Fleetwood Mac-Part III of Fritz Series

Seasons of My Life

***A/N sexual content, discussion of depression and anxiety***

Having some experience with depression on a personal level I reckon I ought to be more cognizant of the signs. Lack of motivation, no desire to eat, loss of interest in ones hobbies and activities, low sex drive, insomnia interspaced with chemically induced comas. I could go on, but I'm having a flashback to my father's death and Stevie's abduction. Right now I'm in a position to objectively analyze what she experienced those years ago unfortunately it's in the form of the last person I ever wanted to see depressed. Stevie's the happy go lucky carefree, and wild one. I'm the obsessive neurotic, control freak.

Her grandfather's death has taken its toll on her, more than I'd originally thought. And rather than facing it head on or seeking me out for comfort she's withdrawn spending hours a day writing in her journal and playing her piano absently. I've been working on the new album practically non-stop, but after I finish arranging her songs we'll need to get the others to come over and record our vocals. As of right now we're using our home studio for the entire recording process, something I had written into our contract. I'll never go back to the Record Plant again if I can help it.

I feel like I'm watching Stevie slowly slip away from me and the kids, she's not disengaged as a parent but there's something in her eyes that's different...missing. The rain collecting on the window has her attention, its October the first. Two days until I turn twenty-seven, two days until our ninth anniversary, she hasn't mentioned either. That's not like her. "Hey sweetheart, penny for your thoughts" she barely moves when I sit behind her on the window seat.

"Is it time to start supper?" it's noon, and while I'm hungry I'm a grown man I can make lunch for myself and the kids. Oh, Steph. "You don't have to be supermom all the time you know" placing a hand on her arm I flinch at how cold her skin is. There's fog on the window it's probably fifty degrees outside, cold for California, and she's been sitting here for hours "You're freezing" I tug her against my chest running my hands up and down her sides to warm her "I'm okay Linds, where are the kids?" her voice is flat. No inflection, lack of tone. Zero enthusiasm "AJ's taking a nap, Sara's supervising her little brother's art project". She nods but otherwise shows no signs of moving.

"I'm worried about you sweetheart, it's been over a month since you found out about Aaron" she sighs leaning back against me "You think I'm depressed" it's a statement not a question, but it lacks any sort of emotional attachment "I think you're hurting, you haven't been to your women's group, or your ballet classes. You don't eat, and you're either asleep all the time or your conscious and walking around but not really engaged" silence. I wish she'd lash out and argue with me, try to convince me that I'm seeing things that she's fine. But she doesn't even have the strength to do that. Is this how she felt when I was in the grips of my depression? How did she bear it?

"I'm fine" No you're not, my arms wrap more tightly around her and I bury my face in her hair kissing her until my lips land on the nape of her neck "Daddy can we have noodle soup for lunch?" covered in paint and stickers Sara eyes us from across the room. Some life returns to Stevie and she loosens my arms from her body "Of course sweet pea, mommy's coming" reluctantly I let her go so she can start lunch the rain continues to pelt the glass beside me. No progress made.

***

"You feel good, it's funny that you understood I knew you would. When you were good, you were very, very good-" flat, she's been flat all day. I feel like yelling, but it won't do any good for either of us "Something wrong?" her hands are wrapped around a mug of hot tea while we sit at the piano, taking my hands off the keys I cup her cheek planting a kiss on her lips "Let's sing something else" she nods and with my free hand I play the first bars of Silver Springs; setting her mug down on a table next to us she moves her hair aside and begins "You can be my Silver Spring, my blue green colors flashing. I would be your only dream, your-" she stops to wipe tears from her eyes and I stop playing.