I'll be here..."

He realized instantly how stalkerish that idea was and sighed. Besides, he wasn't even sure if Jesse was here, or lived here, even. So here he was standing in the middle of the lawn of 127 Hoboken Lane like some sort of demented lawn gnome, talking to himself. Tim Armstrong, front man of Rancid, guitarist of Transplants, owner of Hellcat Records, in all his fucking glory. He groaned and dropped into a sitting position on the ground.

"Ah Jesus fucking Christ I'm such a fuck-up."

"Lint?"

Tim looked up at the voice, not even having noticed the door open. And standing there, amidst a glowing heavenly haze that was actually cast by the TV on in the background, was Jesse Michaels. His dark hair was wet and plastered against his forehead and he was dressed in a pair of dark blue jeans and a worn white band shirt, some band Tim couldn't make out the name of. One dark eyebrow was arched curiously and he still had a hand on the door.

Tim realized now that it hadn't mattered if he'd sounded like a meth junkie, because he couldn't quite form words anyway. Jesse approached him slowly as Tim sat in shocked silence in the middle of his lawn. Jesse stopped a few feet away, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans and looking down at Tim. Any emotion he might've been feeling was unreadable.

"Well, I was going to get some of those flamingos for the yard, but I guess if you want to stay there I could deal with that. Maybe get some chysanthemums to put around you...make a little cobblestone trail about there...," Jesse looked over the lawn as if he was actually considering it, waving his hand as he described the renovations. He tilted his head thoughtfully then looked back at Tim. "Would pompus grass be too pretentious?"

"Jesse...," Tim trailed off, unsure of what to say, still looking up at the other man with wide eyed amazement.

"Lint...," Jesse replied, almost mockingly. He waited a beat before continuing. "What the fuck are you doing in my yard?"

"I...uh...she," Tim started choppily. He gained the presence of mind to stand up, still a few inches shorter than Jesse but a little more eye level with him. Not that he was looking Jesse in the eyes. He groaned. "Fuck. I don't know."

Jesse looked up at the sky. "Well, I was going to go for a walk, but it looks like the rain isn't getting any better and you're not decorating the grass anymore so why don't you come inside?"

Tim lifted his head, watching Jesse in amazement. How he could be so casual about this was beyond him. They hadn't seen each other in over a decade, and the last time they had left a bad taste in Tim's mouth, and now Jesse was just calmly joking with him and inviting him inside? He supposed that maybe he was the only one who had let what happened between them completely screw up his life. Then again, maybe he had screwed it up himself and just used Jesse as an excuse.

After a small nod of acceptance to the invitation, Jesse turned around and headed back across the grass to the still open door and Tim followed meekly behind him. The surreality of the situation didn't escape Tim, even though Jesse seemed happily oblivious as he closed the door.

"You been out there a while? You're soaked," Jesse noted. "I'll get you a towel or something..."

He started towards the bathroom but Tim finally spoke up, stopping him. "No, I'm all right."

"Oh...kay...you want something to drink?," Jesse offered. "I have juice, or soda, or uhm...milk..."

"Stop that," Tim stated flatly, sounding tired.

"Stop what?," Jesse arched an eyebrow again as he looked back at Tim.

"That...weird...small talk civilized bullshit you have going on," Tim clarified, reaching up with one hand to rub his temples.

"Well, fuck, Lint. You show up in the middle of my yard at fucking ASS am in the morning with no explination of why, what the hell am I supposed to say?," Jesse finally let some sort of emotion into his voice, sarcasm being replaced by mild irritation.

"I don't know! I just...," Tim admitted, dropping his arms defeatedly to his side, then replacing them crossed over each other on his stomach. "...I need you."

"You need me?," Jesse asked incredulously. "Well isn't that fucking adorable. Now, after fourteen fucking years, you need me. Lint, what the fuck do you need me for? You have a successful - no, TWO successful bands, a fucking record label, a gorgeous wife -"

"She left me," Tim cut him off.

