Cigarettes and Alcohol

Tea

I stared at him and he stared back.
I swear that happens every five seconds.
"Well... That's a pretty heavy question for someone you met twelve hours ago."

"You've witnessed more than any of my close friends have from around here, Krist and Dave I'm not gonna see for over a month, and you're here now. What do I have to lose except a wife that doesn't love me?"

"I guess, seeing what I've seen and knowing what I know already about you guys,"

Knowing you're gonna end up dead in 19 days, I paused. I could potentially be changing history right now. This alone could be saving his life.

"I think you should separate. She doesn't seem like a stable parent or partner, and she seems to be slowly killing you with stress," I chuckled the last part, playing it off as a joke.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and passed me another cigarette before getting out his own. I lit mine then passed the lighter to him, out sharing cigarettes seemingly an unconscious habit.

"Don't you think it's worth trying to salvage the relationship, try again or something?" He asked, almost halfheartedly.

"Well, how long has she been like this?"

He let out a heavy breath,
"Early '92 I think, having Frances brought us closer together and I was just infatuated with the both of them, but not long after we had her she seemed to go back like this again."

'So just after Nevermind came out?'

He stared at me blankly.
"I'd never thought of it like that."

I gave him a pointed look before we grew silent again, not having anything to say. We sat like that for a few more minutes, enjoying the view. A view from near 10 years before I was born. Weird.

He abruptly stood up and waved me in so I quickly stubbed out my smoke and walked in with him along the wooden floor of the patio back into the kitchen, enjoying the sound of the birds and lack of traffic. He went in first, leaving the door open for me, asking if I wanted tea or something else to drink.

"That's a rather stereotypical assumption. I'm hurt you would think I could simply be typecast by my nationality and accent,"

He raised an eyebrow at me and smirked,

"But yes, I would like some tea."

Fucking hell Kurt Cobain smirked at me. Oh my god. That was the most attractive thing I have ever seen in my entire life.

It turned out, unlike most Americans, he had a kettle, so he put it on the stove to boil before getting some mugs out. I walked over and looked in his mug cupboard, frowning.

"Your mugs are so bland, why don't you have any exciting ones?"

"Guess."

"Well, we can get some cool mugs together soon, you'll have to show me round Seattle now I'm sober and have some form of memory." I laughed,
"Also, what are we doing with all the grass?"

"Well, I was thinking we invite people round and smoke it, but maybe we could boil it and make some tea, that something you do across the pond?"

Oi, you yank. I thought you'd suggest stuffing it in a hamburger!" I shoved him playfully with my shoulder. We looked at each other for a long second before the kettle started whistling. He turned off the stove and put tea bags in the mugs, so I got the milk out of the fridge and put it beside him. As I was sitting down he put my mug in front of me before sipping some of his own.

Looking down at the tea, it was the perfect colour. Tasting it, it was the best cup of tea anyone's ever made for me, strong yet a bit milkier than average. Bloody hell, perfect man.

"Shit, this is the best tea I've ever had. Why the hell is an American better at making tea than my friends?"

He looked surprised, "does this make me an honorary Brit?"

"Yes, you get a little membership card and everything. But seriously, how are you so good at drinking tea?"

"My aunt always drank tea so I had to be able to make good enough tea for her to let me use her recording system. I'm glad you like it, god knows someone doesn't."

I felt a bit bad after he said that, so I went quiet and drank my amazing tea. I felt my English strength come back to me, my powers returning. It was fucking delicious.

Later we went upstairs to play with Frances and change her and all that baby stuff, and Kurt had to show and explain to me a few things. She continuously reached out to one of us, me to play with my hair and him to have a hug or some attention. Babies seem to be like cats, but smoother and less mobile. And I like cats, so that's a plus considering this is going to be my job for the foreseeable future.

"Kurt, are you a cat or a dog person?"

"I like both," he paused, "but if I had to choose, I'd go with cats."

"Good, correct answer. Did you know there are cats hired in the British government?"

"You're kidding, seriously?"
He actually laughed at this, and oh my God does he have a wonderful laugh.

"Yeah, the Chief Mouser of Downing Street. It's kind of in the name, but they catch mice." I laughed too, and when we were both chuckling, Frances started giggling too. Kurt and I looked at one another and burst into another fit of giggles.

"God, I need to go back to England soon. I miss it." He commented.

"I miss it too."

'Want to go sometime?"

"God yes. As long as you don't ditch me there to be eaten by the drug dealers' dogs."

"How does early April sound? About two weeks away? We could go for a week or two and run away from my wife together."

I raised my eyebrows at him. For one, that's some suspicious wording there. Two, this could be my chance to save Kurt Cobain.

"Let's do it."

I thought just being here was going to be the best moment of my life, but boy was I wrong. It gets way better.

—

Hehehe. Also, no hate to Courtney I love her music and how insane she is, I just have to make her a bitch in this fanfic for the story. Listen to Hole they fucking bang.