Fleetwood Mac-Part III of Fritz Series

Facing It

***A/N sexual content***

"So what's it like working with your husband? I'd go nuts if I had to work with my wife every day" this dickhead can see me sitting here, why talk about me like I'm not in the fucking room? Stevie rests her hand on my booted ankle and I stop twitching it, she can sense I'm irritated "We've been working together for almost a decade, there's really nothing new between us. Same arguments same disagreements, the only difference is we try and make things up before we go home to the kids" try being the operative word. We don't go to bed angry usually.

"So Linds any future guitar heroes in your pack of kiddos?" It doesn't matter how inane the question may be I always light up when I talk about the kids "I don't know about guitar hero, but Sara has a pretty amazing aptitude for music and composition." She only needs to hear a piece once or twice and she can play her way through it on her harmonica or the piano. According to Stevie she and I have the same concentration face "How tough has being on this tour been for you guys and the kids?" torturous, mom Robin and Barbra are taking turns babysitting them. As it is I've pulled as many strings as possible to get us back to L.A. for Nova's birthday but it's a close call all the way around.

"They're young, so it's hard on them obviously." Stupid question really, what kids wouldn't prefer to have their mom and dad around rather than be on the road all the time? Mick's grand idea of having our tour filmed is starting to grate on my nerves. I can't sit down and have a cup of coffee without this jack off interrupting me. And since I'm the "difficult" one I come off as rude when I ignore his questions or give sarcastic answers. To Stevie's credit she's always polite and patient, no matter how late or inane the interviews may be. Frankly I'm sick of it.

An hour and a dozen more stupid questions later and we're finally alone in our dressing room, "I'm starving" putting the finishing touches on her make up Stevie looks over at me with a smirk "You want me to make you a grilled cheese?" we both chuckle at that. Sara's favorite food no matter what time of day, grilled cheese. I could probably put on a seminar on how to make a perfect one "No, I saw a French place around the corner though." Stevie's brow furrows as she adjusts her top for the thousandth time "Probably not the best for my figure". I resist the urge to roll my eyes, her figure is gorgeous. Fucking reporters. Vultures.

"Sweetheart you look amazing" she sighs unsatisfied with the fit of her dress "Maybe I should wear a black one" I leave my seat on the couch and perch next to her at the vanity wrapping my arms around her still, very petit, waist. "Steph, baby you look fine. Better than fine, exquisite. I hate that you let those tabloids bother you about your weight" sighing she slams down her hair brush "That's easy for you to say Linds, no one cares if you or John, or Mick gain weight. Me and Chris put on an ounce and suddenly we're fat" says who? Some mouth breathing neckbeard with a byline?

"What you see and what the world sees are two different pictures Linds." Well the world should see her through my eyes "Babe you've had three kids, who in their right mind would expect you to be a size two after that?" operative words "Right mind". We have a show in an hour, the last thing I want is for her to be upset while we perform "Chris is so lucky" my lips rest on her collar and she sighs "Sweetheart Chris is on enough powder to wipe out Bolivia's national defiecit for the next ten years. That's not luck it's addiction" not to be an ass, but it's no secret that coke keeps you awake, keeps you energized and above all else keeps you from being hungry. It's not natural.

"You've never tried it?" she catches my eyes and I smooth a lock of hair behind her ear "Nope, never wanted to. I have enough problems sleeping as it is" she leans into me with a sigh the two of us gazing at our joined reflection in the mirror "You don't need that junk, or anything else. I love your curves-" sitting straight up she turns to me her panic face trained on me "Curves? What curves? Oh, God" her hands pinch at her waist and thighs and I stop her "The ones that came from you carrying all three of our kids, you're not fat Steph. Christ! Just-don't let that shit get to you"