"Oh," Jesse said, then repeated the syllable in a lower tone, drawn out. "Oooh. So that's what this is."

"What?"

"I'm always your second choice, aren't I, Lint?," Jesse shook his head. "In '88, it was me until you could get something better. It was Billie Joe before me, the scene before me, your fucking guitar before me, and now, fourteen fucking years later, you've run out of options so you ran back to me."

Tim winced visibly at Jesse's acerbic words. "That's not true and you know it," he defended weakly. "Billie Joe was a fucking...fuck, that's all. And that other shit doesn't mean anything..."

"Just a fuck? And you're trying to say that's not what I was?," Jesse snorted as if he didn't believe him. "If I meant more to you than that I think you would have at least called in the last fourteen years. Fuck, even Matt kept in touch!"

"Jesse! I was...it...," Tim stumbled over his words, then sighed and gave up, looking at the floor. He didn't know what he'd expected from Jesse, but it certainly wasn't this. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah? Well I'm fucking sorry, too, Lint. Sorry I opened my fucking door tonight."

With that stinging remark, Jesse turned his back on Tim and retreated further into the living room, slumping onto the couch that was sitting in front of the TV. Tim watched him, then glanced from the back of Jesse's head to the door. He thought for a moment about leaving, but he decided he'd copped out of this too many times and now was not the time for saving face. He crossed the room and moved in front of Jesse, blocking his view of the TV.

"Look. I fucked up, I know that. That's practically all I've done," Tim admitted in a small voice. Jesse was watching him with a drawn look on his face, anger and pain still apparent in his features. Tim continued cautiously. "But...I never meant to make you doubt I cared. You were always...fuck. It was always you."

"It was never me," Jesse told him, sounding sure of himself. "It was always you. Didn't the band break up because you thought it was too big?"

"I was scared," Tim said. "The same reason I let you leave. I was too fucking scared to let you know how much it was gunna hurt me."

"And Brody leaving you suddenly gave you the burst of courage to come here and tell me, now?," Jesse asked, his tone sarcastic again. Tim sighed.

"No. But I don't have any room for fear anymore," Tim explained. "I need you, and I thought...maybe..."

"You didn't think," Jesse objected. "If you'd thought you wouldn't have made it this far. You would have run back home to Brody, or Lars, or whoever the else has been fucking you for the last fourteen years, and stayed the fuck away from me."

"Okay, so I didn't think," Tim said, growing increasingly irritated with Jesse's impossibility. "But don't you fucking get it? Whoever I HAVE been fucking for the last fourteen years is just your replacement!"

Jesse snorted derisively and Tim continued. "Fuck you, I mean it. No one's ever made me feel the way you have, and everyone from Billie Joe to fucking Brody has just been another failed attempt to get what we had back."

Tim kneeled down in front of Jesse, his blue eyes clear and completely honest, but not without the obligatory hint of fear. "Jesse, I do need you. More than I ever have, now. I can't live another year without you, much less another decade and a half."

Jesse watched him, seemingly passive. Tim was looking at him, pleading almost, and he just stared back for a few long moments. Then he reached a hand up and rubbed his eyes, sighing tiredly. "Who the fuck's car are you in?," he asked.

Tim was confused by the question, since he'd expected Jesse to yell at him or something. "Er...Rob's," he answered after a second.

"Rob? That's the Transplants guy, right?," Jesse queried, taking his hands away from his face.

Tim nodded. "We were doing a show in Pasedena, and then...I came here..."

"Do they know?," Jesse asked.

Tim shook his head. Jesse leaned over and took the phone off of it's cradle and threw it at Tim. "Call them and tell them where you are. I don't want you to drive back, I'm surprised you made it here alive."

Glancing down at the phone, Tim blanched. "You're making me leave?"

Jesse shrugged in response, looking away. Tim threw the phone at the wall, standing up.

"No. Fuck you. I'm not leaving."

Looking back at Tim from the mess of electronics that used to be his phone, Jesse crossed his arms. "Well then you can go reclaim your place on the damn lawn."

Tim's eyes darkened and he glared at Jesse for a few seconds, then without warning he practically leapt forward. He grasped Jesse's shoulders, pushing him back against the couch and crushing his mouth against Jesse's. Jesse didn't fight him, but he didn't kiss back either. After a second Tim pulled away and stepped back. Jesse met his gaze unflinchingly with a questioning look.

"When the fuck did you become so fucking bitter?," Tim wondered aloud.

Jesse stood up, arms still crossed. He glared at Tim momentarily, his mouth set in a rigid line. Then he leaned closer and hissed through his teeth - "When you let me walk out."

Tim's gaze faltered and he looked away from Jesse guiltily. He couldn't find the words to express how very badly he would have liked to go back in time and stop Jesse from leaving, how much easier everything might have been if he'd only told him to stop.

"I loved you," Jesse's voice, much softer, broke into Tim's reverie.

"Past tense," Tim noted.

"Yes," Jesse admitted. "Maybe if you hadn't waited so long..."

"Maybe if I would've done absofuckinglutely everything differently, right?," Tim asked, self-loathing invading his voice. "If I'm such a fuck up, why did you ever love me?"

Jesse shrugged his shoulders. "Guess I forgot."

Tim kneaded his lower lip between his teeth for a minute, contemplative, then reached out and laid a hand on Jesse's arm hesitantly. Jesse met his eyes, raising his eyebrows in question.

"Can I make you remember?"

"If you're going to try to kiss me again, no," Jesse answered.

Tim shook his head, letting his hand slide to Jesse's wrist and grasp it. He tugged lightly, moving backwards in the direction of the door. Jesse submitted after a moment, dropping his arms from across his chest and following after Tim.

"Where are we going?," he asked as Tim pulled the door open.

"For a walk," Tim told him. "I know it's still raining, but..."

Jesse shrugged again to indicate that he didn't mind and the pair stepped out of the house, moving across the lawn to the sidewalk. Tim led the way, even though he wasn't familiar with the surroundings. Jesse walked by his side, shoving his hands into his pockets to fight off the chill of the early morning air. They were both silent as they wandered, the only sound being their shoes on the wet pavement and the rain lightly dropping onto the ground. They turned down a few streets before Jesse started to wonder if he should say something.

Tim abruptly stopped and turned to face Jesse before he could speak, his expression unreadable. Jesse turned towards him and they just watched each other for a moment. Then Tim lifted both of his hands and pressed them flat against Jesse's chest, slowly. Jesse looked at him questioningly, and then Tim pushed him. Hard.

Jesse cried out wordlessly as he fell back, waiting for the impact of the hard ground. But it never came. Instead of ground, he was enveloped by soft, slightly scratchy leaves and branches of a tall hedge. He sputtered for a second then looked back up at Tim, who was grinning widely. Jesse couldn't help a matching grin from spreading on his own face as Tim darted across the unknown lawn and leapt into another hedge. He pulled himself to his feet and watched Tim crawl out of the bush, leaves sticking to his jacket and pants.

"And people think I'm the fucking loony...," Jesse muttered, supressing the grin to a small smile as he picked leaves out of his damp hair.

"You are," Tim assured him.

"I think you're just better at hiding it," Jesse reminded him, finally plucking the remaining shrubbery off. As soon as he'd accomplished that, Tim wrapped his arms around Jesse and threw him back into the bush.

"I'm not hiding it now," Tim told him, stepping away from him.

Jesse growled and pulled himself out of the hedge. "That's it...," he said threateningly, and Tim grinned again and started backing up.

Jesse gave chase, running across the street after Tim. Jesse caught up with him a bit down the road and dove at him, pushing him back into a fluffy, trimmed shock of greenery with a triumphant yell. Tim was laughing too hard to stand up as Jesse leapt up and performed a victory dance around the bush. Tim leaned over and lazily reached out, grabbing Jesse's leg and pulling him back into the hedge.

Jesse landed across Tim with an 'oof' noise and squirmed a bit, but Tim held him in place, still snickering. Jesse chuckled a bit as well.

"We used to do this," he remembered.

"For fun," Tim added laughingly.

"You're fucking insane," Jesse told him. Tim nodded, conceding that it was probably true.

"Yeah, maybe. But you were the one that was in love with me, so what does that make you?"

"Insanely in love, I guess," Jesse responded after a moment of thought. He was becoming all too aware of the weight of Tim's arm across his stomach and the feel of Tim's body beneath him, and squirmed again. "I seem to remember these bushes being a lot more comfortable."

"I don't think we were concerned with comfort at the time," Tim pointed out. He experimentally let his hand travel slowly up Jesse's side with feather-light touches.

"We weren't concerned with much," Jesse agreed. He stopped the motion of Tim's hand by trapping it with his own.

"Only each other," Tim murmured, his voice dropping. Jesse didn't say anything for a moment, so he continued. "I loved you a lot, Jesse. I never learned how to show it, but I did."

"Past tense," Jesse mimicked his words from earlier, only they held a hint of question this time.

Tim tightened his fingers around Jesse's side and pulled him closer. "No," he admitted, nuzzling Jesse's neck softly. "Then, now, whenever. I love you."

Jesse turned his head slightly and let his lips brush across Tim's, feeling the electricity between them crackle. Tim's eyes fell shut and he froze, afraid to move at all in case it would make Jesse leave. Their breath mingled warmly in the small amount of space between their mouths.

"Lint...," Jesse whispered, the word nothing more than a short exhalation of air. Tim opened his eyes, cursing himself for doing so as Jesse pulled back a bit to look at him.

"I didn't want to leave," he continued quietly. "You could have said anything and I would have stayed."

"I thought you wanted to go," Tim told him. "And I didn't know what to say."

"Anything," Jesse repeated. "Anything would have worked. You just watched me leave."

Tim swallowed harshly. "Don't you know how much of my life has been spent watching people leave? How was I supposed to know that you wanted to stay?"

"I thought..."

"No you didn't," Tim said, mocking Jesse's earlier words again. "If you had thought, you wouldn't have needed me to say anything to stay. You would have known I needed you there. Christ, didn't you feel it?"

Jesse looked down unsurely and Tim waited quietly for a response, but one didn't come. Jesse glanced back up at him, then leaned forward again and let his breath dance across Tim's mouth momentarily before kissing him. As their lips met in a chaste union, Tim tightened his grip on Jesse. Slowly their mouths moved over each other, experimentally refinding what they'd forgotten in the last fourteen years.

Tim's lips parted underneath Jesse's tongue. The tips of their tongues slid across each other, and Tim ran his hand up Jesse's back to tangle in his hair. A soft moan eminated from the back of Jesse's throat and his tongue probed gently deeper into Tim's mouth. Jesse readjusted his position, turning to lay atop Tim before breaking the kiss.

Tim slowly let his eyes open to meet Jesse's, now running his fingers through the other man's hair. "Jesse...," he whispered.

"I remember now," Jesse told him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Tim smiled back at him. "I don't know how you ever forgot."

Jesse managed to pull himself away from Tim and crawl out of the hedge. He stood up and extended a hand to Tim. Taking it, Tim also pulled himself to his feet. Not letting go of Tim's hand, Jesse started back towards the house.

"So...why did she leave you?," Jesse asked after a minute.

Tim looked down, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand. "I guess...she was tired of me being gone all the time, or somethin'," he explained. "Which, I mean, she was gone a lot too...it just doesn't work if you aren't in the same band."

He gave a forced chuckle and Jesse squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry, Lint."

Tim shrugged. "I guess I sort of expected it. No one can put up with me for too long."

Turning a corner, Jesse tugged him closer then released his hand and replaced the arm around his waist. They walked the rest of the way back to Jesse's house in silence, but nothing needed to be said. The closeness was reassuring to both of them, something they'd missed for a long time.